Olga (2 page)

ONE
Hitting the Sports Radar at 75

Photo of my long jump at Citrus University, Los Angeles, California, 2010, that accompanied
The New York Times
article, “The Incredible Flying Nonagenarian”. Patrik Giardino
photo.

In 1994, while playing on a North Shore slo-pitch team, I showed up on the sports radar when I made a double play putting out runners at 1st base and home plate. It was a very good play, yet I think it was because I was a 75-year-old grandmother that people sat up and took notice of me. Aren’t little old ladies supposed to be sitting in front of their TVs
knitting?

For a number of years, I loved playing the game of slo-pitch, but I decided to give my place to someone younger. I was determined, however, to stay active, so I had to find another fun but challenging physical activity. Two West Vancouver physical education teachers introduced me to track and field competition, and I embraced it with a passion I had not felt for a long time. How does someone start competing in track and field at 77 years of
age?

Reporters soon started calling me for interviews: I heard from publications as diverse as
The North Shore News
,
The Saskatoon Star Phoenix
,
The Register-Guard City
in Eugene Oregon,
Reader’s Digest
,
Zoomer
magazine, France’s
Le Monde
, and
Stella
magazine.

Bruce Grierson, a Vancouver writer who was writing a book on super-agers, accompanied me to Montreal, where I was invited to take part in a McGill University research project. The scientists hoped to determine whether it was my genes or my training that contributed to my strength and stamina. Bruce documented the entire experience and submitted his article to
The New York Times
, where it appeared in November 2010 as their magazine’s cover story entitled, “The Incredible Flying Nonagenarian”. My computer literate friends told me I had “gone
viral”.

Numerous local, national, and international radio and television programs, such as CBC’s
As It Happens
,
The National
with Peter Mansbridge, BC’s
Global News
, and the BBC have interviewed me. In anticipation of the World Cup Soccer 2014 and the 2016 Summer Olympics in Brazil, a Brazilian television crew flew to Vancouver, and they spent an entire weekend watching me train, even attending the St. Mary’s church fall bazaar, where they became acquainted with my Ukrainian
customs.

When I turned 90, a member of the Canadian Masters Athletic Association introduced me as the
Queen Mother
of multiple events athletes. What a privilege! Yes, I am truly honoured that people celebrate my athletic accomplishments. It’s true that I’m the only woman over 90 who is still jumping at masters track and field championships. Physiologists have checked my muscles and found no indication of age-related weakness. Many people are curious to know how and why I seem to be aging so well, and I’m not surprised. The quest for a magic elixir, the Fountain of Youth, is timeless. Since ancient times, people have been looking for the secret to live longer and maintain their youthful vim and
vigour.

Over the years, friends and strangers alike have remarked on my good health: “Olga,” they say, “you continue to scale mountains and arrive successfully on the other side. Others find it hard to match your energy and passion.” I always tell them the same thing: It is never too late to feel good and healthy all over. If I can do it, you can too! I’m really not that
special.

If people ask who I am, this is what I reply: Throughout the years, I have been a daughter, a sister, a wife, and a friend. I was a school teacher for 34 years, and a traveller most of my life. Today, I’m a mother, a grandmother, an aunt, a friend, and an
athlete.

As we age, we grow into a new version of ourselves; we take on a new identity, perhaps through necessity and perhaps through choice. After awhile, in some cases, through circumstances, we leave that version of ourselves behind. That’s part of life. In my lifetime, I have welcomed the chance to grow and become a more mature Olga because with each new version of myself I gained the confidence to experience life and meet its
challenges.

As a teacher I was fortunate to choose a lifelong career for which I was well suited—intellectually, emotionally, and physically. As someone wisely said, it’s easy to do what needs to be done, but oftentimes it’s hard to discover what you truly love to
do.

I am also a fierce competitor by nature, perhaps too fierce. At one of my last international competitions, I met a fellow athlete who has competed against me in the same age category for years. I noticed that on this trip she was accompanied by a caregiver. Could it possibly be her last international competition? Was it the last time I would be competing against her? Today I ask myself: why didn’t I let her win at least one gold medal? Why did I take all 11 gold medals in the events in which we competed? A friend suggested that I should simply mail the team member a gold medal. No, that won’t do. I should have let her win one gold medal, but would that be fair and square? She, too, was a competitor. Would she have wanted me to
let
her
win?

I am a warrior, not a worrier, and I don’t do guilt. I’m an optimist who moves forward with focus and determination. I’m not one of those people who believes the past is better than the present. I don’t do nostalgia. Everything from our past eventually fades away after it serves its purpose. I have discovered that life is meant to be an adventure, and I haven’t come to the end
yet!

