Your Helmet Won’t Stop A Speeding Car…

I grew up during as time when the wearing of bicycle helmets wasn’t really a thing. And how could it be? I couldn’t wear a helmet while wearing earphones to my walkman, now could I? This was long before the advent of earbuds but honestly, as long as I was wearing a ball cap to protect my scalp from the sun and I was home before dark, my parents never imposed the wearing of a bike helmet. These days? Depending on the community you live in, the requirement of a bike helmet may be law. But there isn’t a day where I don’t see multiple people cycling in heavy traffic areas without a helmet.

It is what it is. Some people are more apt to follow rules and best practices than others. But the curious thing is, what purpose does a bike helmet serve? If you’re a young child and you happen to topple sideways on your bike, a helmet may save your skull from cracking on the edge of a sidewalk; no question. But whether you’re a child or an adult, you’re helmet won’t save you from any significant incident, such as getting struck by a moving car. This makes one wonder why it’s considered so necessary on most cases. And this post is about all of those little “rules,” not just bicycle helmets.

The reason behind certain rules and regulations isn’t always clear. And more often than not, it can seem unnecessary and perhaps even excessive. Especially if you find yourself on the receiving end of a penalty in relation to any of it. One good example is last week, when I was issued a traffic ticket for performing an “illegal” turn. I won’t get into the specifics of the ticket, other than to say that I definitely performed the alleged action, and the section of legislation does render it unlawful. So I really can’t argue the traffic ticket. But I couldn’t help but feel that I had done nothing wrong or unsafe and that being issued a ticket because of it was rather ridiculous.

The point behind today’s particular rant, is that even though it seemed perfectly safe and acceptable to me, doesn’t mean that it would be to everyone. In most cases, an incident likely occurred that led to that action becoming unlawful. By that logic, it becomes important for people to observe those laws and abide by them. Not only for their own safety, but the safety of others. At the risk of opening my comments section up to a plethora of argumentative points of view, this concept applies to a lot of rules, regulations and laws that are being enacted in response to the current state of the world. Some of them may seem unfair or excessive, but they all have the aim to protect and safeguard the population as a whole.

Most people can’t discern the difference between their “rights” and doing “what’s right.” The two often don’t go hand-in-hand and don’t always apply to one another. And sometimes, we need to abide by certain rules in order for society to continue to function normally. This is the cost of living in a modern society where we live in mass gathering of populated towns and cities. I’m quite certain that if a vehicle clips me while I’m out cycling, my helmet likely won’t do a damn thing to save me. Just like wearing a face mask “may” do nothing for me or the people around me. But I acknowledge two things: the first is that I can still observe my rights as a person while abiding by the rules. The second is that it costs me nothing, which tends to make peoples’ theatrics over most of these issues more than a bit ridiculous. this is why you’ll always see me do both those things, so long as it’s required of me. Food for thought… ☯️

On The Lighter Side…

It’s no secret that technology is quickly outrunning the generation trying to use it. More and more, it seems that every device or gadget has features and functions on it that I either completely ignore or can’t understand. I recently spoke to someone who was using a landline and she explained that she’s never had a cell phone and never plans to. I kind of miss those days. Don’t get me wrong, I love my smart phone and I wouldn’t see myself going without it. As a family man with responsibilities, it’s a great tool for managing my daily tasks.

One area where technology keeps moving ahead is with personal vehicles. I remember that my first car was an early 80’s Toyota hatchback, 3-speed transmission with only one side mirror and it didn’t even have a tape deck! Radio only. I absolutely loved that car but it had no power steering; you turned the vehicle on muscle power. It had halogen headlights that were yellowed and barely lit the road. It was the pinnacle of 1980’s imported vehicles, but compared to today, it was a piece of metal burning gas.

Last summer, and I probably wrote about this already, I purchased a 2021 Toyota hatchback as our household’s second vehicle. It was like coming full circle for me, since a Toyota hatchback had been my first vehicle. There’s still no tape deck. In fact, there’s no deck at all; music is played through Bluetooth on my phone. Amazingly, the vehicle has sensors that warns me if a vehicle is coming up alongside me and slowly steers me back if I start veering across median lines on the road. It’s pretty neat, albeit a bit concerning that my vehicle would have this sort of control while I’m driving.

Despite all the functions, my archaic ass has adjusted other them quite well and I enjoy driving the car. I never realized just how many features were involved until the road trip I was on, last week. Typically when I travel to Saskatoon for my eye injections or something, we’re looking at about two and half to three hours’ of travel time (I sometimes do it in less but I have friends who are still cops, so imma keep that shit to myself). I usually make a point of stopping once during that transit, either for coffee or to accommodate my Diabetic bladder.

On this particular trip, I was travelling from a city much farther north than I’m used to. As I was travelling alone and had skipped breakfast, I had no need of a washroom and I had filled my gas tank along the way. At roughly the 3-hour mark of traveling without stopping, I start hearing a beeping sound. It was unfamiliar but I assumed it was something on my insulin pump. Like a stubborn goon, I didn’t want to stop just to press a button so I tried to shimmy the pump out of my pocket (I was wearing jeans) without stopping or removing my seatbelt. Not my brightest moment but I managed it. In checking my pump, everything was clear and the alert wasn’t coming from the pump. I turned off the music right at the moment the chime went off again and realized that it was coming from the dash of the vehicle…

Apparently, I had been driving just long enough without stopping that my car decided to check up on me. I had never seen this happen before. I got a chuckle out of it, so I grabbed a quick snapshot. I guess in a world where “smart cars” are a thing, I should be overly surprised. But it’s nice to know that my car will give me a reminder if I’m behind the wheel too long. ☯️

A Modern Touch Of Nostalgia…

I had a bit of a unique experience on Monday night. The evening was carrying on as it often does in our household. My wife was working her remote job diligently in her home office, my oldest son was hiding away in his room like the preteen he’s becoming, and the toddler and i were relaxing downstairs, watching cartoons and doing laundry. Around 7 p.m., we got a doorbell ring. For the most part, our neighbourhood is pretty quiet and we rarely have someone come to our, with the notable exception of food delivery or the few door-to-door salespeople we get in the summer.

