Cam McTaggart Memorial Ski Race

Today was the Cam McTaggart Memorial Ski Race at Sunridge Ski Club. As Cam was a member of the Sunridge family for the majority of his life, they wanted to hold a race in his honour. The weekend was really well done, with media coverage prior to the race, pictures of Cam around the chalet and near the race course, speeches and key chains (inscribed with Cam's picture)given to all the racers. There was even a donation table with a sign above saying "Smile for Cam." The fund raising is for a bronze plaque that will be placed at the top of the ski run that they are re-naming in Cam's honour (picture above). Cam would have been deeply honoured.

As Cam was away nearly every weekend, I would often go meet him in the mountains, to spend time with him and watch his kids race. I got to know the families, the kids, and the coaches. I loved watching Cam coach. He was a natural. The kids hung on his every word, wide-eyed and drinking in everything he said. No detail was spared; Cam would review video footage with the kids, discuss technique, goals, race reviews, even waxing their skis- paying special attention to the "race edge." Every year he would buy them all a journal to write their goals in, as well as keepsakes like water bottles with ski industry stickers plastered all over them. He could motivate those kids, turn tears into smiles, and bad runs into good runs. The weekends I would be in the mountains with him, I found myself looking forward to the team meeting to hear what he would have to say to the kids! And, after the meeting I would say "Oh, Cam. Those kids just adore you. Do you see the way they look at you. They love you."

I used to tell my girl friends that I never wanted kids, until I saw Cam coaching. I would joke that my ovaries were pulsating...a "condition" that was completely foreign to me, prior to meeting Cam.

Perhaps it wasn't only his way with the kids. I was struck by his intense passion for ski racing. Skiing made Cam happy. Cam and I would often discuss how we loved that we had things to be passionate about - skiing for Cam and biking for Sandy. We would often talk about how we were both so attracted to the fact that the other "had a life" outside of our relationship. That "life" allowed us to be US as individuals and come to the relationship as two wholes wanting to enjoy life together. We respected and supported each other's path- whether it be weekends away or long evening and weekend training days. As Cam wanted to start mountain bike racing, I wanted to help him at the ski races. This winter, I was going to volunteer the weekends I was in the mountains. It's funny, how I did that today, but in a different capacity.

Before I met Cam, my goal was simple. I wanted to be with someone I could be completely proud of. Then I met Cam. I can't even describe the depth of my respect for his character, and how proud I was of him every day, and still am. Watching him coach skiing solidified the long list of qualities that I found so attractive.

I went to the race today not knowing what to expect. Walking down the run to the finish line, I was reminded of how much I loved watching Cam coach. Seeing all the "little shredders" (as Cam used to call them), so excited and happy to be skiing - just as Cam would have been. I missed seeing Cam on the hill. Hearing the stories about how he would be up before 6 am to do a warm up jog and stretch with the kids, prior to setting up the course, and then spend the rest of the day coaching. I miss seeing him cheering for his kids. And, seeing his kids get the pep talk from their #1.

The race today was more than a race for me. It represented so much of our relationship, and my life. It represented loss. On so many levels. It represented the loss of my passion. Loss of my competitive drive. Loss of motivation. Loss of my dedication. My obsession. The loss felt by the ski community he served. His poor kids, who are devastated. The loss of my winter volunteer job. The loss of our excitement and adventure as a couple. The loss of the person that I was SO proud of. The loss of the person in my life who was infiniately proud of me. The man who saw my life as the perfect compliment to his. Loss of our interdependent, wonderful, fufilling relationship. The loss of my "pulsating ovaries." Loss of my dreams of a family with him...a wedding...a life. The end of Cam's success. The loss of his joy, happiness and passion. The loss of his life.

I just can't believe this is has happened.

I am already dreading tomorrow when I am asked "how was your weekend" and "did you do anything exciting this weekend?" It's enough to make me call in sick. Ohhh, if only people could realize how hard and complex the seemingly smallest things are.

How can I explain it? I have tried to on this entry, but the words just don't come close to touching the visceral feelings I am having; the hollow void that I feel somewhere between the lower part of my ribs and my upper chest, combined with a lump in my throat that is making me want to barf. So, I guess I will stay with my standard answer of "my weekend was fine," "the race was fine," "everything is just fine." Or, maybe my eyes will be red and swollen and people will make a point of NOT asking at all...which I would prefer. Maybe I should handout a business card with the following message on it.

Due to persistent bereavement
and aversion to social situations
(such as these), to find out how my weekend was
(or xmas, new years, "the holidays"),
visit my blog. (unless you can read my mind)

Or maybe I won't go to work. Who really needs a raised toilet seat anyway?

To end on a brighter note: Cam in his element.

It's a long one, so get your coffee

I don't have an entry for a month, and now two in two days! Amazing.

As mentioned in a previous post, I have been trying to really personalize my home. Over the "holidays" (and I really use that term loosely) I refinished an antique telephone desk. I must admit, I needed the help of my mom to answer such questions as "Is the point of priming the desk to practice painting?" and "I totally missed painting one leg. What do I do?" Despite these blips, I really enjoyed it! Cam would be proud of my domestic abilities! These are the before and after shots.

And another excerpt from the latest book I read. "Wicked" by Gregory Maguire. He just says it so much better than I:

"She wondered briefly if she was going insane. That night she sat up in a chair and though about what she had said.

A person who doesn't believe in the Unnamed God, or anything else, can't believe in a soul.

If you could take the skewers of religion, those that riddle your frame, make you aware every time you move - if you could withdraw the scimitars of religion from your mental and moral systems - could you even stand? Or do you need religion as, say, the hippos in the Grasslands need the poisonous little parasites within them, to help them digest fiber and pulp? The history of peoples who have shucked off religion isn't an especially persuasive argument for living without it. Is religion itself - that tired and ironic phrase -the necessary evil?

The idea of religion worked for Nessarose, it worked for Frex. There may be no real city in the clouds, but dreaming of it can enliven the spirit.

Perhaps in our age's generous attempt at unionism, allowing all devotional urges life and breath under the canopy of the Unnamed God, perhaps we have sealed our own doom. Perhaps it's time to name the Unnamed God, even feebly and in our own wicked image, that we may at least survive under the illusion of an authority that could care for us.

For whittle away from the Unnamed God anything approximating character and what have you got? A big hollow wind. And wind may have gale force but it may not have moral force; and a voice in a whirlwind is a carnival barker's trick.

More appealing-she now saw, for once-the old-timers notions of paganism. Lurlina in her fairy chariot, hovering just out of sight in the clouds, ready to swoop down some millennium or other and remember who we are. The Unnamed God, by virtue of its anonymity, can't ever be suspected of a surprise visit.

And would we recognize the Unnamed God if it knocked on our doors?"

The witch pulled back. They stood glaring at each other. They had too much common history between them to come apart over a pair of shoes, yet the shoes were planted between them, a grotesque icon of their differences. Neither one could retreat, or move forward. It was silly, and they were stuck and someone needed to break the spell. But all the Witch could do was insist, "I want those shoes."
-Gregory Maguire "Wicked"