"CONSTANTLY IMPELLING FORWARD"

A recent article in the Star noted that about 600 books were released last week and that this fall's reading selection will be unprecedented as many publishers delayed book launches in the spring because of the pandemic.

One book on my list of must-reads is "Forever Terry: A Legacy of Letters."

This year marks the 40th anniversary of Terry Fox's Marathon of Hope and this new book is a compilation of 40 letters from prominent Canadians who pay tribute to this Canadian hero and his legacy.

What follows is the letter from NBA superstar Steve Nash which eloquently describes the impact Fox had on his life and on the lives of so many. 

"Terry’s story speaks for itself, in a lot of ways — the invincibility, the humanity, the hope. As a six-year-old kid in British Columbia, his attempt to run across Canada took me in completely. On a little TV in my Oak Bay home that we had to turn on with tweezers, I watched every morning, as soon as I woke up, to see where Terry was. All of my friends did. Our hometown of Victoria was just before his finish line, and we felt like part of the pull, leading him west.

When Terry ran, somehow I didn’t see the struggle. I saw the strength. When I catch that footage now, I still do. It was impossible to watch him and not see how different his running looked compared to mine, yet his movement was so rhythmic, so solid, that it was the runner that came through.

His mindset was all over his face, in the way he held himself, in his silent steadiness. That made such an impression on me — it was maybe my first real exposure to the grit of resilience.

I remember hearing that his prosthetic leg was so painful that he bled from it, and maybe we even saw that in the news coverage. But with Terry, everything was aligned and working with purpose. He passed on that determination to so many of us that I think it’s more than a piece of our cultural fabric — generations of Canadians impacted by this “regular” guy’s dedication to change.

There were things I didn’t think about back then — I don’t think I ever wondered whether Terry thought his cancer was terminal. I believed that he was going to follow what was later described to me as a “meticulous plan” to make it, and that we’d all be there to see him dip his foot in the Pacific.

When he suspended the run, I thought it was only temporary, a pause to recover. Because what could interrupt, let alone defeat, that kind of indomitable spirit?

That spirit was contagious. When we interviewed Terry’s mother, Betty, about the day Terry called her to say his cancer had returned, had spread, I felt even some measure of surprise from her, all those years later.

So while Terry felt his vulnerability as a kindred connection to all those he sought to help — “I’m just like everybody else” — to me, and maybe many of those watching his run, Terry’s strength somehow ruled out the possibility of his own mortality.

We probably do that too much — lionize people to such an extent that we don’t allow their own humanity to breathe. As an adult, I had the incredible opportunity to get to know so much more of the story and the person through visits with Terry’s family, friends and some of the people who had watched his marathon as I had.

Listening to Betty sum up her son’s determination, even obstinance, in the face of cautious doubters with a terse “tough titty”; his friend Jay laugh, remembering Terry’s conviction, and Doug talk about the day-to-day struggles of a friendship lived in the closest of quarters as they drove thousands of miles together; hearing his brother Darrell list off the medical ramifications of Terry’s illness, from the toll chemo took on his heart to the effect of running in the heat of summer; and reading in Terry’s journals his own self-talk on the doubts that plague so many athletes — I found a deeper connection to the man behind the legendary status that he had held for me throughout my life.

Now I think Terry probably was aware that cancer would end his road, which makes it all the more inspiring: in the face of that crushing weight, he hustled for change, to help others. No sitting, no moping, just drive and hustle for change that wouldn’t come in time to save him.

That sense of constantly impelling forward has held such force in my life, as I’m sure it has for millions of others.

The autumn after Terry died, the first Terry Fox Run was held in Victoria, and all of my friends were there. Every year growing up, it was simply what we did, and our thoughts of Terry pushed us to run without stopping. My friends at home still do the run, now with their kids, all of us, maybe, acknowledging not only Terry’s heroism but the human vulnerabilities that tie us all together.

Terry was my hero as a kid. Back then, I asked him so many questions, and throughout my life, he’s given me so many answers. He inspired me to go for it. To believe in myself. To get to work. Twenty-five years after Terry had rallied the country with his improbable run into Toronto, I stood in front of thousands in Nathan Phillips Square, too.

Although I’m sure no one else present thought about it, the moment wasn’t lost on this undersized, basketball-playing kid from B.C. who had learned from the best how to be hopeful, in the face of all the world’s frailties, inspired and determined to keep pushing for change."