In answering the door, two young boys were standing there. Perhaps 12 or 13 years old, they were exactly what you would expect of boots their age. A bit disheveled but not necessarily dirty, hair all over the place and a kind of contained, quiet energy that they would access to at any moment. They asked me if I would like them to rake my front yard. I know a lot of people who would have simply said go ahead but this is 2024… I asked them how much they charge. They asked me what I thought was fair, so I told them if they would completely rake the front yard and bag the leaves, I would give them $20 each. I would even provide the bags. They agreed and went to the front yard to wait.

They had an interesting combination of eagerness and wariness and when I brought the rakes and bags to them, they actually asked me if I planned to rip them off. I asked them what they meant and they indicated that they’ve had a few households refuse to pay them afterwards. I flourished two crisp 20-dollar bills and explained that they knew where I lived and knew I was in the house. Refusal to pay would warrant them getting their parents involved and MAKING me pay, which seemed to satisfy them. The fact that some folks reneged on payment bothered me more than the fact they asked the question. I also explained that so long as they raked the yard properly and collected all the leaves, they would get paid. They soon got to work.

I did warn them that they only had about an hour of daylight left before it would start getting dark and it would be difficult to spot any missed leaves. My two sons were fascinated and were watching out the window. It was a good learning lesson for them as, at their age, I would have been the one doing the raking. My father wouldn’t have paid someone else to do it. I explained all of this to them. My toddler was totally on board with raking. My oldest kind of shrugged and retreated to the sanctuary of his room.

Shortly, the doorbell rang again and the boys said they were done. I stepped outside to “inspect” their work and I have to admit, the front yard looked pretty sweet. I fulfilled my part of the deal and paid them each their $20. I got to talking to them a bit and asked if they’d had the opportunity to do many yards in the neighbourhood. They replied that they hadn’t as many residents either didn’t want them doing it or planned on doing it themselves. They were trying to make and save up some money so they could pay for things throughout the summer.; something I rarely see in today’s youth, including my own children.

What was nice about this occurrence and why I felt it important to write about it is, I fancy myself as someone who doesn’t paint everyone with the same brush. It’s easy to consider modern youth to be tethered to their devices, vane and entitled and typically lazy. I’ll go out on a limb and admit that I’ve met many who are like this. The important lesson and the little ray of hope for the future, is that there are still those select few who will work for what they want or need and aren’t afraid to put themselves out there instead of hiding behind a screen. It reminded me a bit of myself when I was a kid. ☯️

Form vs. Force

There’s a significant division in martial arts circles surrounding the purpose and value of form or kata in martial arts training. People usually fall in one of two main camps; those who think kata is useful and those who do not. Reasonably speaking and for the most part, both sides have the ability to present cogent arguments to back up their position but the problem is that said position is often the result of subjectivity as a result of one’s specific style lacking forms or kata. Every style of Okinawan karate I’ve ever observed has had form, mine included.

From my perspective (because it’s the only one I can share), kata serves a number of purposes that I would argue is integral to proper martial arts training. For starters, it’s no secret that muscle memory plays a HUGE role in properly learning techniques. Kata allows a practitioner the opportunity to learn techniques in a timed, structured manner. Further, it allows you to practice in such a way that your footing, posture and placement are developed before trying to exert it at full force against an actual target or opponent. Balance and strength are also developed.

That last piece is the one that often divides discussion groups when it comes to form. Some seem to believe that there can be no strength or force exerted in a kata. I would argue that not only is this inaccurate but it certainly takes away from the purpose of the kata. In my style, Sensei would always have us train for each kata at three different speeds. The first speed would be a bit slower, with focus on stance and proper technique with minimal force behind the strikes. Second speed would involve moving a bit faster and third speed would essentially be full strength and speed, akin to a bunkai or kumite.

Such is the balance and symmetry of karate, that what is soft is also hard and vice versa. The same can be said in the dojo environment when training with others, which is the point of today’s post and something that irks me to no end. For the most part, learning a new technique and training with a partner involves a mutual respect and a lot of time and repetition. If I showed you a new kick and told you to go practice it at full strength against. One of your dojo-mates, not only would you likely fuck it up and learn it improperly but injury would likely ensue.

The flip side to that reality is that eventually, you’re gonna need to include the strength. One cannot effectively learn a technique, or KARATE for that matter, by always going slow and soft. While it may be great to say things like “it’s not a race” and “ the important part is to learn,” eventually it will become a moot point if you don’t develop the strength and speed aspects of those same techniques. Otherwise, light help you if you ever have to use one of those techniques to defend yourself or someone else. While learning the form of any given technique is key and necessary, the natural progression to one’s training HAS to include pushing the envelope.

Be leery of any dojo that not only shows little interest but actively discourages use of strength, sparring or other more intense styles of study. It’s important to eventually push yourself beyond form so that strength, speed and precision can become common place. Otherwise, you may as well go join a knitting circle. ☯️

From The Depths Of Memory…

I’ve usually written on this particular subject and person every year at this time, so I’m going to do something that’s reasonably out of character for me… I’m going to apologize for being repetitive. For those of you who are recent followers, hopefully you learn something from the post. Granted, last year I made an intentional point NOT to write about this particular topic in the hopes of finding a different way to cope and remember… As with most things in life, everything comes full circle and since a colleague of mine recently experienced the very thing I’m about to write on, today’s date has come stretching from the depths of memory. Today is the anniversary of my brother’s death.

