For the one millionth time, I walked to the top of the hill we had affectionately named “Everest”, a long steep hill that went higher up the mountain than any other road in the valley. I stopped at the top and sat down on my board and removed my helmet, taking in the view.
This hill had become my refuge. When the fog of depression would settle on my mind, I knew I could come here and find that ray of light I needed to keep going. Skating helped to lift the fog and unveil a vista of hope.
A lot of time had passed since my first slide. I had improved a lot but that wasn’t important. What was important was that I had learned how to fight against the illness that had brought me to the lowest point of my life. There were still rough days. Days where I couldn’t get out of bed. But they were less frequent. Some days, all I could get myself to do was skate.
But those days taught me that there was always tomorrow, even if today was hard. I would inevitably come out battered and bruised. That just came with the territory. But even if today yielded no dramatic results that was okay because it wasn’t the end.
My ultimate success was only effected if I gave up on tomorrow, today.