You gotta run, Hank. We need you. My 19-year-old heart sank. I was a college student at Stony Brook, it was our conference championship in track and field, I was anchor leg on the 4x800 meter relay, and I was sick as a dog.
I had the full monty: runny nose, fever, cough. I had no business being there, let alone running under two minutes in the half-mile, but there I was. I had no option: A relay is four runners working as one unit. It is only as good as its weakest link. No one wants to be that weak link.
So I did a shot of Dayquil, slept under the bleachers for an hour, roused myself, warmed up just enough, and got myself ready. The race began, and I waited on the track as the three previous runners raced.
We were in third place when I got the baton. All we needed to do was score points, which means sixth place at worst. I don’t remember much about the race itself, only fear and pain and sweat. But I held our position and ran 1:58. I paid for it, of course, but it was worth it.
Ever since then, I have always been able to mentally take one for the team.
I had to do just that recently, here at the grouse camp I am working at, and in so doing it reminded me how lucky I am to be able to do what I do.
A nasty cold is sweeping northern Minnesota, and I got it bad. Basically the same symptoms I had in that track meet long ago. And just like then, staying home was not an option. Rachel and I are responsible for cooking all three meals, seven days a week here, and if we can’t cook the camp goes hungry. Obviously we can’t let that happen.
Fortunately Rachel is incredibly organized, so she was able to spell me for a dinner and a breakfast, but I came in groggy and doped up on Dayquil to spell her because of course she got it, too. So did MacKenzie, who helps us serve and do dishes.
I would have much rather stayed home and slept. But the show must go on here, and we battled through it. The only bright spot in all of it is that neither Rachel nor I tested positive for covid.
All I can think about now is how many people live lives where no work means no pay. I grew up like that, but I’ve lived a life with sick pay since I was in my 20s. So many still lack this basic benefit.
Hard to pin blame in any one place. I know it wasn’t a good thing that I cooked for others while ill. Not ideal, to say the least. My hands are still trashed from washing them like 100 times a day. But what were we to do? And there are millions of others in this situation or worse. It just is what it is.
I don’t have the answers, but this experience has reminded me to be compassionate and empathetic to those around me who are not as lucky as I am. To see them, and to care. A little empathy goes a long way.
Some of you don’t need to be reminded of this. Some of you live this life. But I did, and I am glad for the nudge — even if it came at a price.
Holidays are just one more unpaid day. I have to work often aranging my schedule around my customers travel plans, some people travel seemingly all the time. And then they are are in town they are very demanding that I finish quickly. Retirement only means Social Security pays some of the bills.
Heart of a lion. I so love reading about your exploits and life stories....keep them coming please.