First and foremost, and just a touch embarrassingly, I learned a couple of years ago that my brother’s death took place on April 5th, not April 4th. My mother turned over a folder of medical and personal records for my brother some time ago that revealed the correct date of death. I attribute that oversight to the length of time that’ elapsed mixed with the skewed and grieving perspective of a twelve-year old boy. It also didn’t help that this took place in the early morning hours, long before the sun had come up. But in an effort to share my thoughts and experiences, I usually write something about my brother. This time, I’d like to write about my experience on that night and how it changed me forever. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that today is a Friday, as was the fateful April 5th when I would see my brother for the last time. Here’s what went down…

It had been a pretty typical week for our household. Every Monday morning, my brother would be brought to the local hospital for routine bloodwork. Routine for everyone else but given all the health conditions he was afflicted with, the results of that blood work would determine whether he could live out the week at home or be rushed to Montreal to attend the children’s hospital. This week saw his blood work clear; at least, as clear as it could be for him. However, he felt ill and couldn’t shake the exhaustion that seemed to plague him. Living with essentially a non-existent immune system, getting sick was a big deal for him, even when it was something simple like a cold. By mid-week, my mother had admitted him to the hospital for breathing difficulties and to help get over whatever bug he may have caught.

People often read things online about how someone may do something or see someone for the last time and not even realize it. I experienced this firsthand as I visited with my brother earlier in the week. He and my mother spoke and like the average pre-teen, I was antsy and fidgeting to leave. With time and the maturity of adulthood, I like to think that if I’d had known that it would be my last time seeing my brother alive, I would have clung to his bedside like a drowning victim to a life preserver. But I didn’t. Instead, we left the hospital that day with “goodbyes” and “see you tomorrows” and made our way home; confident in the fact that this was status quo and he would be out of the hospital in a few days as usual.

Friday was a pretty normal day for me. I went to school, came home, had a bite to eat and my mother would be headed to her weekly bingo game at the Lion’s Club. This was my mother’s one and only outing that she ever went on. She had a three or four women that she had known for decades and their evenings would usually include a couple of hours of bingo games followed y a small snack at a local restaurant. On this Friday, and given the fact that cell phones weren’t a thing yet, I was pretty confident that my mother had gone out to her game. After all, everything felt routine, as I mentioned earlier. My brother being admitted to the hospital was right on the ground floor of normal for us. So I fail to understand how what happened next came to be…

I was awoken suddenly by a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. My room was quiet and all I could hear was a soft crying, coming from the living room. I assumed it was coming from whatever show or movie my father might have been watching. I glanced at my alarm clock to note that it was a few minutes past midnight and it only took a few minutes more to realize that the crying was coming from my mother. A heightened sense of fear mixed with what I can only describe as that feeling when an elevator goes down after expecting it to go up, was nestled deep in my gut. I stayed motionless, afraid to move and bring about whatever had caused my mother to cry. After several minutes, she came to my bedroom and sat on my bed, apparently oblivious to the fact that I was awake at this hour. She explained in short, forced words that I needed to get up and get dressed. We had to get to the hospital to say goodbye. Today was the day my brother would die.

Having grown up in hospitals, both for myself and for my brother, I considered myself something of a knowledgable person when it came to death. I understood the processes of life far better than my counterparts, which I’m not saying is a good thing for a kid at my age but I knew what was coming and none of it was good. At only 18-years old, my brother rightfully should have had decades of life ahead of him, if not for a cruel twist of fate that had him start life with a number of his organs unsuited to support life. I threw on whatever clothes I could grab, oblivious of what the garments were and trying to get it all on through blinding tears.We stepped out into the night’s chill and piled into the family car and I sat silently as we drove the short distance to the only hospital we had in town.

We rode the elevator up to the floor that housed the ward my brother was staying on. When we stepped off the elevator, two things happened; our family doctor, Dr. Furlong, met us at the landing. The second is I could hear the low, pained sounds of my brother’s moans floating down the hallway. our doctor took a few moments to explain that there was nothing to be done, he wasn’t in pain, despite the sounds coming from his room and that this would be our opportunity to say our goodbyes as he would never wake again. We walked to the room and found him lying there. Tightly covered in white, starched sheets to keep him warm. Machines and tubes attached to his arms, legs and face. And every few minutes, a low moan escaped his mouth, which was the only indication we had that he was still alive.

After a short period, other family showed up. My mother soon arranged for nursing staff to take me to a different room so I could “get some sleep.” I remember thinking that sleep was the last thing I would be doing but knew enough to keep my thoughts to myself and followed the nurse out into the hallway. I was brought to the other side of the hospital, which was only a short distance away (our hospital was a pretty vanilla, small facility. Google St. Jospeh’s Hospital in Dalhousie, New Brunswick, and you’ll see what I mean). I was given a bed and I was essentially out of earshot of my brother’s voice. As I lay in the bed, crying and contemplating what life would be like without my brother, I was visited frequently by my father, my doctor and some nursing staff. A few were even glib enough to suggest I needed to get some sleep as it was the middle of the night. Idiots.

Oddly enough and something that I’ve never been able to explain since, is it took a couple of hours but I suddenly found myself drifting off to sleep. I had a nurse at my bedside and my father came in shortly thereafter and woke me. It appeared that my brother had passed away. What was odd, is that according to the nurse and my family, I had apparently fallen asleep at the same moment as my brother’s life ended. I was walked back to his room where, my mother was sitting in a chair with him cradled tightly in her arms. He was still and quiet. I could almost understand how people associated death with peace. He showed no signs of pain, no signs of illness. He looked like he was in a deep sleep. In the moment that it took for my brother’s life to end, my whole family’s life had changed forever.

The days that followed were a blur. The wake, the funeral and the sympathetic words from others who either couldn’t or shouldn’t understand. My parents and I took a brief trip up the coast afterwards in an effort to “get away” from everything. But the reality was firmly in place; my older brother was dead and nothing would change that fact. I remember thinking that my return to school was more tedious than difficult. At some point, having everyone tell you how sorry they are and asking you how you’re doing causes more damage than good. It took some time but life began to slowly move back to some level of normalcy, albeit with some noticeable changes. My mother now had an abundance of free time, due to the lack of medical appointments and acre for my brother. One would assume this would be a relief but when one is grieving, free time can be a horrible thing.

I always say that I learned more from my brother than from any other person in my life. Despite how sick he was, always standing at the threshold of death’s door and with the end of his life always hanging in the balance, he had a love of life and others, a smile that never faltered and an appreciation for all the people and things in his life that made it so wonderful. The irony is not lost on me that it always seems to be those whose life is slated to end so soon that appreciate and love everything far more than those with a full and healthy life do. It’s the latter that should ultimately appreciate the gift of life and make the most out of it. My brother wasn’t so lucky. I often believed that to be in his shoes, I would have been angry and bitter at the world, resentful of the fact I would die, knowing that others who appreciated it less would go on. But not him. He loved everyone. He loved everything. He lived life to its fullest for the short 18 years that he had it.