Over the years, many people have asked me to share my exercise and nutrition strategies, and I have given motivational talks to many people both young and old. Recently, I was encouraged to share my exercise regime, nutrition program, and personal stories in a book and, after giving it some thought, I agreed. While I was writing down my thoughts and recollections, I found my heart was filled with many emotions. As with many people, I have experienced my fair share of sadness and stress, and I found ways to overcome these hardships that I wish to share with you. Adversity can hit all of us. Everyone has hurdles in life, their personal ups and downs. There is no training program, no nutritional secret that makes us immune to misfortune and hardship. It’s been said that stories also have the power to inspire and to heal, and I believe they
do.

As a teacher, nothing gave me greater pleasure than to observe the look of comprehension that came over my students’ faces when I saw that they had learned an important lesson, something of value that may benefit them for the rest of their lives. What I have learned and experienced over my long life may help you to achieve the same physical, mental, and spiritual benefits I enjoy. This is not a memoir; I didn’t want to stay trapped in never-ending nostalgia. I want people who read my story to believe that it is possible to embark on the road to health—one firm step at a time—by starting to move in the direction of well-being. Exercise has been my salvation. For instance, we know regular walking and swimming are low impact aerobic exercises. These are excellent exercises to keep our muscles strong, active, and
balanced.

To ensure that you benefit from reading my story, I have crafted each of the chapters in my book as a lesson to be learned. I’ve assigned homework, so be prepared. No cheating! I hope that you will do the work. It’s the OK way to a happy and healthy body, mind, and spirit. I may be skilled at throwing weapons such as javelins, hammers and, discus but, as a school teacher I know that education is the most powerful weapon you can use to change the
world.

Just for fun, I end each chapter with some of my favourite jokes. A day without laughter is like a day without sunshine. American humorist Mark Twain believed: “Age is a state of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter,” and comedienne Lucille Ball said, “The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly and lie about your age!” Age is just a
number.

Longevity is increasing, so plan to spend your days as happy, healthy days. Live, love, laugh, and
learn!

Artwork adapted from designs along the Danube by Olga
Kotelko.

At one point during a game, the coach said to one of his young players, “Do you understand what cooperation is? What a team
is?”

The little boy
nodded.

“Do you understand what matters is whether we win together as a team?” The little boy
nodded.

“So,” the coach continued, “when a strike is called or you’re out at first, you don’t argue or curse or attack the umpire. Do you understand
that?”

Again the little boy
nodded.

“Good! Now go over and explain that to your
mother.”

TWO
My Early Years

A friendly chat with photographer Patrik on the track in LA 2010. Patrik Giardino
photo.

Lesson:
A happy, healthy family is one of the basic building blocks in a healthy community. Next to our life’s work, our close personal relationships are extremely important in forming who we were, who we are, and who we will become. The values I learned on the family farm have guided me in life, in particular the value of hard
work.

“Don’t
judge each day by the harvest you reap
but by the
seeds you plant.”
—
Robert Louis
Stevenson

I never imagined when growing up on the family farm in Smuts, Saskatchewan that I would be doing what I am doing today. The road from the family farm to world class athletics was a long and arduous one, and it seems that I had begun to challenge gravity even as an
infant.

I was born on March 2, 1919 to Wasyl Shawaga and Anna Bayda, the seventh of their eleven children. As was the custom at six weeks of age, I was taken to be baptized at St. John the Baptist, our Ukrainian Catholic church. My father had hitched up a team of horses to the family sleigh, and while mother and my then six brothers and sisters snuggled under down-filled quilts, laughing and talking about the upcoming special occasion, I was bundled up and sleeping peacefully in the
sleigh.

With only a few miles to go, mother checked on me. No baby Frances! The baby wasn’t there! They found me about a mile back, sleeping on the snow, still snug in my blanket. There was no backboard on the sleigh, and I guess I had gradually worked my way to the back of the sleigh, slid out, and landed right side up. I really don’t remember! Nor do I remember the baptismal ceremony, but the day was significant because for the first, but not the last time in my life, an external event contributed to the formation of my identity. In this case, the priest disapproved of ‘Frances’, the name my parents had chosen to call me. He preferred ‘Olga’, so Olga I became, and that has been my name ever
since.

My mother’s father, Michaylo Bayda (1855 – 1937), was the eldest son of Fedko Bayda (1831 – 1883) and Maria Yakowich. My maternal grandfather was born near the village of Zabokroku, in the county of Horodenka, Province of Halychena, Ukraine. He later became a policeman in that
area.

Michaylo and his 40-year-old wife Maria left their homeland and immigrated to Canada in 1901. They arrived with the hope of gaining independence, security, and freedom, and the goal of preserving their beliefs, culture, and
traditions.

