Walking on Thin Ice_ made the _New York Times_ bestseller list, and both my son and daughter-in-law worked on it, too. I made a point of going to bed early when it was on TV and would talk to my children after the show to see how it was doing. In the past I never gave my time to such things, but since the age of sixty, I was spending almost all my days and nights at home. At first this caused a certain amount of family tension, but then we came to accept it and found that I was in less pain and was able to spend more time with each of them. Eventually they grew used to my staying up half the night, because I was always able to sleep after the kids went to bed. In the course of a month I lost twelve pounds. I'm sure I would have lost twenty more pounds if my family had left me alone. I had gained weight with age but now seemed to be losing it. My wife came into the room and said she had heard noises and felt sure I was back. I said I wasn't, but she said to stay where I was and I would do better with her support. "It's my bed I have to sleep in," I said. _Sunday, November 11_ Nancy Kerrigan is in her fifteenth year as a member of the U.S. figure skating team, and she won a gold medal in the 1990 World Figure Skating Championships. One of her most memorable achievements was her performance at the 1991 World Championship. She was considered the favorite to win the gold and she did not disappoint. Before the evening ended she had gone through two of the most strenuous tests of physical and mental endurance, the long program and the short program, to win the gold. In the morning Nancy was practicing a jump at a little ice rink near our house and told me she wanted to go out there and do it for me, but I was in bad shape and she shouldn't. She knew she should wait until I was well enough to go out to the rink and practice. But the young people wanted to be a part of the skating, and since Nancy was the best skater of all the youngsters, they felt it would be fun to work with her. So they came by and I asked them to join me in putting in the ice. We did it in front of a group of reporters, and even they applauded Nancy's performance. We spent a happy hour talking and Nancy agreed to have her picture taken with me. I looked at the picture and my eyes teared up and my lips quivered. I was proud of my dear friend and said, "She looks beautiful. I just can't tell you how beautiful she is." _Monday, November 12_ At dinner I told John M. to bring me up an issue of _Sports Illustrated_ I'd been wanting to read. We were eating at a favorite restaurant and he said, "You always ask me to get an issue of _Sports Illustrated_ magazine with you. It's because you can't read it." He was right. When I was in my fifties I taught myself to read by reading comic books, but I never learned to read the sports section of a newspaper because I couldn't keep my eyes off the baseball cards. I asked how I was going to get out of this mess and John M. told me I should start the book on my night table. "I'll bring it to you and you can read it all night and learn to read the newspaper." So at 8 P.M., even before dinner was served, there was a huge stack of _Sports Illustrated_ next to my plate. This was an enormous disappointment. When I left for the hospital I'd had three books in my possession, each one bigger than this stack of _Sports Illustrated_ , and I couldn't read a word. But John was right; I picked it up this morning and I'm reading it. _Thursday, November 15_ The three grandchildren who came over were all at home for the first time this Thanksgiving. I was looking forward to their visit but I was still in a wheelchair, so I couldn't do much but talk. These visits are important for me and give me the joy I had hoped for. It was very clear that the children love their grandfather. "Grandpa is so important to us," said Maggie, our daughter's daughter, who is living with her family in Baton Rouge. "And now we'll have a chance to learn more about him and love him even more." This brought back memories of her father, who died several years ago, and how much she loved him. I remembered his kindness toward me, and it wasn't too long before we were reminiscing about him. She showed me his pictures and I told her what a good man he was. "Yes, he was," she said. "We've always known that. My brother loved him so much. When they were together, he felt that his life was complete." _Saturday, November 17_ With the arrival of Thanksgiving Day I became aware of things that have been neglected during the past six months, the Thanksgiving holiday, the beauty of a winter night and the coldness of a winter day. We are told by those who live in the north of the United States and in most European countries that they must get their lives in order, they must give up anything that gets in their way. They are told that their way of living is too exhausting. And they give up because the cost of life has become too expensive. They give up living in the present because they must save money in anticipation of the future. For them retirement must be lived in the present, but I would say that it has to be lived in the present, but I would say that it has to be lived in the present, but I would say that it has to be lived for all the time the spirit is willing to carry on living, living in the present, using the present. Withdrawing myself from the city-bound world of the twentieth century in which I've lived and taken myself to the hills and to the quiet of a country neighborhood, I have given my days back to nature and the simple life. I've allowed myself to live for today, now. What's more, I'm living my second life. It's more pleasant than living one life. I used to take pride in going from house to house and talking to people about how to get their health back, how to get away from all kinds of diseases that afflict the modern world. I talked to people about how to get their health back and how to get rid of bad health. I knew about that then. I have no regrets about my life as a whole. And I have no regrets about the mistakes I made in my life. In my books and lectures I tell people to love and be wise. Love is not the same as sex. Love is a matter of the heart. But I have no regrets about what I've done. I have lived in the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the right and the wrong. But today, now, I am still alive, and I am still writing. _Sunday, November 18_ A group of us gathered in the family room of the condominium. I was in a wheelchair in front of my television set. It was a glorious day. The trees were turning green and their leaves were soaking up the sun, giving off a wonderful fragrance. The air was warm and balmy and there was a mild breeze through the windows. We're all fortunate to have our health and to be able to enjoy a beautiful Sunday. And it's even better to have all of us together in the condominium and to share that pleasure with the world. I would like to say something about the condominium. During the first year it had been fun and exciting. We thought of ourselves as pioneers and were able to enjoy a few things that only a very few people living in New York City can enjoy. We were close to the center of the universe for all those who lived at that spot in Manhattan. But within a few years, the condominium had become an institution, and while the outside world is still waiting for a cure for cancer, many of us are beginning to develop new illnesses. What's more, it seems that no matter where you go, the condominium stands as an example of modern housing. If we are to look at this from the practical point of view, it is a bad idea for us to become a tourist attraction. The first time I saw the film of this book in New York City, it was at the condominium. Since it was to be shown in Miami, it had been shipped to be put on the shelf. I felt a keen sense of loss. On the other hand, I felt as if my book had a home here. So today, in this small apartment, the scene of the struggle and the victory in my life, I would like to read this book and reread it again and again and again. _Monday, November 19_ I had breakfast with John Heisman, the famous Yale football coach, in Connecticut, and a conversation with him about athletic achievement and how, when the great athlete is in the moment, everything else disappears. Anytime we step off the path of performance, as all of us, even the finest athletes, do every day, we give up our performance and walk off the