It’s hard to believe it’s been 33 years since he died. One thing about one’s brother’s dying is the wound never closes. And I don’t think it’s meant to close. It’s up to me to remember him and everything he stood for. Knowing how hard he fought to keep living the life he loved so much is what motivated me to fight so hard to preserve mine. He would be turning 52 years old, this year. I can imagine him playing with my kids, spending time with my family and continuing to enjoy life. He wouldn’t know how to do otherwise. The world could take a lesson from him. That’s probably why I’ve grown to have so little tolerance for bullshit and people’s petty squabbles and entitlements. Rest in peace, brother. ☯️

Always Something Else…

Life is all about finding balance and recognize the positive, despite the occasional shit storms of negative. This isn’t always an easy thing and some folks don’t do so well with focusing on the positive. I can freely admit that I’ve been guilty of this, myself. Often feeling depressed or despondent at the aspects of life I don’t have, as opposed to appreciating and liking the things I do have. I think we would all agree that there are integral aspects of life that will always be more important than everything else. These include family, health and a safe living environment. But the daily rigors of life sure can make those aspects hard to appreciate, sometimes…

I know for a fact that I’m not the only who’s been there. The work day is done and I slowly trudge my way to my car. Tired, head pounding and perhaps even a touch on the sweaty side, despite sitting in an office all day, I eagerly yearn for a period of quiet serenity in the safety of my home. Unfortunately, life rarely cares about one’s plan, which is a doctrine I use in daily life. My trip home is anything but serene as every fucker and their dog conveniently decides to choose THAT moment to head home as well, burying me in a flood of traffic, rude and incompetent drivers and turning what should be a 10-minute drive into nearly half an hour. Certain needs at home prompt a stop at the local market, where I contend with slow walkers, gawkers who seem to think they need to block every aisle as they blankly stare at one product for minutes on end and staff who believe it’s okay to sweep at my feet as I shop. Even the self-checkout, which I assume will give me respite from interacting with others, causes me issues as there is always an item that doesn’t go through or an issue with the scale that prompts the required intervention of staff.

Getting home doesn’t provide the sanctuary I had hoped, as my children all but pounce on me as I walk in the door. Exasperated and tired with my hands full, I resent their level of energy and the fact they don’t permit me to get in the door and offload my burdens before piling on with theirs. I then find myself needing to pass on necessary information from the day to my wife, who also provides key messaging about our oldest’s school day and things that are needed around the house. All of this takes place before I have even unknotted my tie. This is followed by trying to determine a meal that all four family members will gladly eat as well as where to eat it, since my toddler has commandeered the dining table for his latest, greatest Duplo block creation and there is no room to dine effectively. My oldest retreats to his bedroom, already exhibiting teen tendencies despite only being nine years old.

Once supper is done, the burden of daily chores that don’t happen on their own begin to take place. Dishes, laundry, washing the kids and getting them prepared for bed in a timely fashion consumes the majority of the evening. once all of this is accomplished, I may have a brief hour of uninterrupted quiet to myself before my aging body tells me I need to lie down for the night or potentially face deeper exhaustion the following day. All of this is keeping in mind that some nights involve trying to hit up karate class or bringing my oldest to Scouts, which adds a further delay to the evening and potentially a later bedtime. Then, if I’m lucky, I may sleep through the night or I may face issues with my blood sugars that will have me lose several hours of much-needed rest. And the hours I do get aren’t adequate as they are few and far between and sleep isn’t cumulative; you normally have to get it al in, in one sitting. Wash, rinse and repeat…

If one were to read through that narrative, it would likely be agreed that it seems pretty bleak and negative. Sounds horrible on its face, actually. It depicts the daily life of someone with little to no time for themselves and who spends their day in a perpetual state of servitude. It’s how most people go through life and how they see things. Sure, some will usually find escape in certain activities like sporting events, evenings out with the guys or hitting the local watering hole. These things don’t offer a solution to the burdens of life but rather compound them as any of them means time away from your home and family. And the requirements of life outlined above don’t go away; they just keep piling up until they’re dealt with.

That being said, there are always two sides to the scale and for every negative, there must absolutely and inevitably be, a positive. Such is balance. So while the average person may be exasperated and fed up with their daily grind, there is a sugar-coated, frosted silver lining to their dark cloud that most people choose not to acknowledge. Read the narrative of my daily grind from above one more time. Recognize how it might seem negative on its surface but take note of the important aspects of life that it includes. Now come back and read the following paragraphs, that outline the positivity to that narrative…

I have a job. I have stable, sustainable employment. Let me say that again: I HAVE A FUCKING JOB! This is important because realistically, not everyone today has stable employment. That, or they don’t make enough money to sustain their household’s needs. I’m blessed with the fact that not only do I have a job that ensures a daily work/life balance, it provides enough financial security to allow me to provide for my family and all of our needs. And if that wasn’t enough icing on the cake, I just happen to work a job where I get to help people and this provides satisfaction that I wouldn’t get elsewhere. Although most of us would love to win the lottery and spend our days sprawled in a hammock, there’s something to be said for having this aspect in one’s life. And it leads to many of the other points in the daily routine…

Being able to stop in at the grocery store and having ready access to whatever food and dietary needs my family may have, is a gift and blessing in and of itself. Not everyone is so lucky, In fact there are more and more people in Canada going without adequate food with every passing year. Despite traffic jams and other drivers, I am financially stable enough to have a safe, reliable means of travel that I not only use to come and go from my job but to transport my family to whatever we need to do, as well. I so often see people walking or standing at the bus stop, their hands full and their backs burdened, carrying several bags of groceries because they don’t have a car to get home. Or walking to their job in the rain because they can’t financially sustain themselves to purchase a vehicle.

