 I’m reeling this morning.
Cancer just sucked the life out of one of my oldest and most beloved friends. I got the news today that his 15-round slugfest with the Big C ended not with a bang, but with a light coma and a gentle snuffing out of this man’s utterly remarkable life force. It’s ironic. Much easier for me to imagine his chute not opening, or his belay failing, or his dhow foundering. But then, to his absolute credit, he would have lived through each of those scenarios to regale us with the details about how he had stared Death down… and won. I knew Jay best when we were immortal—invincible post-high school bucks bent on shucking the world that was our oyster. Our paths diverged in our mid-20s: Jay took the road less traveled. Less traveled? Hell, he orienteered, trekked, surveyed, bulldozed and mapped his own road. But early on, I had the fortune of living, fishing, hitchhiking, being bit by wanderlust with him, and benefitting from his infectious sense of adventure, while longing for some of his devil-may-care persona to inform my own. And that’s where I find myself this morning. As I maneuver the shoals of Jay’s death, I’m struck by wanting to keep it real—with my clients, with my family and friends, with my life. What does keeping it real look like from this fitness professional’s point of view?
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