In preparation for a Shawaga family reunion 1901 – 1986, my sister Phyllis researched our ancestry. She discovered that a branch of the family, our maternal DNA that stretched beyond Michaylo, might be associated with a Ukrainian nobleman. My mother’s family, the Baydas, may have descended from Prince Dmytro Bayda Vishnevetsky (1516 – 1563). Since we don’t have definitive proof, for instance a sample of DNA, it is impossible to confirm that association. Yet when I look at my belief that life is an adventure, and recognize that I am both a fierce competitor and a warrior, it just might be true. Cultural genetics, if you like, can also act as an external force in the construction of one’s character. The Prince may have been influential in the formation of my identity and contributed to my athletic
success.

Prince Vishnevetsky, who lived in Ukraine during the reign of Ivan the Terrible, was a descendant of the Lithuanian Prince Olgerd, a renowned leader in the colourful history of Ukrainian Cossacks. Cossacks were groups of East Slavic and Turk, or mixed-origin people, who originally were members of democratic, semi-military communities in different regions of Ukraine and Southern Russia from the era of Genghis Khan and the Mongol Hordes. The word “Cossack” denotes a privileged position. It is of Turkish origin, meaning “free man”, “guard”, “escort”, and “adventurer”. Perhaps my adventurous spirit comes from these ancient
links.

Cossacks were mainly made up of serfs who preferred the dangerous freedom of the wild steppes rather than life under the harsh rule of cruel nobility. The Cossacks who lived on the steppes of Ukraine were notorious, and their numbers increased greatly between the 15th and 17th centuries. Usually they were led by princes, merchants, or runaway peasants from the area of the Poland-Lithuanian Commonwealth. Cossack society was ethnically diverse, and some Cossacks may have had their origins from as far away as Scotland. Jews also served in the ranks of the Cossacks. The Zaporozhians were the most famous among the Cossacks, and they were generally indifferent to religious matters. If you were brave and craved freedom they welcomed
you.

Prince Vishnevetsky came from an area in southern Ukraine called Volyn Hedyminovychiv. He was the owner of landed estates in the Kremenets district. In the three year period between 1550 – 1553, he was mayor of Cherkassy and Kanevsky counties. Around 1552 he built on the island Khortytsya a small castle, which became the prototype of the Zaporizhzhya Sich, the fortified capital located on the Dnieper River and the home of the legendary Cossacks. Since Cossacks were major characters in Ukrainian folklore, the Zaporozhians, in particular, were renowned for their heroic raids against the Ottoman
Empire.

In October 1557, Prince Vishnevetsky led 600 Cossack horsemen to free several thousand Ukrainian slaves being held by the Turks. The Turks could be unbelievably cruel to their Ukrainian captives. For example, they would blind oarsmen to prevent their escape from the slave ships. Fortunately, the Prince and his men successfully captured the Turkish fortress and freed the
slaves.

Slavery was such an important part of Ottoman society. So many
Slavs
were enslaved for centuries that the very name ‘slave’ is derived from the Slavic people, not only in English but in other European languages. Eight years after he captured the Turkish fortress, in early 1563 during a campaign to Moldova, Prince Vishnevetsky was captured and was sent to Constantinople. The heroism and martyrdom of the prince were celebrated in the national parliament, or
Duma.

Prior to their defeat, the Turkish leader demanded that the Cossacks submit to Turkish rule. A famous picture by Ilya Repin (1844 – 1930) entitled
The Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks to the Sultan of Turkey
hangs today in the State Russian Museum in St Petersburg. This painting depicts the gathering of Zaporozhian Cossacks as they pen a reply to the Turkish sultan. Their apparent glee suggests they were deriving great pleasure in composing insults to hurl at their
enemy.

The artist Repin greatly admired the Cossacks, saying, “All that Gogol wrote about them is true! A holy people! No one in the world held so deeply freedom, equality and
fraternity.”

Understandably, the battlefield presented opportunities for past generations of Ukrainians to experience victories and defeats, but I prefer the less violent arena of track and field to celebrate freedom, equality, fraternity, and
sisterhood.

Fast forward several
centuries.

Back in 1901 at the start of the 20th century, the Bayda family—Michaylo, Maria and their children, Nicola (20), Maria (17), Fedor (15), my mother Anna(12) and Iwan (7)—arrived in Canada after sailing from Hamburg, Germany, across the Atlantic Ocean. The family arrived in Halifax, Nova Scotia on May 31, at 6 p.m. (Their son Dmytro would be born in
Canada.)

