 |
 |
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
 |
Home > Michelle's Blog > Previous Postings > 02/04/08
 |
Previous Postings |
 |
February 4, 2008:
Nine Lives, Round TwoI hope you all enjoyed the first of my three “near death experiences”. I received many stories from you of death staring you in the face, maybe a little too closely.
Duane Strickler from American Pride Coop in Brighton, Colorado, told how, as a 10 year old boy, he found himself looking up from the pavement at the upside-down word, “Greyhound” when he wiped out on his bike into the wrong side of the road and heard a loud screeching sound – which was the brakes of the bus nearly taking his life. He also commented that none of his childhood stories came close to the 8 lives he lost being “nagged to death” by his first wife. HA! (I hope for Duane’s sake she is not a reader of my Blog…)
My “landing on my feet after my back flip out of the ceiling” reminded Terry Bell (Advance Agri Solutions) of a story where his cousin, Gail, worked for the “Carson and Barnes Circus”. Once, when Terry was visiting her, a 4 year old boy, the son of a performer, came trotting past. His cousin Gail said to Terry, “Watch this” and hollered "TaDa" really loudly. The kid stopped dead in his tracks, snapped his feet together, and threw both arms up in the air. Taking the bow is the first thing they learn in the Circus.
And if you grew up in the family of 11 kids with Louis McIntire from Shelby County Farm Bureau in Shelbyville, Indiana, you would have seen Louis roll, not one, but two farm tractors (most people die in the first one), struck by lightning, almost drown in a river when his friend pulled him out after his third and final time of being pulled under, and somersaulting in a propane truck on, of course, January 13. He spent the night in room 113. As Louis said, “Five down – four more to go.”
After surviving my “fall from above” in Arkansas with the Billy’s, my next life was taken from me in Duluth, Minnesota. Duluth is a breath-taking city that hugs Lake Superior. With this amazing body of water, surrounded by cliffs, home to many enormous ships, and the constant pounding of huge waves, you can’t help but take advantage of the many trails for runners, bikers, and, in the case of this story, rollerbladers.
When I moved to Minnesota from Nebraska, I found that everyone in the state of 10,000 lakes, had rollerblades and even though I had never seen them before, they reminded me of the roller skates of my youth. I had just gotten my first job out of college and needed to pay off my college bills, needed a new wardrobe for my first job, one that included pantyhose instead of sweats, but I still had to have a pair of these skates.
After a few years of “blading” myself around, many scraped up knees, but still excited to improve on my skating skills, my friends took me to Duluth to try out the trails. They were paved and smooth, winding around the curves of the lake. It was amazing! In awe of Lake Superior, as I pushed stride after stride on a slightly constant uphill climb, working to keep up with my comrades, I didn’t notice the steep downhill rapidly approaching.
The first of my friends, Tracy, who is an avid hockey player and very talented rollerblader, started down the hill, but hit the grass to the right, because of the speed it caused her to take on. My second friend, Karen, also a gifted skater, followed, but as it became too fast for her, chose the grass to the left. I, being the brave one (OK, stupid and clearly the inferior skater) chose to keep going and skated right between the two of them with a look of determination.
This hill, now with me trying to survive its speed, headed towards the Lake. One might now try to envision this feat and think, “So what’s the big deal. You skate right into the lake, get a little wet, laugh it off, and life is good. Nothing that a little hot chocolate can’t remedy.” But no – this path was about 15 feet above the lake and if I didn’t make the 90 degree turn up ahead, the cliff I was heading for had only one ending – death.
In astonishment to everyone, I made the 90 degree turn, only to see that up ahead - behind the approaching building, me still moving at Mach 90 – the path ended. And at the end of the path, was a small cluster of course rocks, and at the end of the course rocks, was the same cliff. Still 15 feet up and still the same conclusion.
From this point of the story, I don’t remember what happened. The next memory I have is me standing on the only soft surface – a 3 foot diameter patch of green grass. Two feet beyond that patch, in all directions, was the cliff. My friends came frantically running and asked, “What happened? How did you get here?” I just said, “I don’t know.” They could not see me because a building blocked their view and I could not remember the point from the end of the path to this moment.” It felt as if someone had lifted me and gently placed me there.
The following summer, we read a story about a woman who did not make the turn. Today, there is a memorial to her at that spot from her family, and the path is closed to foot traffic.
Keep smiling and don’t forget to share your “near death experience”! Check back for story #3.
Michelle