One year

Exactly one year ago today, my heart split solidly in two.
The phone rang at just after 6 in the morning.
I remember my grandmother's voice like it was yesterday.
"Are you sure?" I asked. Twice, I think. I was confused. Stunned. Instantly heartbroken. Utterly sad.
One sentence changed my life.

It was a Friday morning. And one of my life's greatest mentors had fallen.

People always say "Time heals."
It's a cliché for comfort. An idiom to help us get through tough times.
And it's true(ish) to an extent.
I am, for the most part, grateful for time.

This year has healed, no doubt.
By Christmas, the deep wound from June was a sore throbbing scab.
Trying to regenerate. To fill a deep void.
I could tell stories now and laugh.
I could say his name without choking. I could look my cousins in the eye without wanting to sob freely – feeling deep inside the magnitude of their loss.
I could hug my Aunt without crumbling... too much.
It was a dull ache. And a warm feeling. Like he was both gone and here, all at once.

The scab scarred not long after the last frost. With Spring came peace.
Or maybe just acceptance. Possibly a little bit of both.
The hurt was encased. Not forgotten, just protected. The memories were safely vaulted.
Time was "healing" things... just like they said.

But when I started to type "p-h-i..." in the TO field of an email on Tuesday, preparing to write a note to a client, the TO field auto-populated with "Uncle Phil (Phil Diamond)".

I swallowed a lump. It burned in my stomach. My eyes welled up instantly.
Like I had just lost him yesterday.

I haven't seen his name in the TO field for 365 days.

To: Uncle Phil.
Ouch.

It used to be there once every two weeks or so. At least.
And I miss it.

I miss him actually.

His laugh (like no one else's on earth!). His wit. His advice. His opinions. His unapologetic honesty.
Always just doing the best he could with what he had. Thinking, sometimes, that it wasn't enough but, whoa, it was SO much more than enough.

I miss him.

I've peppered the last year with various coping mechanisms. Trying to find a groove in a Phil Diamond-less world and failing at it, because I don't fully accept that the world can be as great without him.

I have a sticky note on my computer:
"What would Uncle Phil do?"

I channel all those chats we had in dingy diners over half-cooked eggs and soggy toast and muster up my own lessons or advice or insights when I'm stuck.

They're like D.I.Y Frankenstein concoctions of his advice over the years – my own experiments to help me through sticky business situations.

There is an Uncle Phil pin on my purse, in the inside. I see it when I open it up. Like I'm carrying him in my pocket with me. It might be a little crazy. I'm not sure. But there is comfort in it.

When I am stuck on something, M always says "Just ask Uncle Phil. He'll know."
And he's right.
Uncle Phil will know.
Or he would have.
But I can't quite feel his answers sometimes.
It's like he's too far away.
But maybe he's doing that on purpose – he's here but just far enough away that I'm forced to kick self-doubt to the curb and trust that I'll know what to do.
He often said "If it feels good, Kimmy Kimmy, it's probably the right call."

A year without Uncle Phil has taught me a lot of things, the most salient being that a year without Uncle Phil totally, utterly, absolutely stinks.

It's pure shit.

There are no adjectives to sugarcoat it. No sweet syntax to make it sound rosy.
There have been lessons, sure. And personal growth, absolutely. And positivity abound, no doubt.
But still, I liked the world better on June 28th last year than I do today.
I'm stubborn like that.
Uncle Phil would shake his head right now and smile wryly.
He'd say something like "You know, Kimmy Kimmy, you're just like your Aunt."
I would respond cheekily: "Thank you!"
Then he'd roll his eyes and let out a resounding Ha!

Man, I miss that laugh.

I don't think that time really heals wounds, it just changes things. It reminds me that life goes on and that the sun always rises, even when the world feels dark. It provides perspective and gives space to laugh again. And I'm grateful for that. I am blessed. This life is beautiful and I am thankful that for nearly 34 years, I was blessed to have my Uncle Phil in it.

Three hundred and sixty five days ago a great man took his last breath on this sweet planet.
He made his peace. He bid farewell. He went out with dignity, and he had the last laugh.
(Thank you, Frank.)

I doubt the world will ever see another soul like his.

5 Peaks – Alice Lake

I love trail running. LOVE it. Actually miss it when I don't do it. Crave it when my feet haven't touched a trail in more than a week. And the best part: I am a fairly mediocre trail runner. I'm slow and a too cautious. I'm so enamoured by my surroundings that sometimes I forget I am running – or racing.

Mmmm... pre- and post-race fuel!