When one gets home, one would expect to have some peace and quiet. Although it would be lovely to be able to step in, drop my burdens and change out of my daily work attire, it’s a blessing to have people who love me greet me excitedly at the door. To know that I was missed and that others are happy to have me home is a blessing, one that needs to be appreciated and recognized as opposed to resented. Given that for years, I wasn’t even certain if Diabetes would allow me to have children, they need to be seen for the acknowledged miracle that they are. Too many people spend their lives in a state of imposed solitude. Alone and with no one to help them through the struggles of life. My wife is a damn veteran in dealing with life and walking with me through the difficulties it presents.

Last but not least is how lucky I am to have access to medicines and technology that make the managing of my Type-1 Diabetes not only possible, but sustainably easy. If I were born a century ago, I would have lived for a couple of weeks past my diagnosis before succumbing and dying to Diabetic symptoms. Hell, I was born in the 1970’s and even then, our lack of understanding and poor technology was enough to put my life in peril. Nowadays, the access to insulin and medications needed to keep me alive and healthy is nothing short of miraculous. Despite the occasional issue, I live well. My insulin pump is a piece of absolute, fucking technological marvel and I can’t imagine ever going back to life without it.

The point I’m trying to make with this long-winded post, if you’ve managed ot keep reading this far, is that life is good. Despite the fact that most people choose to see life through the first lens, it’s important to acknowledge the positivity that comes with seeing it through the second lens. Doing so will help you in recognizing that even when you’re tired and exasperated with life, you should be happy and fortunate with all of the good things you have in your life that not only make your life worth living but add significance substance to who you are as a person. A secure job, safe, comfortable home and a loving family are aspects of life to be revered and appreciated. Doing so will ensure a deeper sense of happiness and accomplishment in life. Food for thought… ☯️

Plan Ahead or Else…

Variety is the spice of life… Or so I’ve been told. Training in the martial arts is a puzzle with a million pieces that requires the practitioner to acquire a new piece every class. Otherwise, the full picture will never come to fruition. That being said, studying and teaching are two very different things. Even if you have an excellent teacher/instructor and train hard, manage to absorb all those teachings and become a stellar practitioner of your respective art, passing on those teachings is an entirely different bag. And it’s certainly not everyone’s cup of tea. I was often considered one of my Sensei’s most promising students. That probably sounds like I’m bragging and, well… I AM. But it’s also the truth. I lived, breathed and existed only for karate until I hit my thirties.

When I was in my mid-twenties, we opened a second dojo and Sensei asked me to lead it. I excitedly accepted, looking forward to passing on everything I had learned to the next generation of karateka. Sounds ambitious, right? I lasted six months. Although I definitely have the ability to impart knowledge and teach karate to someone else, leading an entire class was definitely not MY cup of tea and I found myself leaning on Sensei to lead classes more than I did. It taught me an important lesson about the humility required to accept what niches one can operate within. And one important detail I learned, is that you need to preplan your classes and have at least some mild semblance of what you’re going to teach on a given night.

Just winging it once the class opens up is not an option. Although being fluid and adaptable is an important part of karate, you should have at least some passing idea of what concept you intend to cover on a given night. Maybe you want to focus on kicks. Maybe it’ll be blocks or you’ll do stations to build some cardio and break a sweat. In any event, starting a class and waiting to see “where the evening will take you” is not an ideal way to impart knowledge on a student. This is why you need to at least come up with some modicum of an idea on what you’ll cover. This is also extremely important in order to keep students engaged and allow them to progress. Although I’ll be the first to admit that the belt is not important, it’s the learning, that learning does need to take place.

Variety is also incredibly important. Especially in today’s world of “right here right now,” doing the same routine over and over again, every night and in every class, can lead to negative results and the loss of practitioners. Eventually, the students will move on. And then, who will carry on the teachings? Everything, from your warm up to your core teachings to how you close out the class or allow students to train and practice on their own will ultimately show the results of what direction your dojo will take and what future it maintains. And last but not least, know what YOU want. If you don’t want to be teaching, then don’t. There’s nothing worse than an instructor who’s doing it because they think they have to. This leads to phoning it in and your students will ultimately pay the price. Food for thought… ☯️

Deadly Roller-Coasters (yet Another Diabetes Story…)

It’s been a hellish week for me and given that it’s only Wednesday, that’s saying quite a bit. Last Thursday, I had the benefit of going out for drinks and games with some associates of mine. For anyone who knows me, that’s a rare and unusual occurrence for me. As much as I immerse myself in time at home and running errands, it’s nice to occasionally grab a pint and let one’s hair down. Conceptually speaking, of course. I’m bald. But it was a god evening of a couple of pint of white IPA (my colleague’s idea) and a platter of appetizers, couple by unlimited access to games and challenges. We spent only a few hours before I made my way home to crash. All seemed right with the world.

Over the past decade, I’ve come to learn that having Type-1 Diabetes shouldn’t prevent you from enjoying the things in life that everyone else does. That’s a pretty broad statement and one that, while certainly applicable, doesn’t always work out the way we want. Even if my endocrinologist tells me I can enjoy that large wedge of chocolate cake thanks to my insulin pump doesn’t mean that it won’t completely fuck with my blood sugars while the insulin is trying to catch up. Some of it is timing, some of it is calculating carbs and some of it is just plain ol’ luck. But on occasion, there’s just no accounting for the uncertainties. A plate of random appetizers is extremely difficult to carb-count.

I woke up at about 2 in the morning with blood sugars reading at about 30 mmol/L. Yes, you read that right. Fuckin’ 30! For you non-Diabetics out there, normal range is between 5.0 to 7.0 mmol/L so sitting at 30 involves a whole slew of bad bullshit that happens inside the body. And outside, if you include the vomiting. But we’ll get to that. I got home at about 8:30 pm on Thursday evening and my CGM sensor expired. Just my luck. Since it takes about two hours for a fresh sensor to warm-up and calibrate, I was in for a bit of a late evening. Nonetheless, I charged the transmitter, grabbed a shower (bare abdomens mean Diabetic happy showers) and installed the new sensor. I calibrated around 11:00 pm and hit the sack, exhausted at having actually gone out into public and done things. I anticipated going into work the following morning.