My maternal grandparents and their five children left Halifax and travelled by train via Winnipeg, Manitoba to Rosthern, Saskatchewan where Michaylo’s brother, Andree met them. He and his wife Paraska Slusar and family had immigrated to Canada in 1899 and had homesteaded in the Alvena district. Michaylo applied for and was granted a homestead in July, 1901. Their first home was a hovel, a miserable dwelling on the side of a bank of earth. The two parents and their children, aged twenty to seven, lived together in this cramped space. My mother Anna was twelve years old at the time. Later my grandfather erected a log house where Anna lived until she married my father, Wasyl
Shawaga.

My father’s parents, Stephan Shawaga and Anastazia Konowaluk, came from the village of Harasymiw in the county of Horodska, in Halychyna, Ukraine. My grandfather Stephan was born June 8, 1854, and my grandmother Anastazia was born July 12, 1864. They had six children: Dmytro (1883), my father Wasyl (1887), Mike (1890) and Jim (1895), all born in Ukraine; in Canada, Nastia was born in 1902, and Nick was born in
1905.

The Dominion Lands Act
passed in 1872 allowed a settler to a quarter section of unoccupied Dominion land as a homestead for the payment of $10.00 registration fee. After three years, the settler might file a claim of ownership if he could show proof that he had broken a specific number of acres and had built a residence on
it.

In the spring of 1905, teenage Wasyl filed for homestead rights for 160 acres in the SW ¼ of Section 28, Township 40, Range 1, West of the 3rd Meridian. He cleared and broke 2 acres and raised a crop by fall. It was only then that he asked my mother Anna to marry him. Anna had caught his eye when both families first met onboard the steamship
Bulgaria
during the long voyage across the Atlantic. Their ship, which carried 717 passengers, was not a fancy cruise ship, but a sturdy basic boat with livestock as well as people. The two families sailed on this ship and settled in their own respective homesteads eight miles apart in the same
community.

Father and mother would settle in a small hamlet called Smuts, ten miles outside of Vonda, northeast of Saskatoon. My father was 19 and my mother 17 when they married on November 26, 1906. That year, Wasyl broke another 3 acres and cropped 3 more acres by fall. He also acquired 10 head of cattle and 2 pigs. By 1909 Wasyl and Anna broke and cropped many more acres. The clearing of the land was all hand labour. The land was stoney, and the stones had to be picked by hand. Oxen were then used to plough the
land.

By 1910, Wasyl owned 9 head of cattle, 3 horses and 4 pigs. He had built a 16’ x 24’ log house at a cost of $150. He built an 18’ x 30’ log barn at a cost of $30, a 16’x 26’ granary for $100, and had dug a well at a cost of
$20.

Like many who left small plots in the homeland, these early Ukrainian settlers were overjoyed to farm hundreds of acres of land. This made any hardship they endured worthwhile. My father was ambitious, and he was determined to be a good farmer. Eventually he would own 16 farms
(quarters).

My parents were compassionate and loving people but had little, if any, formal education. Everything they accomplished was done through practical intuition—how they started their married life together and how they carried on from there. They trusted that if they adhered to fundamental values, their hard work would lead them toward a prosperous future. Despite their lack of formal education, my parents taught us integrity and an unflappable work ethic. Father believed in duty, order, respect, and commitment to a goal: he taught me that with effort anything was possible. You just had to think your way through
it.

My mother not only cared for the family but, like many other farm wives, she also helped her husband with the land work. She would hitch two oxen and one horse to a plough while father used five horses to work the land. In 1919, they built a large modern 6 room, two storey house on the property. On March 2nd of that year I was born in our new house. As testament to their skill, the house is still
standing.

My parents lived by the sweat of their brow and enjoyed the fruit of their labour. Everything they needed and wanted was grown, built, or baked. Their marriage was an example of beautiful teamwork, and I was fortunate to witness what a successful marriage can look
like.

Smuts was a small farming community with few amenities besides the two large grain elevators, a grocery store, and the Ukrainian Catholic church—St. John the Baptist—that our family attended every Sunday. The main roads were built using a steamer engine, while side roads were built with road gangs composed of farmers who worked for the county to pay their taxes. By 1927, father travelled those thoroughfares in his new Model T
Ford.

Both of my parents took great interest in their community and both worked devoutly for the Catholic Church, where father served on the parish executive for many years. He was one of the founding members who helped build the church. He also served on the executive of the Riel Dana School, a rural one-room schoolhouse, where as many as 47 pupils
attended.

Compared to Smuts, Vonda was a bustling little town. Father would visit there often, and he made friends easily with many people in town: the doctor, the lawyer, the grocer, the blacksmith. Father was a good networker. He learned to read and speak English fluently from his English friends. His philosophy in life and in business was to strive for excellence—Be bold, be you, but most of all, be true to who you
are.