But man, I love it.

So every year I take part in the 5 Peaks trail running series.
Five race, one per month, at five different peaks in the lower mainland.

Two weeks ago, I was lucky enough to race at Alice Lake, near Squamish for the first time ever.
I've been here before to snowshoe in the winter, but have never run the trails past the last frost.

The day started with juice and jitters. Some pre-race energy courtesy of my fan: M.

It was overcast and drizzly. Half the runners had long sleeves and layers. I had a tank top and deep regret for not reviewing the weather report.

The first two kilometres of the Sport Distance were pretty much UP!. Lots of elevation gain. Lots of trail runners "walking" up the steep hills and embracing the lactic acid build up with smiles.

Before race / After race

AS I ran / walked / jumped / trekked upward, the skies cleared, the sun rose, and I was grateful for my lack of layers.

After cresting the hill we had a brilliant yet technical downhill route for another 2 or 3 km. It was thin – passing was nearly impossible. It was roots and rocks and instability. SO. MUCH. FUN. There were little rickety mountain bike jumps that I ran up and jumped off – giving this white girl a little air and a great thrill.

"I believe I can fly!" said a runner who jumped off the jump with a smile so big it nearly jumped of her face. It was a brilliant day for a race.

The terrain was some of the most unstable and technical I've run on. My brain hurt more than my quads, really. I barely looked up – watched my footing the whole time.

In fact, I was so focused on clever footwork that as the elevation steadied, I didn't realize until I pulled a hard right and heard a roaring crowd -- what? the finish line?

M was there with a banana and water in hand – a loyal fan.

I didn't break any records.
Came about 200th over all.
Felt fast and strong, though.
And felt alive.

Can't wait for next month's race in Whistler!

46 minutes!!!

For six years, I have been tackling the Grouse Grind pretty much every Friday during open season (May - October-ish). There was a two year lull in the middle when I was recovering form my back injury, but otherwise, the Grind has been one of my favourite challenges.

2.9 vertical kilometers. Dubbed "Nature's Stairmaster". The elevation gain is 2800 ft. There are 2830 stairs. My quads burn three minutes in and non-stop until the top. I listen to my music just loud enough to drown out my breathing – everyone heaves on the Grind. It's a massive collective gasp for air.

I love the Grind because of the physical challenge. No matter how many times I do it, it's hard. My body burns. And I have to push myself.

I love the Grind because when I reach the top, I feel accomplished. There is a 360º view of the lower mainland. I feel on top of the world. And I am reminded, every time, how lucky I am to be alive and healthy and in Vancouver.

My goal, consistently, has been to be 60 minutes. Most people take between an hour and an hour and a half. The pros can get it done in under an hour. The amazing polish it off in 30-40 minutes.

Today, I reached the top in 46 minutes.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I feel amazing.
Take that Grouse Grind.

Sunny San Francisco

Fortunately for me, my job sometimes takes me out of the office to other edges of the world. In April, I spent 24 hours in the Haida Gwaii and fell hopelessly in love with the region again – the same way I did in 2010. And at the end of April I was afforded another opportunity: San Francisco.

I flew to the flambouyant city on a Wednesday for the TYPO Conference. I had heard great things about San Francisco – sunny, wacky, wonderful, slightly ostentatious, and a wicked-cool art scene.
I was keen to explore myself. That said, a 9-5 conference doesn't allow for too much exploring, but I managed to use each minute to my benefit.

The Market

The first night, I moseyed on down to famous Pier 39, a tourist hub that is much like Whistler is to BC, except instead of mountains there is a magnificent coastline. Instead of chalets, fish houses with outdoor eating. Instead of snowbunnies, sea lions and seaguls. And tourists abound.

I walked a hefty uphill past Nob Hill and down the edge of the continent.

Looking around, it's clear that San Franciscans are fit and fabulous. I attribute their tight buttocks to all the hills. I felt the burn. It was brilliant.

I sipped an iced almond latte at the edge of the pier and watched the waves crash on Alcatraz. Then headed home, back up, then down, around.

On Day Two, I explored the vegan scene – I'm not a minority here! Green juice everywhere!
In fact, the amazing people at Living Greens delivered three days worth of cold pressed veggies and fruit juices to my hotel to keep me alive while I was away from my VitaMix.

Without a bar fridge in the hotel room, I had to get creative and spent three days popping in to the hotel every 5 hours or so to get more ice from the ice machine and fill up the sink with ice and juice. It was a vegan dream.

