Her senses slowly returned and she realized that she was alive. SHE WAS ALIVE! Even after her body had made the ultimate sacrifice and left her, her indomitable inner spirit had answered the call for help and carried her through to her goal.
The gold medal she won in this extraordinary race paled in comparison to the exhilaration of total 'aliveness' that washed over her. She literally beamed as she stood on the podium with Cindy Klassen, and her completeness radiated from her like an infectious beacon, sweeping the others up in her celebration.
Clara used to train at Sargent Park in Winnipeg in the early days. That was where I had last strapped on a pair of speed skates - about the time when Clara first came into this world. So I can't help but feel a certain kinship with her, although she doesn't know me from Adam.
So what started out to be a story about speed skating isn't about that at all. It's about unconquerable power of the spirit that lies within every one of us, if only we call upon it. It gives me goosebumps when I think about it.
I guess I've written another parable. Here it is.
Call the Wind
He wouldn’t even have noticed the old couple occupying the wood bench next to the track except for the old geyser's outlandish get-up. Even now he blocked them out of his mind. He needed to focus on what was probably the most important preparation before tomorrow’s big event. Everyone had his own way of mentally preparing for the race and, unorthodox as it was, this was Ethan's way.
That was the hard won deal he had made with Coach - no prying eyes, no controlled exercises or stopwatches, and no Coach. The last day before the race had to be his and his alone. After that he would be ready for whatever Coach told him. Coach didn’t like it one bit. The painstaking regimen to bring the young athlete to peak at race time could all be wiped out in one reckless day, but there was nothing he could do about it. It was the only way he could get Ethan to race for his club. The kid was a rising star and there was no way that Coach would lose him over a disagreement, so he grudgingly gave in.
Now it was just before dawn. At the only outdoor skating oval in town Ethan stood alone in the biting winter air, ignoring the old pair on the bench. He knew his strategy was risky. One fall on the less than perfect ice, one small injury and it could all be over before it even began. Nevertheless, he needed to perform the ritual to tighten every nerve in his body taut as a drawn bowstring, something like pulling back the hammer on the starting pistol.
When it fired to signal the start of the race Ethan would catapult from the starting line as though he himself was the missile. Raw nerves and hair-trigger reaction gave him his remarkable speed. The training he'd undergone under the supervision of Coach would hopefully provide the stamina.
One slow lap around the track to check for foreign objects on the ice was all he allowed himself for insurance. The ritual was always the same. Standing at an old faded starting line, Ethan closed his eyes. He forced his mind back to that day in the mountains three years ago. Slowly the terrifying imagery returned. Little by little his memory of the muted avalanche roar began to seep in to his consciousness. The old panic pangs knotted his stomach, bunched his muscles and drew his body into an involuntary crouch. Conjuring up the deafening roar of that approaching mountain of snow, Ethan exploded out of the starting line flailing his arms propel himself beyond the reach of the thundering avalanche with his imaginary ski poles, and driving his powerful legs over the track before him. Just as the combination of exhilaration and fear had given him the strength and speed to cheat the killer descending on him that day, so the resurrection of its memory now awakened his senses and unleashed the power he possessed.
Ethan would keep up this breakneck pace as long as his muscles and his lungs held out. He could only hope they would last for the whole ten thousand meters.
He would push it to the point of total fatigue and then go home to a long, luxurious hot bath and sleep until race time tomorrow. By then the muscles would have recovered enough to be fresh and taught as today. His mind would be cleared of everything but the race.
Right now though, he didn’t need any distractions. There was a lot at stake. It was a national championship and Ethan had never competed in anything more than five thousand. Still, he couldn’t help a sideways glance at the two shadowy figures at the side of the oval. They were two old people wrapped in buffalo robes.
The old man had pushed the woman’s wheelchair to the rickety old bench at the side of the track and seated himself beside her. Even in the dim lamplight Ethan caught a glimpse of the three-colored knitted skullcap pulled tightly over the man’s head. Red, white and blue stripes ran vertically down it, even to the long earflaps. Ethan pulled his focus back to his undertaking, looking straight ahead and digging his skates in even harder.
The next lap around the track found Ethan reluctantly stealing another sideways glance. The man had disappeared, leaving the woman alone under her buffalo robe. He shook his head as though to rid himself of the distraction. The smallest things could throw him off in the days leading up to a big race. He had to keep his mind on business and shut everything else out. ‘Avalanche’, he kept repeating with every stroke of his blades, ‘avalanche’.
By the fifteenth lap Ethan’s legs started to burn. Until now they had propelled him forward easily with mighty piston strokes, pumping acceleration at the corners and gliding in long easy strokes on the straight-aways. He was beginning to labor. The icy air seared his lungs like a thousand hot knives with every gasp. With ten laps to go he was fading too soon. Ethan renewed his resolve. He knew he’d outpaced himself but he didn’t care. The idea was to drive body and soul to the point of failure. He would finish the ten thousand meters at his absolute maximum speed, or collapse in the effort. Tomorrow would be the day to take a more measured pace.
The rip, rip, rip of the sharp long blades cutting into the ice gave a certain sense of raw power. It was the indescribable sound of mastery over the frozen track, commanding it to yield to the steady piston-like strokes of Ethan’s powerful legs. They sounded as strong as ever, stronger, according to the increasing sound. After a few minutes, Ethan sensed something was not right.
On instinct he swung his head around, expecting to see his phantom avalanche. There, right behind him was the old man, striding stroke for stroke like some apparition of the red baron on skates with the earflaps on his skullcap flying in the wind. The now baggy wool tights belied the power in the old man’s legs that generated long smooth strokes in time with Ethan’s own.