On the Friday morning, I did my usual thing, which includes hitting the ground running. Since I had showered the previous evening, I had a bit of a head start. I prepped some lunch, packed my work bag and got dressed in casual attire, since it was “jeans Friday.” By the time I got to my office, the veneer of starting my day had worn off and I started to feel it… An intense feeling of nausea and body pain, specifically in the joints and muscles. I got through the start of my daily routine at the office but I was distracted and unable to focus. My boss came in and took one look at me and told me I looked like shit. I couldn’t fault him because he was right. I was an unpleasant shade of grey, sweating through my shirt and felt as though I might pass out.

You may have heard the expression that the shoemakers kids go barefoot… I’ve always been far better at encouraging other to get rest and be healthy than I am at taking care of myself. Oh, I can rock this whole T1D thing like nobody’s business but I tend to fend off and stubbornly press through anything that seems like common symptoms. On this occasion, I chose to take my boss’ advice and packed up to return home. It turned out to be a good idea since, I barely had time to dump my bag and remove my jacket before running to the bathroom and purging the limited contents of my stomach. The pain was unreal. Ai this point, I realized I should lie down. I should point out that I had been spending most of the night bolusing and slowly bringing my blood sugar down. I woke up ayt 14 mmol/L, which is not great but it’s a far cry better than 30.

Over the next 48 hours, I consistently retested my blood sugars, bolused additional amounts to keep bringing my blood sugars down and try to feel better. I sipped ginger ale and sugar-free Gatorade to keep myself hydrated. Given the pain I felt, I knew I was dehydrated but if I had to venture a guess, I’d say I was in some level of ketoacidosis. It wasn’t until about 8 pm on Friday night that my blood sugar had dropped low enough to allow me to have something to eat. I ate sparingly, concerned I would just spew it all up. But it stuck. I changed my infusion set once, believing I was possibly not getting the doses I needed. Absorbtion rates can differ depending on where your infusion set sits or how much scar tissue you have. I also took a couple of manual injections when I realized that despite an empty stomach and plenty of bolusing, my levels didn’t seem to be coming down.

It was a hellish weekend and by Sunday morning, my throat felt raw and on fire. The pain was at a level that was radiating into my ears and head. Acetaminophen had zero effect. No surprise there; it never does for anything I get. I finally went to the pharmacy and got some over-the-counter throat spray. The problem with those sprays is actually having shoot to the back of your throat properly. Yes, I heard it as I typed it. Let’s move on… I eventually moved on to a homeopathic throat syrup that worked far better. A mild, minty-hint of Ibuprofen later, the pain passed just enough that I was able to get some semblance of a night’s sleep on Sunday. Going back into work on Monday was far easier. But the pain was ever-present. Here’s where I start bashing the current state of our health care system. Buckle up…

On Monday afternoon, I attended a walk-in clinic at about 4:15 pm. Pay close attention to the fact I stated it was a WALK IN CLINIC. I was told that walk-ins would only be accepted as of 5 pm. Hmm, interesting and mildly stupid but okay. I offered to give my information and be called in at 5 pm. The receptionist refused, citing my check-in couldn’t be accepted UNTIL 5 pm. Fuck me. So they expected me to cross one of the busiest boulevards in the city during a key traffic point of the day. Say it with me: HAPPEN. NOT. GONNA. I stopped at the next clinic on my route home. This is also a walk-in clinic AND there was a huge decal on the window boasting that the walk-in clinic is open from Monday to Thursday until 7 pm. Another rather important detail to bear in mind.

I walked into this second location and the first thing I noticed is that the lobby was completely empty. It was 4:25 pm. I walked up to the reception counter and presented my health card. When I was asked if I had an appointment, I said no. She explained that they were “no longer accepting walk-ins.” I asked how a walk-in clinic could not accept walk-ins, to which she replied that they were closing shortly. I checked my watch in the event I had suddenly shifted forward in time. She said they were closing at 5 pm and I pointed out that they’re door sign said they were open until 7 pm. She didn’t believe me, despite it being on THEIR FUCKIN’ DOOR!!! I also pointed out that their lobby appeared empty and I just needed five minutes for the doctor to look at my throat and potentially subscribe something. It was unreasonable for them to turn patients away with 35 minutes left to the day. She suggested I go to the other location I had attended as they accept walk-ins as of 5 o’clock.

I managed to get home despite the heated anger building behind my eyes. My recipe of Ibuprofen and throat syrup saw me through another “reasonable” night’s sleep but on Tuesday morning, I attended a couple of meetings where I had to speak through most of it and my throat caught fire. I had had enough. One of my colleagues mentioned a walk-in clinic in the downtown core, which was close. I cleared it with my boss and went down. To my surprise, I got in within 15 minutes. Unfortunately, besides a bit of throat irritation, the doctor didn’t find anything. When I asked why the pain would be so bad and radiating into my ears and head, I was told people manage pain differently. Fuck my life. Because I DON’T routinely get needles in my eyes, have had bleeding ulcers and broken bones. A sore throat is putting me down this hard? I somehow don’t think so.

As of today, the pain has almost disappeared but the throat still stings a bit. The whole blood sugar issue was extreme and is something I never want to go through again. It was also dangerous and rather stupid, on my part. As I get older, recovering from these sort of things is becoming harder and harder. Given the high blood sugars and how long it was taking for it to come down, I likely should have sought emergency medical attention. Woulda, coulda, shoulda… But there were definitely some lessons there, for me. Next time, I might just skip the appetizers. Eating any amount of something I can’t positively crab-count is never ideal. With the weekend coming up, hopefully I fare just a little bit better. Diabetes certainly makes every day interesting. ☯️

Read Your Labels… (A Diabetes Story)

I’ve spent more years treating Type-1 Diabetes than not. It’s sometimes hard for me to imagine a time when I WASN’T Diabetic. By virtue of this, I often find myself in a position where I become… shawl we say, complacent? Laziness has never been an issue for me but I would be lying if I said that I don’t occasionally get a bit too comfortable with certain routines and overlook some important details. And as anyone living with Type-! Diabetes will agree, even a small detail can be an important one and can adversely affect you.

