In Santa Barbara for a year, on sabbatical. The achilles felt great for about 8 weeks, I hiked up to 6 miles and even started running again, but moving here put me back 6 months: apparently carrying heavy weight on my achilles was awful for them.
I've had the same doctor since 2006: Dr. Travis Crawford over at Avista hospital. He's helped me some with the achilles over the past year, and I just did my annual physical with him last month before we moved. He was an avid cyclist, a father of two middle-schoolers, a neighbor, and a friend. Apparently, at work last Friday, he suffered a stroke and died over the weekend. He was about 41.
It's inconceivable to me that he could be gone. I'm ready to say goodbye to my elderly relatives, of course. My grandmother recently died at 99 years old, and we were all ready for it. And when you hear about casualties in a war-torn area, you sort of expect that it's a fact of life there. But losing a relatively young friend, with no known risk factors for stroke, in the span of 2-3 days.... that's not supposed to happen.
His wife was a teacher to both my sons during their kindergarten years. I can't imagine the pain she's in. I'm awash with sadness.
If you knew this guy... heck, even if you didn't... give the people you love a hug tonight.
Warmly,
John Black
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