Witness Haiti - 1 - The Dragonfly Chronicles

My love is gone. I'm sitting here, basking in the irony that we've just found each other and that she left this morning half way around the world for two months.

You could say she got the call about three weeks ago to travel down to Haiti for a disaster relief mission, but the truth is, she got the call very early in life to help her fellow Human brothers and sisters. The Dragonfly has a heart of gold, and I need not to be selfish and let the world benefit from it, too.

She has gone to extend a friendly hand, and to bear witness to the People of Haiti's struggle through harsh conditions made worse by the passage of hurricane Matthew. Funny thing, to give catastrophes familiar names. Like it can make them somehow more bearable.

She's stepping into the unknown, armed with only her good will and hope.

I tried all I could to join in and help, but it seems she has to be on her own, at least for now. So we decided I'd help by supporting the witness part of her mission. For the coming eight weeks and as much as communication is possible, FlintLand will serve as her chronicle, and I as a relay for us all to learn more about the situation in Haiti, from someone on the very front line.

We burned some sage together as she was leaving, thanked each other for all the blessings we share, and hugged one last time before we are reunited again. Until then, may this journal become a link we all share.

Godspeed, my love.

Mesquite Canyon 50K

6 days after running with our friends in Urique, Michael Miller and I headed out to run Mesquite Canyon, presented by one of my favorite running companies in the world, Aravaipa. The run is pretty typical of the Arizona ultras I enjoy so much, and since many of you often ask what it's like to head out and run in the desert, I present to you this awesome recap video made by my friend Michael Carson. It captures it perfectly.

I'm a black dot wearing a blue thing at some point in that film.

Enjoy!

Jack’s Journey

I call him Jack, and he’s my friend. It’s strange, because his name isn’t really Jack and we don’t really know each other. He appeared into my life as a Facebook runner, a tall guy with a big smile on his face. He would always have something nice to say to encourage others, or a thought to share. I didn’t know at the time, but Jack has a secret.

His real name is Jacques, but that’s not the punchline of this story. And although what I am about to reveal is amazing in itself, it’s still not the secret I discovered.

In 2009, Jack went to the doctor. He wasn’t feeling well and he was preoccupied, because there was a strong history of heart disease, diabetes and early death in his family. In order to perform his diagnosis, the doctor had to weigh him, but he couldn’t. His scale maxed out at 365 pounds. So he sent Jack to a slaughterhouse, where they had industrial-grade equipment for shipping pallets.

Jack weighted 415 pounds.

He laughed it off. Big bones. But no amounts of jokes or scoffing could push away a thought born in his head, squeezing back into his car on that fateful day. He was going to die.

***

As I sat in the conference room tonight, just before Jack’s presentation, I couldn’t help but look around me. There were all sorts of people. Some obviously in great shape, others not so much. And a couple round shadows, keeping to themselves, staying as far back as humanly possible, trying to blend in with the walls or the furniture.

The presentation didn’t start with trumpets of triumph; it started with thanks. A heartfelt video, a stream of pictures from people who inspired him along the way. Jack didn’t even stay on-stage for it, because he says it makes him too emotional. People in the room started wiping tears, already.

This wasn’t an easy place to hide your emotions. And when I think back, this was actually the place to express them. Because emotions are what set Jack on his formidable adventure towards health. Deep wounds had made him build a steel armour, and the passage of years had made him forget himself completely. He had to travel back from an almost complete oblivion.

And that’s precisely what he did. Step by step.

Almost 3 years and 223 pounds later, Jack tells the tale of the transformation of a body, but also a discovery of himself, complete with his goofiness, his shortcomings, his honesty and his reacquired dreams. Through stories of his reconstruction, and among pictures of his 5k’s, half marathons and IronMan, one phrase struck me the most.

“Life is a gift and it deserves to be treated with great care”.

As he completed his amazing story, he turned to the crowd. Naming several individuals and making them stand up, he celebrated their achievements. Pointing to others, he shared the inspiration he received from them. And that’s when I discovered Jack’s secret.

Out of the furthest corners of the rooms, the round shadows came out of hiding. Emerging from their own oblivion and maybe mustering the courage for the very first time, they came forward and spoke out, about their difficulties, their fear and some even about their shame. And in the midst of the people Jack had gathered, tonight, they found ears, hearts and encouraging words.

***

It’s not the indisputable fact that he has the heart of a true champion, and not even because he accomplished such an amazing metamorphosis that Jacques Aubin is an extraordinary person. It’s because somewhere along his journey, among his own hurdles and demons, Jack discovered how to inspire others.

Urban Runner

“I don't believe in trouble
I don't believe in pain
I don't believe
there's nothing left
but running here again”

It is one solid song after the other. My day started with a befitting “Run, Lola, Run”, save the Lola part. Then Rise Against spilled their guts out, like only they know how to. By the time the first seconds of Bad Religion’s “Sinister Rouge” had elapsed, I was already at full speed.

Running to work makes the world different. While people are sitting in their cars, half-awake, I dash past them at traffic lights, zig-zagging between dozens of urban obstacles, music blaring in my ears. For twenty-five minutes each morning and twenty-five more each night, I’m an urban runner, a strange city-dwelling animal that attracts bewildered looks from pedestrians and drivers alike. I am my own means of locomotion.

I don’t hear the horns and sirens that fill out the usual sound environment. There are only my favourite bands, playing my favourite songs, never in the same order. Music, and the distant pounding of my feet climbing up and down sidewalks. I breathe heavy and push myself a little faster. I’m flying.

On rare occasions, I mix paths with another animal. A lone runner gone for a little breather in the morning or, even less often, another commuter. Almost every time, the scene plays the same; just as we’re about to cross, our eyes lift and stare for a suspended moment, then we both grin from ear to ear. I then keep going, in the absolute delight of having shared a unique moment with a pure, like-minded, stranger.

As soon as my destination is in sight, I know my wild moment is about to end. As my legs slow down and I prepare to climb the stairs to the main entrance, I don’t try to recompose or look fresh. I linger in my animal instant and enjoy the drips of sweat that pearl down my face. I try to hide my amusement as I cross my clean coworkers, all dressed up and smelling of perfume or aftershave, fresh out of the same cars I was dodging at traffic lights only minutes ago. Some don’t even recognize me… or at least act like it. What would they say, anyway?

In that moment, even more than usual, we have nothing in common. They’re just out of a stressful commute, filled with exhaust vapours, braking lights and bad coffee in insulated mugs.

I’m just in the door, still excited of my morning’s obstacle course. Smiling.

I run free.