One of those details is the proper and thorough reading of the nutritional label on absolutely everything I eat and drink. The reason behind this is quite simple: I need to know the amount of carbohydrates I’m ingesting. Although I’m quick to say how marvellous a piece of technology my insulin pump may be, it still requires significant attention and care on the user’s part to ensure everything is working as it should. Letting my pump know how many grams of carbs I’m about to eat allows it to inject the proper amount of insulin for my meal according to the different ratios I have programmed for the different times of the day.

This is where my tale begins… Over recent years, we’ve started buying large, club pack boxes of ramen noodles. Setting aside for a moment that one pack of ramen noodles contain more than half one’s daily intake of sodium, they often make a quick meal when there’s little else available. It’s also a great “sometimes” meal for my boys on the weekend, who tend to be fussy as fuck and will barely touch prepared meals that my wife and I make. We’ve taken to buying the chicken-flavoured no name brand, since it costs a bit less and no one in the house will eat any of the other flavours, other than myself. This is where my complacency comes into play…

For years, I’ve been accustomed to the fact that each pack of ramen noodles contains about 50 grams of carbs, give or take. And I usually bolus for this amount. I rarely question this and I don’t bother checking the label as it’s the same stuff, every time I have one. Yesterday, my wife and I took our boys to the grocery store to grab a few items as we had also completely ran out of ramen noodles. As usual, I grabbed a club pack box of the chicken flavoured for everyone to have but I also decided to grab a few name brand ramen noodles in the other flavours. I grabbed a beef, a shrimp and an oriental flavour. I figured I could bring one to work sometime in the next week.

So today, I decided to crack open the oriental flavour for lunch. As I was mixing the noodles and seasoning with the water, I decided to glance at the nutritional label, since its’ theoretically something new, given that it’s name brand, and maybe the carb count is different. See? I’m not completely negligent. I do TRY to stay on track. Anyway, I was surprised to see that not only was the carb count about half of what the no name brand usually has, the package size is also much smaller. This struck me as odd but I didn’t question it and bolused accordingly. I proceeded to enjoy my noodles while I worked.

About an hour later, I started to feel flush and nauseous and couldn’t seem to sit still. I pulled out my pump and noted that my blood sugar levels were rising pretty damn quickly. The CGM reading had three arrows pointing straight up which, for you non-Diabetics, means my levels were skyrocketing. I was mildly confused but bolused a correction dose of insulin to counteract the high. I remembered I had a spare package of no name noodles in my desk and pulled it out. Same as usual, the total carb count was shy over 50 grams. What I realized is that the package didn’t really feel bigger than the name brand one.

I pulled the wrapper out of the trash and took another look at the nutritional label. There it was… the smaller size was because the label measured on SERVING, not one PACKAGE. And one serving was approximately half of the package, which is why the carb count was so much lower. In reality, the total package was abut the same as the no name brand. Now, I don’t know who the hell would prepare and only eat half a pack of ramen noodles or what kind of communist bullshit that serving size is, but shame on me for not picking up on that. The result was an adverse effect on my blood sugars.

So, the important takeaway for today’s post is to pay attention to details and read your nutritional labels carefully. Bolusing properly can be difficult at the best of times, even when there is a label. But overlooking small details such as serving size can have a meaningful impact on proper control. And there’s nothing worse than being on the blood sugar roller coaster; where you’re high so you can correct, then you drop low and have to treat. Wash, rinse and repeat. I’ll be watching my nutritional labels far closer now, believe me. ☯️

Preparing For The Road…

Travelling is often considered one of the best ways of taking a vacation. That’s why most people use the saying “getting away from it all” when they go somewhere. But for someone with Type-1 Diabetes, travelling can present its own set of headaches and problems that often just doesn’t make it worth one’s while to take a trip. I’ve posted often before about what people should bring with them or carry in their vehicles while travelling, especially in the winter. But while rounding the corner on 1,600 posts, who the hell remembers what I provided three or four years ago. By virtue of this, today’s post will focus mostly on my own experience and what you should bring with you, if you have Type-1 Diabetes.

I think there’s a distinct irony in the fact that until about ten years ago, travel was no big deal. A couple of boxes of insulin, a box of syringes and my glucometer with a full jar of strips and I was off to the races. My biggest issue was worrying about getting through security at an airport with all the sharps in my bag but besides the occasional longer time to get processed through, I’ve honestly never had a problem. But these days while being on pump therapy, I fnd myself needing to pack and carry about a dozen separate components, most of which act off of one another so forgetting one is just as bad as having brought nothing at all. I still aheva bit of an extended wait time at airport security and often need to be patted down since I have medical devices attached to my body, but I still don’t have significant issue in that area.

Whether I’m driving or flying, the main nissue comes with proper preparation and packing before the trip even happens. For example, we’ll start with the most important piece of equipment, which is my insulin pump. What’s nice about the pump is I use a model that has continuous glucose monitoring and tracks my blood every five minutes, making micro-adjustments as I go through my day. This can be exceptionally important while travelling since, as you all know, absolutely EVERYTHING affects blood sugars. But the pump itself uses four separate components (including the pump itself) that need to be changed out every three days. Time and insulin calculations can make the difference between having a smooth trip or scrambling to the nearest pharmacy to try and figure out if they carry what you need. For the pump, this includes the insulin reservoir, the infusion set and the bottle of insulin. It’s kind of hard to travel WITHOUT the pump, since its attached to me. In ten years of being on pump therapy, I’ve yet to leave the house without it.

