There is a hidden "Olympics" for which no prize or honor is ever awarded, at least in this lifetime.
Events include the suburban grocery store jaunt and the library walk-a-thon. Participants include the elderly and the handicapped, whose only "competition" is their fellow "team-mates" or family members.
In a remote recently developed rural area, the fastest growing and most prosperous outlying community of a major Midwestern metropolis, paradoxically without any form of public transportation, an old man past the age of retirement briefly lived with this elderly wife and son.
Physically fit and otherwise in good health, the old man had recently experienced an extreme weight loss of over 34 lbs. in less than 30 days, six months previously, down from his normal 177 lbs. to a mere 142, the same as he had weighed when a painfully thin teen-aged youth, just half an inch shy of six feet tall.
To provide food and suitable drinking water for his family, without any mode of transportation other than a bicycle and his two feet, the old man was forced to travel over two miles to the nearest store, and struggle back with whatever he could physically carry on his back, two or three times each week.
Often he would bike, with a carry-on backpack strapped to his back, traveling from store to store, seeking the best prices their limited budget could afford, ranging from 15 to 20 miles each trip to reach far-flung facilities in a community built without the elderly or infirm, or those without any personal means of transportation, in mind.
In fair or mostly foul weather, from extremely hot or cold, to rainy or windy, the old man struggled along carting his precious cargo from store to store and back home once again, often so worn and haggard from his exertions it took more than a day or two for him to recuperate, laid up in pain and anguish with little more to do than anticipate his next endurance test a few days later.
The weight and burden he regularly struggled with was taking an increasingly painful toll upon the vertebrae in the old man's sacroiliac, leaving his lower back in such paroxysms of pain he could barely stand or walk from the bed to the bathroom, or kitchen, and back.
He needed help, but the only assistance he could regularly count on, perhaps once every week or two, were his wife -- a thin frail lady of short stature, unable to carry any heavy burden a great distance -- and their son, whose ataxia and deafness challenged him in ways the elderly couple could only imagine, but often witnessed when he would complain and collapse on the floor in pain, physically ill from exertions his father repeatedly endured nearly daily.
When the trio went shopping together, often to bring back sufficient drinking water for the following week, they brought carry-along luggage with wheels to manage the heavy load better, as they walked or rode the single bike they owned from home to stores, and back again.
It must have seemed a strange sight to the inhabitants of the newly constructed ornate and expensive homes in the cloistered communities they passed along the way, as the family traveled along, carting their heavy burdens, stopping along the way in any available facility where they could rest and recuperate for the next leg of their journey.
On one such trip they tried to cart three cases of 24 one-liter bottles of water, weighing in excess of 28 lbs. each, two of which fit into an old carry-along luggage they purchased from a second-hand store for $5. The wheels quickly disintegrated from the weight and friction, causing an accident when their son lost his grip on the handle, that fell against the back of his leg with such force it caused a small hematoma.
From there the old man gave their son the bike and physically drug the luggage down sidewalks and streets the remaining mile to the next, and last, store on their return journey, still another two miles away from their apartment, on a blistering hot August day with temperatures in the humid climate quickly escalating above the century mark.
Leaving his wife and son to await his return, loading one of the three cases of water into a sports bag with a shoulder strap, the old man struggled to lug the nearly 30 lb. burden back to their apartment on his bike, stopping just once to catch his breath, before returning with another carry-on luggage strapped to his back, to haul back the remaining water and needed groceries his wife and son shopped for during his absence.
A brief stop, under the sparse shade of a newly planted sapling in the postage stamp small front yard of a cookie cutter home in an upscale neighborhood -- the only available shelter the entire block from the now noon day heat of a mostly clear, sunny summer day -- the old man nearly regretted sitting down on the grass to take a drink from the bottle of water he carried in a kangaroo pocket of his short pants.
It took more than a little struggle, determination and grit for him to finally stand up again, and continue the remaining mile and a half of his journey.
Finally arriving back in their apartment, the old man nearly collapsed from heat exhaustion in the cool air conditioning, peeling off his now thoroughly soaked shirt to change into another, before heading back to meet his family for their final journey back home again.
Thankfully, less than a quarter mile away from their apartment, an ice skating rink provided a much-needed cool, even chilly, pit-stop following a mile-and-a-half long jaunt along mostly barren country roadways still devoid of homes or other structures, with little or no shade or shelter from the hot evening sun.
Their trip, which began around 7:30 that morning, finally ended around 3:30 pm, when the three haggard travelers arrived safe but weary back in their temporary home, an apartment provided for them by a friend for a brief month or two as he traveled.
They were thankful for the comfort it provided following their journey that day, after nearly half a year of struggling along on city streets without any home or shelter of their own, where food could be stored, prepared and eaten in peace, and a soft bed or couch was available to comfort their aged or disabled bodies, or store their meager belongings and keep themselves safe from thieves and predators.
The actual endurance of their arduous trip that day was less a test of this family's ability to provide for their ongoing needs, as it was for those motorists passing by, often in pickups or large, oversized vans or similar conveyances with but a single individual traveling in each.
The test was whether or not, seeing the struggles of fellow humans in need, compassion would overcome a fear of strangers, or of taking a few minutes from hurried, busy schedules, to help others in need.
Not even public servants, passing by in larger than usual police cruisers, could be bothered to take time away from their regular activities -- of asset confiscations or ticketing inconsequential infractions of ordinances -- to aid or assist.
With his back gradually disintegrating like the wheels of luggage incapable of hauling the weight and distance required of it, the old man realized his need for therapeutic help they simply could not afford yet, as he lay in bed struggling to recover for the next round in his family's own private Olympics-style events.
And much as he would like to say all the above is merely a fictional account, this author must admit that the foregoing was just a single day's experience in his recent life. Because I am that old man, and the events related here took place only yesterday! The moral being that one man's leisure is another man's burden, unless they share a common experience of briefly compassionate nature, shouldering each others' burdens as need arises.
