Featuring excerpts from Terry’s very own Marathon of Hope journal, Hope by Terry Fox shares the untold story of a well-known hero—the goofy, resilient, and courageous 21-year-old who rallied a nation behind his mission.

In this excerpt, Barbara Adhiya meets with another Canadian hero – athlete and activist Rick Hansen – to learn about how his story and Terry's intersect. 

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I meet Rick at his office on a Sunday afternoon, and he welcomes me warmly with a smile, a confident handshake, and a jovial demeanour. He is happy to share his experiences with Terry and how it has affected his life. The time they spent together was very special to him, a unique convergence of people. He feels strongly that fate had a hand in making everything come together the way it did.

Rick had been out with some friends, two of whom were at Simon Fraser University, and they were discussing how to build their wheelchair basketball team, the Vancouver Cable Cars. Someone mentioned that there was a guy at SFU who had just lost his leg to cancer. He used to play basket ball, so maybe Rick should call him. So, he did. Terry was excited about the idea and enthusiastically said yes before asking some questions about a wheelchair because he had never used one.Terry joined their practice within a week.

It was a dream team. Terry must’ve been blown away by this group made up of Rick, Peter Colistro, Murray Brown, Bill Inkster, and Eugene Reimer, who was the first person with a disability to be included in a Canadian sports award when he was named Canada’s Outstanding Male Athlete of the Year in 1972. They had a strong team culture and inspired each other; if one thought they had problems, they could just look to a teammate, who had more problems. They didn’t see disability. There was no pity party. They focused on improving their abilities and had fun together like any other team, trash-talking each other and doing crazy things on the court.

Terry and Rick clicked right away. At the time, Rick was in the phys. ed. program at the University of British Columbia, and Terry was in human kinetics at SFU. They were both immersed in the athletic culture and loved playing sports. Terry arrived, hopping on crutches into the gym. They brought the chair out, and he dove right in.  

Terry hadn’t spent any time in a wheelchair and didn’t know how it moved. He was slow and struggling at first, but Rick could see how focused he was, working up a sweat and giving it his all. He already had knowledge of the game and good ball-handling skills. Still, it’s an adjustment to go from playing on your feet to playing in a wheelchair. There is so much strength needed in the arms, manoeuvring the chair while still trying to touch the ball. Terry was committed to learning and becoming a force for the team. Even while undergoing chemo, Terry was the first one in and the last one out. It was inspiring to see, and Rick thought this attitude could really help the team.

We would drive my little green Honda, he would drive his beat-up piece of junk, and we’d park at the bottom of Lougheed Highway. Then we’d wheel all the way up this hill to the top of the mountain where SFU is. And then we would do a little weightlifting, and then we would do our practice. Unfortunately, because we were stupid enough to just leave both cars down there, we’d have to glide all the way down in the pissin’ rain, totally frozen, and then drive all the way home and do it again [another day].

Terry set an example of not only strength but of perseverance. They couldn’t believe how thin he was when they first saw him. He was still undergoing chemotherapy, and although Terry had lost his leg, he was more self-conscious about losing his hair. He wore a wig to cover up his baldness and never let anyone see him without it. Rick thinks it affected him more because if someone sees you with a missing leg and a bald head, then they know it’s cancer. There is a stigma around that, and Terry wanted to look like he was cured as if the cancer was behind him. Ironically, Terry ended up with an even better, fuller head of beautiful curls.

So, he comes in with a wig on, and we didn’t know him before. We just thought that was normal hair. And the funny part, too, is that when we were playing, every once in a while, he would just have this little funny thing. I’m going, “Well, that’s an odd twitch.” I guess he was readjusting his wig, but I didn’t know that! And then in the shower he’d never get fully wet showering. I’d be like, “Oh man, maybe it’s the gel or something?” But it all came down to the time when we were playing against that big Spokane team, big bunch of dudes. And he goes driving to the key, gets the ball, and then smack. I, from a distance, see this puff of brown coming out of the scrum of guys. Then Terry jumps up out of his chair, hops over a couple of guys, grabs the thing, and goes like this [smacks the wig onto his head]. Then he looks around and gets back in his chair. The next thing you know, the wig is over on the bench and he’s just out there saying, “What the hell,” and he never turned back. I think it was a really interesting milestone. We all go through phases of adjustment when we have trauma, loss, and at some point, you get to a place where you accept who you are and shed some of those stigmas and perceptions that are your biggest handicaps. From there he just seemed to relax and flow into it. Everybody on that team came together and then went off and did whatever they did as a result of that experience. It was a moment in time. I know for a fact if the [Vancouver] Cable Cars team wasn’t there, I never would have gone off and done my thing.

