Rescue on the Long Trail: Postscript

As I had guessed, the weeks to come were significantly tougher physically and mentally than the fall and rescue. For starters, the flight home was long and painful. Insurance regulations had it that I had to fly first class so, instead of a direct flight Montreal-Madrid using Air Transat, I ended up flying first class to London Heathrow, followed by a taxi ride to London Gatwick, followed by a low-cost flight to Madrid. I was knackered when I finally saw my parents waiting for me in Barajas airport. Again – my parents and Barajas. Thanks! The day after, they took me to the doctor, who sent me straight to the hospital for admission. I underwent surgery that same afternoon, and had some titanium screw drilled to my ankle. The vicodin the American doc had given me came in handy the following days, but eventually I ran out of it. And, well, they just won’t give you that kind of painkiller in Europe, beg on your knees as you may. Really, I got to understand Dr House’s addiction. That shit is good. But perhaps the biggest challenge was to come to grips with my uselessness to take care of the kids. M was in her second year of preschool education, and T. was starting nursery school a few weeks before he turned 2. Thank you N. for bearing with me. With time on my hands, I tried to improve my German, and largely failed. I don’t love the language, and, well, they speak English anyway, don’t they? Other than that, I tried to turn some class notes into some publishable material and, well, eventually that got published, in 2016. One day in October I was able to stand on both feet. It was sunny and bright, and it felt so good I cried. I thanked God for the gift of walk – that’s getting from there to here and from here to there autonomously. No small feat. I was lucky to be put in touch with a first class physiotherapist called Ángel, my angel. He treated me and conversed with me at length about the joys of training. He wanted me to try triathlon racing. Dude, I can’t swim, I apologized. But, somehow, every step from then on took me closer to a dream I’d had for a while – mountain running. And that’s what I worked toward. Eating healthier, training following a method, yet always with that pure joy of being able to put one foot in front of the other. In July 2013 I ran a race in Leysin, Switzerland. Came in 16th out of 100 or so. More races came in the Fall, and the year after that, and the one after. I ran in my province, but also in Valencia, Castellón, Guadalajara and, again, in Switzerland… I was racing regularly, training properly, and on my local hills at least twice a week. I trained both road and trail, on the flat and the hills. I bought protein supplements and hi-cal energy bars. And the winter was devoted to ski mountaineering, my other passion. Life was good. Other challenges were awaiting, but I guess I was too busy to notice the red flags…