I hit up Source for a sweet savoury wrap on  Friday and explored the city's fashion and arts district. It was a designer's heaven. Culture abound. I bumped into a Jamaican man selling Ginger Beer who was keen on getting my number. I saw a man pasting graffiti in an alley, and I thought it was beautiful. I peaked into the Adobe offices and had a tinge of jealousy. I snapped pics of architecture and wild gardens and interesting people. I was a cultural paparazzo.

Saturday was adventure day. I woke up at five, pressed play on my iPod, and walked up and down (oh, the burn!) to the Pier to rent a bike.

"I have to be back at the hotel by 10 to check out," I said to the store owner.
"Can I bike across the Golden Gate and back and then walk to the hotel in two hours or less."

"Well," he said. "I suppose it can be done. But your legs are gonna kill."

"Awesome. How much?"

I strapped on my helmut, hopped on the bike, and pedalled hard.
I passed a triathlon training crew doing laps in the ocean. Children making sandcastles. Tourists taking pictures of the Golden Gate from afar. I pedalled more. Up and onto the bridge.

The Golden Gate Bridge.

I admit: I was skeptical at first. I mean, it's just a a bridge right? What's the big deal?
But once on it, the wind at my back, the sun gleaming down, the towering beams, and the 360-degree vista... it was quite something. It was like drinking kook-aid in the mini-pool as a kid.

Pure bliss.

Beautiful day for a bike ride!

I called M and showed him the view.
"You're insane!" he said.
"Gotta pedal!" I replied.

I pressed on. Over the the cliffside and back again.

Biking the Golden Gate Bridge from kmcmullen on Vimeo.

"You did the WHOLE thing?" said the guy at the bike rental place with mouth again and a slight air of disbelief.

"Yep. Gorgeous!" I said and gave him my sweat-drenched helmut.

I decided to run back to the hotel – tunes pumping, lungs pounding, heartbeat racing.

"You're beautiful!" a cab driver yelled.
I gave him the thumbs up.
Everything is awesome in San Francisco.

I will be back.

Hi Haida!

In the fog of deadlines, overdue bills, and business growth, I often forget how fortunate I am. And then, a client asks me to fly to the Haida Gwaii to be a part of a spectacular project that makes my heart beat fast and my insides shiver and I realize: Wow, life is pretty amazing!

I flew to Haida Gwaii at the end of April on the first beautiful day of the year after 6 months of rain and grey clouds. I landed down at the Masset Airport – a cabin with one airstrip. The pilot dropped me off at the door. Literally.

Masset Airport – Door to Door Service

Waiting for my luggage, I realized there was no one else waiting. The airport was vacant. And the plane that dropped me off just gassed up and was airbound again. I looked outside. The "Baggage Claim" was the ground by the fence.

I love this place, I thought.

My phone had no reception. I used a pay phone for the first time in years to call a "cab". Actually, I called "Herb", and he said he knew I was coming and was on his way.

Everyone waved as we drove into the village.
Everyone smiled.

Sometimes, it's nice to be totally disconnected from email, phone, and obligations and reconnect to the simple art form of community.

I met with two incredible Haida Gwaii who told me about the magic of the land, the history of the culture, and the felled Golden Spruce (the reason I was here in the first place.)

Then, my client said the best sentence I have ever heard in my career:
"To do great work Kim, you're going to have to go hike the trails and experience the land."

And so I did. I hiked Tow Hill, a spit of land with a 500 ft hill amidst flatlands and sky-high spruce. A naturally occurring blowhole in the rocks gurgled and splashed. The sun shone intently. The trees rocked in the wind.

Tow Hill Beach

This is a magical place.

View from the top of Tow Hill

In the morning, after a snooze in a sweet cabin with an even sweeter owner (who prepared me a delicious vegan breakfast – Thank you!), I hopped on over to the Golden Spruce Trail for a 7 a.m. hike. It was misty and cool. The temperature dropped about 7 degrees only 10 paces in. The tree trunks were the size of trucks. The air was crisp and crunchy. The silence was healing.

I walked. The ground crunched. The birds chirped. I listened. Branches sang in the wind. Squirrels scurried.

At the trail's main turnaround point, just 20 minutes in, the Yakoun River runs wild and cool. There are five species of salmon running here. Locals feed their families from this river and make medicines from the trees. Over the river is a snag – this is the Golden Spruce. Or what is left of the magical tree that was felled in 1997 by a logging protester.

But although the ancient tree – once regarded as a beacon of life – is grey and wilted, the magic is not lost. I stood there. Silent. Breathing in. Eyes closes. Head upturned. Lips curled in a half grin.

