1,040 Weekends: A Reckoning and a Reminder

Last week, I found myself at a wake, a collision of joy and sorrow so raw it felt like life itself cracked open. One of those rare gatherings where laughter and tears share the same table, where stories flow freely, and grief is softened by the warmth of community. It was beautiful. And then, it was brutal. Because virtually everyone left with a parting gift: COVID. Including yours truly. A true superspreader send-off. If there were medals for pandemic irony, we’d all be wearing gold.

The Reckoning

Fast forward a week, and I won’t sugarcoat it, I’ve been wrecked. Six days straight in bed, pinned down by a virus that felt less like an illness and more like a reckoning. Fever dreams blurred into daylight, and somewhere between the sweats and the shivers, the mind wandered to darker corners. Not just discomfort, but disorientation. The kind that makes you question everything, your routines, your resilience, even your relevance.

By day four, I was bargaining with the universe.

Not for miracles, just for motion. “Let me paddle again. Let me feel the ache of effort, not the weight of helplessness. Let me earn my exhaustion - lungs burning, muscles spent, heart full - not be flattened by it in a haze of coughs and cancelled plans”.

It’s strange how quickly you go from taking your strength for granted to pleading for its return. And how illness, in its cruel clarity, reminds you that vitality isn’t a given, it’s a gift. I’ve missed a long paddle and a ride; rare gems this summer, thanks to smoke and storms. And let me tell you, nothing makes you appreciate your health like losing it completely. But somewhere between the coughing fits and the Netflix haze, a question snuck in and refused to leave:

How Many Weekends Do I Have Left?

Not in a morbid way (okay, maybe a little morbid), but in a wake-up-call kind of way. Because the truth is, we count our years, but we live in weekends. Those fleeting windows of freedom are where the real living happens. And when you're sidelined, watching the sun rise and set without you, you begin to understand how sacred those moments truly are. Illness has a way of distilling time, not into years, but into moments we wish we hadn’t missed.

The Math Behind the Wake-Up Call

If the average Manitoban lives to be 78, then my last summer would be in 2045. Twenty years. Fifty-two weekends a year. That’s 1,040 chances to live fully, love deeply, and chase the horizon.

What 1,040 Weekends Really Means

That’s 1,040 weekends to embark on long stand-up paddleboard adventures across glassy lakes and winding rivers. To glide through the tunnels of Caddy Lake, float the quiet waters of Pinawa Channel, and take on the wild beauty of the Manigotagan River. To pedal through bikepacking journeys that stretch across provinces and possibilities. To race toward finish lines that test my limits and remind me I’m alive. To write books that capture the stories I’ve lived and the ones I still dream of. To laugh until my ribs ache, love without hesitation, and discover new corners of the world, and of myself.

Who Are You in This Story?

You might be the type who makes to-do lists (I’ve got thousands), or maybe you’re a bucket-list dreamer with a top 10 must-see, must-do, must-have.

Or maybe you fly by the seat of your pants, jumping at opportunity when it knocks. You could be the go-with-the-flow kind who joins the party, or the start-the-party type who creates the vibe and invites everyone in.

So here’s my challenge to you: count your weekends. Not your years, not your milestones… your weekends. Those fleeting windows where life isn’t scheduled, but chosen. Where you get to decide what matters, and who matters.

Then pick one, just one, and make it unforgettable.

Paddle across a lake that mirrors the sky, or dance like you’ve never been left out. Write the story that’s been whispering in your chest, or call someone you miss, not just to catch up, but to reconnect. Rebuild the bridge you burned, even if it’s just with a single plank of honesty.

Start what scares you. Finish what frees you.

Just don’t let it slip by unnoticed.

Because nothing is too small to matter, until time runs out, and suddenly everything you didn’t do feels enormous. This isn’t about urgency. It’s about intention. You don’t need to chase every dream this weekend, but you do need to show up for one.

Fully. Bravely. Gratefully.

The Time Is Now

Because the sun will rise and set whether we show up or not, but when we do, when we really do, it’s not just another weekend. It’s a life well-lived, one paddle stroke at a time.