Rick’s “thing” is a very modest way of describing his famous Man in Motion World Tour that was inspired by Terry. From March 1985 to May 1987, Rick wheeled over forty thousand kilometres through thirty-four countries, all to raise awareness about the potential of those with disabilities, as well as encourage the creation of inclusive, accessible communities. Rick has personally overcome what most would think is impossible.  

Trauma hits, and cancer was Terry’s trauma. But there’s so many other traumas out there that everyone has. Like [actor and Parkinson’s advocate] Michael J. Fox would say, “Everybody has their own bag of hammers, and some are visible and obvious, and many are not.” And so that’s where the magic is with Terry. He set goals, he found purpose, he constantly tried to improve, he was surrounded by family and friends. He inspired them; they inspired him. He was always looking for inspiration and growth. When trauma hit—his trauma, his hammer—he had to do more work and find out where his pain was coming from, which really wasn’t from the fact that he couldn’t use this leg. It’s gone. It was here [Rick points to his heart]. It was in his attitude about his wholeness. And so, if that’s the essence of Terry’s direct legacy, the indirect legacy is: if we all do that in our own way, [figure out] what calls us, what’s our strength, what’s our role and how do we get involved to really pay it forward and express our gratitude, little acts, big acts, leading, following, it doesn’t matter. I would say that’s the real magic.

Because I think my biggest takeaway in life, from my friendship and the inspiration from Terry to me, has been some of the most important dreams in life can be killed by fear of failure, and the self-limiting beliefs that we have.  

Our attitudes and our stigmas can be our biggest handicaps. If we keep checking those, like Terry did, then we can find [them] out because sometimes those negative thoughts are really good safety valves, and we should pay attention to them; they’re real. Like, “I want to jump off a building and see if I can fly.” I’m sorry, that’s not gonna work. Terry wouldn’t want you to try that!

While Terry was running across Canada, Rick had started his Paralympic Games journey in Arnhem, Holland, but he got news updates regularly from their friends. When Terry had to end his run and return home for treatment, he had Rick and the rest of his community there to support him, and after all the Marathon craze, Terry hadn’t changed at all.

Watching him adjust to his newfound fame was interesting because he was still the same guy. So, [he] was “Aw shucks” and awkward, and it was refreshing because he could have been seduced by all that, and he wasn’t. He was very focused on beating it again. We’d come back to my apartment and have some infamous moose roasts. So yeah, we all thought he would beat it again. Why would he not, right?

Rick’s eyes tear up and his voice deepens as he explains why Terry is his hero.

People often see heroes as emulating aspirational qualities. And to me, Terry wasn’t a perfect person. He was someone with those perfect qualities, the attributes of determination and resilience, being able to turn his [perceived] disability into ability, or tragedy [into] triumph, and paying it forward. I just think that everybody has that if they want.

I think that’s the other thing people would want to know and be reminded of. For every big trauma that comes in, or every goal or dream, you see those endgames, but you often get seduced by them. In reality, there’s little things everyday that remind us of the goodness of things. The gratitude, the progress, those things are present.

Excerpted from Hope By Terry Fox, by Barbara Adhiya. ©2024 Published by ECW Press.

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Learn more about Hope By Terry Fox:

Featuring excerpts from Terry’s very own Marathon of Hope journal, Hope by Terry Fox shares the untold story of a well known hero — the goofy, resilient, and courageous 21-year-old who rallied a nation behind his mission.

In 1976, when Terry Fox was just eighteen years old, he was diagnosed with osteosarcoma and his right leg was amputated just above the knee. It quickly became his mission to help cure cancer so others would not have to endure what he had gone through. He dreamed up a Marathon of Hope — a fundraising run across Canada, from St. John’s, Newfoundland, to Victoria, British Columbia. 5,300 miles.

When he set off on April 12, 1980, Canadians were dubious. But as he continued across the country, enthusiasm grew to a frenzy. Sadly, Terry’s cancer returned, and after 143 days and 3,339 miles, he was forced to stop his Marathon of Hope. He passed away in 1981, but the nation picked up his mission where he left off, and the annual Terry Fox Run has even spread to cities around the world, raising more than $850 million to date — well over Terry’s goal of one dollar for every Canadian.

After conducting over fifty interviews with people throughout Terry’s life—ranging from his siblings, nurses, and coaches to volunteers during the Marathon of Hope—editor Barbara Adhiya discovers how Terry was able to run a marathon a day. Through their stories, passages from Terry’s marathon journal, and over 200 photos and documents, Hope by Terry Fox shows that with enough resilience, determination, humility, and support, ordinary people can do impossible things.