The sudden shock of this vision brought on a new adrenaline rush as Ethan leaned in to the corner, his right arm swinging for momentum, bending him forward for more thrust. His knees burned in protest and the powerful thigh muscles began to tremble. He was close to collapse. Air – he needed air to feed his struggling body.
Without looking back, he knew the old man was gaining on him. Ethan was confused. Was fatigue clouding his mind or was he really seeing the impossible ancient figure overtaking him? He labored on even more determinedly.
In perfect sync, the old man had gained enough to pull up beside Ethan. He must take some awful long strides. And where did this spindly cartoon character get that kind of strength anyway? It wasn’t human. Well it wouldn’t be for long anyway. The man seemed to be gasping for breath. Any minute now he’d keel over – just what Ethan needed. But then he realized that it wasn’t gasping the old man was doing. He was saying something in a raspy long breath. It sounded like he was saying ‘wiiiiiind’ in a hoarse whine.
“You’re runnin’ out of oxygen sonny”, the old man rasped. “You’ll never finish that way”.
Ethan was shocked at the calm easy voice. Even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t answer. The man was right. Every muscle in his body was screaming for air.
“It’s all right there for the asking. You just got to ask”. The man was no longer gasping, but breathing and speaking normally. “Just call the wind. He’ll fill your lungs and you’ll skate forever – like this”. He sucked in a long breath in concert with his blade stroke, forming a deep rasping word that sounded like he was saying ‘wind’. On the next stroke he exhaled, repeating the same sound. “Do it”, he said to Ethan.
With his lungs about ready to burst and his legs failing, there was nothing else to do but try. For the length of each stroke he emulated the old one, first inhaling the word ‘wind’ and on the next stroke, exhaling it.
“Keep doing it”, said the old man and lengthened his stride, pulling away.
He needed such intense concentration to co-ordinate his breathing with his stride that Ethan didn’t notice the man and the woman in the wheelchair leave the track. He actually finished the forty laps and at the end, was skating easier, re-energized by the breathing regimen. It was true. He felt he could skate forever. Now when he wanted to thank the man, he was nowhere to be found. He’d simply vanished, leaving only wheelchair tracks in the snow.
Ethan turned in to the clubhouse to change and head for home. He never said a word about his bizarre encounter to anyone. No one would believe him anyway, especially Coach. He hardly believed it himself and there was no use getting into arguments about tactics the day before such a big event.
Still, when he bent down from the podium to receive his gold medal, Ethan’s thoughts went to the strange old man in his outlandish clothing. Had they not met, this wouldn’t be happening. He tried in vain to spot him among the crowd of spectators. This medal belonged as much to him as to Ethan.
It wasn’t until after all the presentations and the attendant hoopla were over that Coach got Ethan in a quiet corner. “Just what did you think you were doing out there?” he exploded. “With all that moaning, I thought you were going to die right there on the track! I nearly sent the medics out there after you. You scared the pants off me and everybody else out there”!
Ethan couldn’t think of a logical response. “I was calling the wind”, he said simply. It was the truth.
“Calling the wind? Calling the wind?” Coach was incredulous. “Who do you suddenly think you are, Earl Jensen”?
“Nope. Who’s Earl Jensen”?
“It doesn’t matter” Coach shot back. “The point is, we laid out a strict regimen for you to follow. That’s how you got to where you are today. If you expect me to continue coaching you, we’ll have no more of that crap”!
“Who’s Earl Jensen”?
“Just the fastest skater that ever strapped on a pair of racing skates, that’s who.
But he kind of went off his nut after his wife was paralyzed in a freak accident. Before that she could skate nearly as good as him. After she was laid up in her wheelchair he used to go flying around the ice faster than ever, howling like a banshee. Folks used to say he was skating for the both of them and howling to the wind to get her legs back.”
“So what’s wrong with that?” Ethan said out loud. “He was still flying wasn’t he”? On the inside he was getting an eerie feeling.
“Well”, said Coach, “people started to get afraid of him so he wasn’t invited to competitions anymore. The old coot even put special treads on his wife’s wheelchair. He would skate around the track pushing her in the chair until the club stopped him from doing it”.
“That doesn’t seem so crazy, Coach. Makes perfect sense to me. Whatever happened to them”?
“Well, she died in ’38, and Earl didn’t last much longer after that. Without his lady and with not being able to race anymore, I guess life just wasn’t worth it. He just sort of petered out. It’s a shame, really.”
“You got a picture of this Earl Johnson”?
“Jensen”, Coach corrected. “Hey! What’s going on in that head of yours? I don’t like it one bit. I’m your coach and I’m the one who tells you what to think. You might have done well in this race but your not nearly ready for the worlds yet. You've got a week off before we start again. You’d better have all that crap out of your head by then if you want to skate for me.”
Ethan had heard enough. “Have a nice life”, he said quietly and turned on his heel. Coach needed him more than he needed Coach. He’d come around in a day or two, but for now Ethan left the man with his mouth open, unable to speak.
Instead of going home, Ethan headed for the old clubhouse. It was late and no one was there. He threw his skates over the chain link fence and scrambled over after them. He stripped down to his tights and jersey and laced up. As he stepped on to the oval, he looked up. “This one’s for you Earl”, he said out loud as he started to stride on the ice.
‘Wiiiiiind – Wiiiiiind –Wiiiiiind – Wiiiiiind’, Ethan chanted in rhythm to his strides. Longer, ever longer grew his powerful strokes, pumping his legs through the corners like hydraulic pistons. ‘Wiiiiiind – Wiiiiiind –Wiiiiiind – Wiiiiiind’, gaining incredible speed on the straightaway, he was flying. Ethan knew he could skate forever if he wanted to.
