My Body’s Betrayal

Hands in the stadium clap in tempo. 

Here I’m the famous musician on stage and scores of fans are screaming my name. As I zoned in and try to focus second after second the rhythmic vibrations echo within me sending thrills through my body and riveting through my feet. I pounced on the track, picking up my pace, my two-legged motor kicked into power as I’m propelled through the air like a rock from a sling-shot with my body contorted into Cs and Vs until my feet hit and were planted to the ground. I felt now is my blossoming season and I would finally reap what was sowed. My eyes glanced to the left in time to see the white flag of victory raised by the crossbar  referee. This was my moment. As I shifted in the sand my feet were on shaky ground. It was as if my island had an earthquake and my tectonic plates shifted and collided again bracing me for the tsunami ahead. I fell to the floor clutching my ankle as  the adrenaline was waning and the vision of my Olympic gold vanished.

….

I grew up in a small rural town. Running errands took on a whole different meaning, because that’s exactly what we did, run. If you met us on any given day our feet could hardly be differentiated from the red orange dirt that was our foundation. Our community was within meters of the bauxite mining site on Jamaica’s south coast.  We were always perfumed by the rich metallic aroma which emanated from the site. Seeing our furniture colored with the red hue of the heavy dust particles was something that grew so familiar and comforting. It was that unwelcomed guest who overstayed their visit who you grew to love. We traced our fingers atop our chest of drawers creating artful masterpieces that were quickly erased by Mother, as she never seemed to get rid of it completely despite numerous daily attempts. They were forever engraved.

Father loved being so close to work. He would often boast about saving time not being stuck in traffic and the added benefit of sneaking in exercise while walking to and from our humble abode. That was a much better spin on the fact that we probably couldn’t afford to have a car. My brother and I would race towards him on afternoons just after he’d cross onto the meadows. We would be track stars, we gloated. I’d jeer him saying we could be that 1st place, 2nd place team. I’d get the gold and he the silver and maybe sometimes I’ll let him win to preserve his sanity. On the last Sunday of every month, our family would head down to the beach after Mother spent all morning cooking to ensure we’d have our lunch while there at the beach. I suppose picnicking on the beach was our thing. Omar and I loved the water but soon we’d grow to love the sand by running up and down the length of the shore. Our footprints paraded the shore, sometimes they seemed they’d be permanently. 

….

In the summer of 1972 we finally got a TV and it coincided with the Munich Summer Olympics. The Jamaican cohort was a 33 member team with the likes of Donald Quarrie and Lennox Miller. We watched all the highlights we could find. Athletics was all we saw. On this particular Sunday, Henry Jackson donned in our black, green and gold uniform was seen sprinting down a track, hopping from right to left before his ultimate leap catapulted him into a patch of sand. For the first time I saw myself in someone else’s shoes. I was transported to Munich, wearing our Jamaican colors.  Then I was 6’ 5”, a whole 2 feet taller than my then self and looked like a human anatomy specimen with my sleek athletic statuette figure. Naturally, that Sunday, going to the beach took on a whole new meaning. We were now traveling to my stadium. What usually seemed like a 10 minute walk was like an hour as the highly anticipated event of the afternoon was upon us. My brother and I dashed to the sand, 

“And next up is Trevor Saunders from Jamaicaaaaaaa” shouted my brother, in his best announcement voice.

I mimicked Henry’s every move.

Right, left, JUMP! I swung my arms and took my leap of faith only to land about 2 meters from my tar pit. This wasn’t as simple as it seemed, I thought but I loved a challenge.

…..

My Father developed a cough about 3 months ago. He became known for it. We  hadn’t paid it any mind. It was something we grew accustomed to. But I noticed our usual wrangle became shorter to non existent. Father would walk slower and seemed to stop to catch his breath on our walk through the meadows now. I would offload his bag and carry it like a trophy. On this particular afternoon, the grass was high and the sun was setting behind the mountain top, the sun rays shone through the clouds. That moment stuck with me forever as a second later my 6 foot giant collapsed in front of me and I felt we traded roles. He appeared so small and frail in that moment.

Bauxite pneumoconiosis they told us. It had given him a pneumothorax. He’d be hospitalized for a few days. His absence left me numb. What prepares you for the day  you’re heroes demask and reveal their mortality? Mother’s supple maroon coloured skin grew pale and was more reflective of a grey leatherette. She learnt that Father’s condition was likely due to working at the plant. To compound her new found reality, she was now aware that living within such close proximity to the mining site meant that Father’s state could be a reflection of our fate. And in that instant this season of our lives ended and another began anew. That was the last day my brother and I saw  home as Mother shipped us to live with her sister in Kingston. 

….

It was like a whole new world. Things were different here. Everything was no longer within arm’s reach. Our new world was daunting. We kept thinking about what we left behind. One thing we loved was the frequent school field trips. I was 13 years old when we were scheduled to tour the National Stadium.  As I stepped into the arena, I felt at home as if I had removed my shades to view the beauty of the world I didn’t know I was missing. Snippets of the Olympics replayed in my mind, my dream returned and hope resurfaced. I tried out for the track and field team later that week and landed a place on my first team. Everyday I trained; sunshine, through the rain, even during the holiday. I was the first on the field and the last to leave. I trained some days until my previously ingested lunch stared at me on the pavement. Days turned to months that turned to years. After 6 years, I finally landed a medal at a local meet. “Persistence, perseverance, persistence perseverance”,  words my coach would recite were etched into my psyche. I was one step closer. However, as the years went by I questioned if this was for me. After 3 Olympic trials I had always just missed the mark.

…

This was my last chance. I thought with age my muscles would have grown weary but I walked into the National Stadium at the fittest I had ever been. I felt victory in my bones, the years of training would all come down to the near moments that lay ahead... 

As I gripped my ankle, tidal waves of anguish coursed through my towering frame and  I had cocooned into my own world devoid of any alien connection. I was hastily whisked away by the medical personnel. En route to the medical site my eyes glimpsed the screen

TREVOR SAUNDERS 18m   Q

Persistence perseverance, persistence perseverance, that’s all it took huh. Of all the possibilities, being betrayed by my own body was never on the cards. And it is when we are faced with stark reality that contrasts our own expectations we have to accept what is and not what could’ve been.