My CGM, or continuous glucose monitor, is even worse. It uses five separate components, including the inserter, adhesive bandage, the sensor, transmitter and charging cradle. Every time I cahnge this bad boy, I need to put the transmitter into the charging cradle for about an hour. Then all the other components come into play. A small price to pay for well-controlled blood sugars but if you’re keeping score, we’re slowly creeping towards a dozen separate pieces of equipment I need to drag with me when I travel. This is why the calculation is important. For example, I’m currently sitting in a hotel room in Saskatoon where I travelled for my scheduled eye injections. Although I’m only away from home for a little over 24 hours, I checked how many units of insulin I had left in my pump and “assumed” I would have enough to last until I get home. But it’s surprising how many carbs were in that burger and fries I had the previous night. By the time I rolled out of bed about an hour ago, I only had five units left. Thank the light I brought a spare set of everything…

And that’s the take away lesson for today. Bringing extras of everything, even when you don’t believe you’ll need them, will avoid problems and make your trip smoother and less stressful. Calculate how many infusion sets and CGM sensors you’ll need and double it. After all, it may not just be your schedule or your usage you have to contend with. What if you have a set failure? What if you sit in a hot tub at the hotel and fry your sensor? What if your infusion set gets ripped out by something? These are all things that I’ve had happen to me. Always bring more than you need and that includes your insulin. Bearing in mind that I’m aware that not folks are in a position and have the additional resources and equipment to always carry extra, of course.

Over the years, a key component I’ve always carried with me is a full bag of skittles or gummy bears. yes, you read that right… While some folks use orange juice ro something similar, that shit takes FOREVER to work on me, if I’m having a low. If boarding a flight or travelling a long distance on the road, you may find yourself in a compromised position if you have a low and suddenly can’t get immediate access to something sugary. If you’re travelling the vast expanses of Canadian highway with hours between stops when you suffer a low, that bag of skittles could mean the difference between carrying on safely or finding yourself in a seriously compromised position.

All of this should be pretty common sense, especially if one has had Diabetes for any significant amount of time. On a final note, keeping a small, basic first aid kit with you is always a good idea. Basic kits will usually come with small bandages, adhesive tape and bandaids. People with Type-1 Diabetes are prone to infections when an injury happens. That cut you got while hiking or the knee you scraped falling off your bike, can become a problem quickly, if left untreated for a significant period of time. Quickly cleaning it and slapping a band aid on until you get home can make all the difference. Unexpected injuries can occur while travelling, as well. These are just basic steps to try and take some of the stress off of travelling. Given the added steps and effort it takes, sometimes it doesn’t seem worth travelling. But it also isn’t worth staying hidden at home to avoid that effort. Not my style. Diabetes shouldn’t prevent you from doing anything you want to have a happier life. Food for thought… ☯️

Food For Thought…

It’s ironic because I end so many of my posts with the phrase in today’s title but I just couldn’t help myself. As I‘ve often written before, living with Type-1 Diabetes comes with a broad set of difficulties that can make navigating daily life more complicated than it needs to be. From having to measure and calculate everything you, when you sleep and how much you work out, to dealing with equipment failures and battery replacements all while never being quite sure if you’re doing it all right can be exhausting. And one’s personal nutrition through all that mess is no exception.

As with many of my posts, I’ll start using off by clearly stating that I am not a nutritionist, dietitian or medical professional and that you should always consult your family doctor or medical practitioner before starting (or stopping) any particular dietary regimen. Unlike my experience in karate, I post these things based solely on my own experience and what I’ve found to be true. But what works for me may not work for you, which is why it’s important to consult a professional. That being said, I’ll touch on that last point. Bit later in this post.

It wasn’t until 2014 that I figured out that crab-counting was a thing. That may shock some people but throughout my childhood, Type-1 Diabetes or “Juvenile Diabetes“ as it was called at the time, involved taking your one shot of NPH insulin in the morning and staying away from sugar. That was essentially it. My parents were never provided any education on how carbohydrates basically equate to sugar and affect blood sugars in much the same way. Hungry? Here, have a slice of bread with peanut butter. There’s no sugar in that. Thirsty? Here, have a glass of milk, there’s no sugar in that… I cringe, even just writing that, as I imagine the dozens of carbs being pumped into my young body without the realization that it will adversely affect my blood sugars.

This would be the reason why I suffered the most of my complications throughout my childhood and before I entered adult life. The early damage to my eyes, the comas I suffered through and my insufferable mood swings in my teens that were aggravated by being a teenager likely could have been avoided, or at least improved, had we known about carb counting. I say “we” because as a child, I consider it to have been my parents’ responsibility to look into and acknowledge these things. But as I grew into adulthood, my knowledge of Diabetes was somewhat skewed by the practices observed by nut family during my childhood. Although inherently no one’s fault, I often wonder what might have been different, had I been armed with the knowledge I have now.

Starting on insulin pump therapy and being trained in carb counting back in 2014 changed the game significantly. I began to see markedly improved blood sugar control, better A1C results and things were looking up. But as time marches on, so does the wear and tear on one’s body, which leads to different complications. For me, the ever-present “dad bod” and the apparent inability to lose weight despite a reasonable diet and proper exercise, has begun to cause some issues with my kidneys and has led to some pretty radical lifestyle changes, not least of which is my starting on Ozempic. I’ve posted about this a couple of times already but I will update that since starting on it, I’ve lost nearly 30 pounds, which is no doubt helpful.

Although weight loss and proper exercise are important, what you stuff in your mouth is JUST as important. And starts with you. I’ve always been a bit of a heavy eater but I always justified it with the fact that I work out consistently and keep active. But my gut has always persisted. Some people have often tried to get me on fad diets, keto-this or paleo-that… The bottom line and what needs to be acknowledged by anyone, is that weight loss requires a healthy diet coupled with regular, rigorous activity. Full stop. Although some fad diets will work for some, they likely won’t work for others. It’s important to remember that every person is different, so if cutting out certain foods helps you shed some pounds, good for you! The next person who tries that same thing may lose no weight at all. This can lead to discouragement and giving up on losing weight.

That’s why, much like the martial arts, one’s weight-loss journey will be unique to them and they need to find the method that works for THEM, not the one that your favourite celebrity is toting on the infomercial. Portion size has been a big thing for me. Instead of a full plate of food, cut it back to half. Less calories means better weight management. Although the base concepts are pretty simple and make plenty of sense, regardless of what diet you’re trying to follow, it amazing how that detail seems to slip past everyone’s mind. And that, my friends, is food for thought… ☯️