To A Deeply Valued Friend....September 3, 1999

To A Deeply Valued Friend....September 3, 1999

...I offer you a parable...

Stumbling over roots and rocks, tripping into depressions, scuffing his weary carcass through the forested terrain, he stops midstride and falls to the foliage carpeted ground. It is soft, somewhat spongy, and immediately starts absorbing some of the tension in his screaming muscles. He wipes his soaked forehead, then takes a tiny sip from his canteen. He drew only enough to wet his lips; he had not encountered fresh water for a while now. He knew he could not indulge himself more. Indeed, feeling the sharp pangs of hunger in his gullet, he staves off the longing to snack on his dwindling rations.

He could not keep going like this, he thought to himself. Even the body of a professional athlete will succumb to enough exertion. To this point, he had never really discovered the limits of his. He was too strong, he once naively believed.

He was now weakening with each passing hour.

He has to make a decision, immediately.

Daring a glance at his ballooning left wrist, he marvels at how little pain he felt now. It was more a burgeoning pressure at this point. The infection induced confusion hinderes his recall of the accident.

Through exhaustion, fever, hunger, and thirst, he could just barely remember how he came to be in this predicament. It was just a couple weeks before the start of the training season. After a bit too much off season hedonism, he decided that a lone trek through the mountains would be just the thing to return his body and mind to pristine conditioning. He and his girlfriend often made short camping trips in the forest, so he felt that he could handle a few days or so alone. After quickly packing gear and rations, and with a quick session of good-bye love making, he was off. It was sunrise four days ago that he drove off to begin his expedition.

It took only a couple hours to make it to the mountains. Parking his car at a check stop, he headed off into the woods. Things went well all that day. The hiking was invigorating, the mountain air refreshing, and he could feel his body returning quickly to a pro athlete level.

Shortly before sunset on the second day, things took a drastic turn. He was easing himself down a rocky slope when he lost his footing and started rolling. It had been getting too dark for him to see clearly. Had he not been most of the way down, he could have very well killed himself. As it was, he gashed his palm on a rock. The wound, two inches long and an eight of an inch deep, took forever to stop bleeding. The infection was inevitable.

Now, sitting here in the wood, two days later, he knew he had to make a decision. The poison was spreading. It would not be long before it took his body over completely. Taking out his hunting knife, he looked at his reflection in the blade through blurred vision.

Professional sport was the only life he really knew. He had nothing else. He and his father groomed him from a child for the profession, as soon as it was known that he had talent far exceeding his five year old peers. Sure he went to college, but that was years ago. That was another lifetime ago. Could he really start fresh?

He looked at his hand again, barely able to believe what he was contemplating. Beyond the lifestyle reprocussions, this was his flesh and blood. How could he have the courage to let it go? Still, there were great advances in medical technology. Also, if he were to try packing it somehow, who knew what may be done?

It would not be until tomorrow that his girlfriend would be aware that something was wrong. Still, how long would it take for rescue teams to find him? If he remained here, resting, not forcing his body, would they find him in time?

Then again, if he took the drastic measures needed to stop the infection, he stood a chance at getting back to the rest stop, where a cellular phone awaited in his car.

Galncing at his reflection once more, he began to twirl the knife around in his good hand. The motion paralleled his thought processes. He could waste little more time. He was so tired, so hungry, so thirsty, so fevered.

He catches intermittent glimpses of his haggard face.

...the only life he has known...his flesh and blood...

....halting the toxic spread....life short hours away....

.....hoping for rescue.....who knows when.....

......severance pain......

The spinning blade rests. He stares into his blurred eyes.

With a reverberating shriek of resolution, he.........

So, my dear friend, tell me, how does this story end?

....Blessed Be