I could solve the world's problems here, I thought.

The sun rose. And the tops of the Sitka Spruce turned gold. Like they were gems alit from within.
It was a fairy tale unfolding.

The sun rises over the Golden Spruce Trail

Four hours later, Herb dropped me off at the airport again, I walked onto the tarmac and into the plane, buckled up and headed home.

Just 24 hours in this magical place, and I was nourished, happy, complete.
It must be the most beautiful place on earth.

Adventures in business ownership

Whoa.

The last three months have floored me. Moved me. Inspired me. Tested me. Depleted me. Uplifted me. Motivated me. Changed me.

I've been underwater growing a dream and ignoring health and wellness as a result (I highly recommend not doing this.)

My regular runs morphed into bi-weekly runs beyond of January. 3x a week training sessions quickly dwindled into 5 a.m. phone calls apologizing for having to cancel last minute but I only got 2 hours of sleep last night. By February, I was so tired, sick with the flu, strep throat, bronchitis, that walking a kilometre to work was a chore.

Coughing and wheezing, I pressed on.

The business is growing. It hit a point last October where I had to make a decision – (a) Leap and take a risk. Gamble it all – my money, my bank account, and my reputation just for a chance to achieve a dream and make a difference in a bigger, better way; or (b) scale back, take a breath, and be okay with being little.

I chose LEAP.

But not without countless conversations with mentors and loved ones, a few self-pitying cries, sleepless, worry-filled nights, and general fret.

I leaned in, took the plunge, and by January, I was in it.
Deep in it.
Some days, it was mesmerizing – new staff, new space, new clients!
Everything was growing, blossoming, transforming.
Other days, it felt like a black hole of debt, overdue bills, and uncertainty.

But I pressed on.
With a keen and committed team.
One foot in front of the other.

Chaos ensured.
I was so sick that for the first time in 7 years of business ownership, I had to take a day off. Five actually.
The renovations on the new space went south and budgets skyrocketed.
A big client didn't have the dollars to pay a big bill.
An awesome opportunity fell through the cracks because we were too busy to notice.

I felt our foundation cracking.
I was cracking.
And my pants were getting tight.

A 11 pm one night, in the office, with the heat on full blast and my head in my hands, tears running through my fingers plump with worry, I felt lost and full of self-doubt.

"Self doubt is seasonal," a mentor of mine once said. "Spring always comes."

I took a few deep breaths.
I listened to Frank Sinatra's My Way, because my Uncle loved that song and he would have sage advice for me at this moment if he were here. I listened hard, eyes closed. Hoping to hear a "You know what do, Kimmy" through the harmony.

I called dad.
I talked to mom.
I texted my brother.
I threw my arms around my man and squeezed tight.

"You've got this, babe." he said with the confidence I was lacking.
"You're a tank. You're gettin' shit done and takin' names. You've GOT this."

"I'm pathetic," I said wiping tears from cheeks, sniffling dripping snot.

We laughed.

Then I woke up this morning, put on my teal heels, walked into a new business meeting, and owned the floor.

Because I've got this.

It's the wildest rollercoaster I've ever endured. The biggest adventure. The greatest love. The most painful heartache. The highs are unbelievable. The lows are nearly unbearable. 

But the ride... man... the ride is the time of my life.

And so I press on. 

Leaping into the new year

My favourite adventures are adventures shared.
I love love love... like REALLY love ... sharing my love for heart-thumping good times with people I love.

So when M's 30th birthday showed up on a cool Monday in January, I jumped at the chance to share my birthday philosophy with him: Do something every year you haven't done before.

Of course, I didn't so much "share" this as throw him into it headfirst! Lucky for me, he was a willing participant.

We headed to Whistler eager for fun. He with chipmunk cheeks and Tylenol 3s from a last minute wisdom tooth extraction but an unflinching spirit for adventure and me ripe with anticipation of what was to unfold.

We jam packed our two days with experiences and memories and moments that will stick with us from lifetimes over and over.

First: terry cloth robes and a sweet hotel room.
Second: Ski lessons complete with wipeouts, laughter, and some killer swooshes.
Third: gourmet hotdogs (veggie for me) and cream sodas
Fourth: a flask filled with caramel schnapps and a cool evening on a mountain top
Fifth: So much food that we nearly rolled home.
Sixth: hiking, jumping, playing in the snow with Harley
Seventh: Bungee jumping over a snowfilled canyon under a crisp blue sky.

It was heaven (with a side of lightening bolt).