...and amputate

"and amputate", read the secret code I was supposed to type in to verify that I was not a robot trying to create mayhem on facebook before it allowed me to send the message. What comes to mind, as I ponder those two words randomly generated by a robot, is last wednesday evening, after my moped adventure #2, when I went to a local gym to play wheelchair basketball. Each week Stephanie's brother had mentioned it, encouraged us to come and try it. He is not physically handicapped, but he is looking to work in the field of social care for handicapped people (he is particularily passionate about his experience working with blind people). We arrived at nine pm, and there were four others out there on the court with these slick looking wheelchairs booting it up and downcourt, managing to dribble sometimes. I grabbed a ball and jumped into a conventional-looking wheelchair after watching for a few minutes. I later found a better, sporty one, and shot some hoops. It was hard, being so low to the ground and being unable to jump or at least hop while shooting. I developed a nasty blister on my right hand after an hour of playing.

I used to play, stopped in early high school. I was always a center. Now, with my height, I would be a point guard, maybe a small guard. Big learning curve that would be.

I played American football in my last year of high school (the 5th; the victory lap). I was defensive end, the second biggest position. My job was to move my 200 pound mass forward at the opposing defensive end and crash into him and try to survive and slide around him to get past him. I was strong: Our center, the biggest position, was probably 320 pounds and when we tried to push eachother past a line, heads to shoulders, we were at a deadlock. The guys I faced were big too, all at least as heavy as me, many taller and heavier. When I inquired about continuing to play football in university, I discovered that defensive ends are on average 250 pounds, many of them much heavier. I briefly contemplated gaining 50 pounds of muscle, realized what an undertaking that would be (my testosterone advisor jumped out of his chair at the fantasy of being as big as Arnold Schwarzenegger), and instead ended up studying philosophy.

Anyway, so moped adventure no. 2 was fantastic. I booted it up to 65 km per hour on the big little roads, map in my pocket, water bottle in my backpack, sporting some cool looking prescription lenses that actually made me look like Arnold (Arnold on a moped would be priceless). I ended up taking the bigger road into town, and got off at the wrong turn at the roundabout, but made my way to the center of Saintes. There, as I was checking the map again, just as I discovered where I was and where I had to go, a polite gentleman walking by asked me if I needed help. I said okay, and for the next eight minutes he blew his mind trying to understand the map, ending up being more lost than I was. Thanks. Before I could put the map back, an elderly gentleman driving stopped to help me. He spent 30 seconds looking at the map and told me to get onto the moped and follow his car. I did, and then he stopped and looked at the map for another 5 minutes, as if he was redrawing it in its entirety on the inside of his visual cortex, and then he told me to take a left. Two minutes later I arrived. I ate lunch with Christophe, Steph's brother, helped him move around some furniture while hardwood flooring was being installed, and he helped me call some renewable energy installation enterprises to volunteer with. I was very greatful. Stephanie was upset when she realized that I moped'ed into town without insurance, and so we heaved the bike into Christophe's trunk and he drove me back to St Georges des Coteaux. We did a bit of shopping, and the moped leaked essence in his trunk, he fed his fish and cleaned the sponge filter, and said goodbye.

I proceeded to make Fettuccine Alfredo. Fantastic(o). I also made chocolate cake. We had a guest that eve for wine, dine and vipassana meditation, a bloke we met at the retreat back in March. I showed him how to do Aikido shovelling in the backyard garden (Jonathan from Winnipeg who interned at Whole Circle for season 2009 didn't patent that skill or copywrite that name yet, but don't take advantage).

Cheers,
Maurizio