It was a sad weekend as many of us stayed glued to the news for updates on the dragon boat accident in Phnom Penh that claimed the lives of 5 fine young rowers from our national squad. I was constantly checking the online news and soaking up every report. The sudden national tragedy made headlines for many days, and no amount of empathy could enable us to comprehend the extent of grief felt by the bereaved families. The national squad comprised mostly young men in their 20s. Disciplined, full of potential and in their prime, they represented some of the best athletes and citizens our nation could have. To me, it was especially heart wrenching that they had to go through such a devastating experience at that age. They might be men and leaders in the team, but back home, they were just sons, brothers, and.... boys, if I could use the term in a non-condescending way.
The accident set me pondering on the perennial question of us sports(wo)men vs nature and the risks we take. Why do we choose to pit ourselves against nature and push the human limits? I am not a parent, and have no intention to be one, but I can only imagine the dilemma all parents face in trying to bring up their children to be worthy sons and daughters. Do you encourage your child to explore the outdoors and be independent, knowing that there is an inherent risk in any outdoor activitiy? Do you quietly accept that risk, knowing that your child would eventually grow and blossom into confidence? Or do you keep them strapped beside you, safe and sound under watchful eyes but missing out on the shaping and moulding opportunities?
My parents have never violently objected to any of my outdoor passions, which they think are crazy and extreme. I say 'violently objected' because my mum would hint ever so often that I should scale back on my activities, find a good man and settle down. She even once suggested that I scared off potential suitors by my excessive (her view) running! But yes, they have never 'violently objected'. Each time I tell my mum of an upcoming climb, she would order it to be the last, and we both knew it would not be so. Each time I mention an overseas race or marathon, she asked why I ran so much, but we both knew I would not stop. And in a morbid way, I am thankful they were not the last climb or race. My parents have been extremely tolerant each time I picked up a new hobby, which meant a whole array of new gear and storage space. Supportive, even, with the occasional drives to airport and training grounds. Thankfully I have since narrowed my pursuits to a few, - running, mountaineering and cycling - but which could still throw up some harrowing moments.
A few years ago when I was still with the Singapore Women's Everest Team, we grappled with many What Ifs scenarios. What if we died on a climb? What if a team mate went down? What do we do with our bodies should mishaps occur? How could we be answerable to ourselves or our loved ones, yet not compromise the safety of our surviving team mates? I guess accepting the prospects of death and disability is a large part of being a mountaineer. One does not conquer a mountain, but by its graces, be allowed on its summit. Sudden avalanches, crevasses and many inhospitable elements keep climbers on our cramponed toes. Every climber has his/her stash of near-misses and close-calls to tell.
How we handle ourselves and recover from those situations, if we are lucky to have survived them, spells the fine print between make or break. I salute our national dragon boating squad for the shared courage and leadership they had shown the nation through this trying time, especially the young 21-yr old captain for displaying a raw maturity beyond his years. I hope they emerge from this episode to become stronger men and beacons for others to follow.
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