Running the Okanagan Half Marathon with my dad!

Dad flew in from Ontario last Thursday and we embarked on the 400+ km journey to Kelowna on Friday in preparation for our half-marathon there on Sunday, Oct 7. On Thursday, we went into a local Running Room on West Broadway to grab a few Clif Bars for our long run and mentioned to the cashier that we were on our way to the Okanagan.

"Oh no," she said with dread in her voice. "You're doing the Okanagan Half?"

We nodded.

"It's supposed to thunder storm there all weekend."

Dad and I exchanged grins. "No it's not," we told her with optimism in our voices (though secretly knowing full well that the weather network was callng for 100% chance of rain.) Still, we remained hopeful.

The trip to Kelowna was spectacular. We travelled up and above the mountains on the Coquiholla Highway. The vistas were spectacular. We were so high up that we were driving, in some points, in the snow capped mountains. It was beautiful (and cold!) We felt on top of the world.

When we round one of the mountains in Westbank and began descending into the valley, we came across Okanagan Lake. What a site!!! Simply beautiful, like glass, sitting gently in the valley of towering mountains. Sailboats and motorboats and billboards of the lake's mystical monster, Ogopogo, dotted the landscape as we drove in.

We stayed at a great little time share near Duck Lake called Holiday Park. A nice big one-bedroom unit (bigger than my apartment) with a fire place, dining table, and living room. We went to City Park and the Running Room tent to pick up our race kits, took in the scenery, and made some chicken and potatoes in our condo for dinner, and quickly faded fast. We were excited to find lots of goodies in our race bags: Dad was particularly fond of his free "fuel belt" which he wore with pride on race day!

On saturday, we were expecting to wake up to rain. And, surprisingly, it was beautiful. Not a cloud in the sky. We did a small 5k walk to keep our muscles limber for the race, then trekked into town to drive the 21.1 kilometre route, so we knew what we were in for!

Sunday came quickly. So did the din of Dad's ever annoying alarm at 4:30 AM! We ate breakfast, donned our racing gear, put on our racing numbers (I was 2661; Dad was 217) and drove into town. It was pitch black. Blacker than black. And maybe 5 degrees. We could see our breath. But we couldn't see clouds, so we convinced ourselves that the 100% chance of rain was bogus and that the sky was clear above!

"It's night." I said to Dad.

"I don't think that sun comes up until 10 here," he responded. "It's got a long way to go to get over those mountains."

Here we are, pre-race at 6:00 AM.
It's dark, but we're happy. Although we were cold and tired, we were PUMPED! Finally, Race Day!! Dad was in a field of 100 walkers and was set to start his race at 7:00 AM. While we waited, we eyed the competition. "You can totally beat him," I said snarkily and with bias toward Dad in my voice as I pointed out some lesser-fit opponents.
"Oh yeah," Dad said with bravado. "He's going down."

Here's dad at the start line. Still dark, but happy!


After the gun went off and Dad set forth on what would be his best race ever, I ran back to the car to grab a few more bites of Clif Bar, drop off my camera, get a pep talk from Paul, and then gathered with 3000 other Half- and Full-Marathon runners at the start line. At 8 AM sharp, the gun went off. There were so many people that it took me almost 4 minutes to reach the Start Line!

The sun was starting to rise and the biggest surprise of the day was: no clouds!! It seemed that the rain was going to hold off after all! John Stanton, the owner of the Running Room and the Race Official for the Okanagan International Marathon said over the loud speakers: "Here they go! 3,000 runners. And it's a heckuva day for a personal best!"

He was right. I felt fantastic. I was running fast (or at least fast, for me) and was delighted when, at the 7k mark, I saw Dad looping back (he was at about 13-14k). He was only 8 or 9 back from the leader of the walk!! It was awesome! We smiled, high-fived, and carried forward. I was so pumped after I saw him. "Man!" I thought, "He's my hero! Dad is beating the pants off of 100 other walkers!"

I had a great momentum. My two months of hill training up a nasty hill on 8th Avenue near home seemed to prepare me well for the hills on the this route. I passed a number of people on the way up. It was exhiliarating! (Especially because I am often the one getting passed.)

I was feeling strong adn fast, until I slowed down briefly at the 18 kilometre water station and my knees seized. My quads tightened. I wanted to stop. But I often find that racing long distances is more of a mental game than a physical one. So I told myself: Just 3 more kilometers to go. You can do this.

And I picked up my pace again.

As I came into the final chute, 100 m from the finish line, I saw the clock and was stunned! I had wanted to run the Half in 2 hours and 20 minutes. The clock was at 2:16. And, with my chip time, I knew I was at 2:13. I ran as fast as I could. A great finishing stride. John Stanton called out my name as I came up the shoot. Dad yelled "Great time Kim!" and pumped his fists. A big smile of pride and excitement across his face (My biggest fan! He's the best!) I gave him the thumbs up and ran hard to the finish line. My official time: 2:12:53. A good 17 minutes off my Chili Half Marathon time in Burlington, Ontario in March.

It was amazing.

I was exhausted.

Dad and I high-fived and hugged.
"How'd you do?" I asked.
"Personal best," he said smiling.
His official time: 2:40:07.
Which placed him 10th over ALL of the walkers. He beat out 30 and 40 year olds. It was an incredible feat!

Here we are post-race.


We stayed around, ate cookies and bananas, and sucked back water as we cheered on the remaining half-marathoners finished behind us and the fastest marthon runners who came in at an astounding 2:45. It's amazing to see the winners finish. They run like gazelles. It's inspiring.

Dad was #4 is his age division and narrowly missed receiving a medal! Way to go dad!

We celebrated by going on two wine tours, sipping back free wine, then hitting the local pub for beers and a HUGE plate of nachos. We spent the rest of the evening lying on the couch musing about our speed, the good weather, and the lump of cheese lard from the nachos in our bellies.

Wow, what a race!

Life in the rainy city

So it rains in Vancouver. A lot.
Of course, everyone knows this. But you don't really "know" it, until you live in it.
When naysayers said "you'll hate the rain" and "oh, but it rains so much in Vancouver" as I readied to depart life in Ontario for a West Coast adventure, I poo-pooed their negativity. I mean, it's just rain, right?

Right.
Except it does take some getting used to.

For the last seven days (ish) it has rained consecutively here in Vancouver. The skies have been grey. The mountain tops are clouded over. And the same light drizzle has been keeping the pavement wet and rain-fearers inside for a week.

The good news is this: it's not "that" bad. It just takes some getting used to.

Yesterday, for instance, I was walking outside with Beamer. And although the sun wasn't shining bright, I could see it, breaking through the clouds. And I thought the day was destined to be beautiful. I smiled as I saw some of the mountain peaks across the Bay peaking out above the leftover rain clouds. I thought "Here comes the sun." At that very moment, my head bent backward, my grin to the sky, it started to rain. Right then. With the sun still fighting through the clouds. It began to rain sparkling drops. The best part was that almost instantly, on this busy street, where people were working, shopping, walking, talking, eating on patios, etc. hundreds of colourful umbrellas went up in unison. Like from a carefully choreographed musical. Singing In The Rain, perhaps? People who live here expect the rain. They're always prepared for it. They open their umbrellas, and they carry on. Nothing changes, except the number of accessories required.

Of course, not being considered a "local" yet, but a "back east" import, I was soaked by the time I got home. I am admittedly still a little naive (ok, a lot naive) about the weather here and was convinced the day would be beautiful! Chock it up to Ontario naivete and building character I suppose. I laughed. And learned a lesson.

Two days ago, I was scheduled to run an 18k route as part of my half-marathon training. I woke up to dark skies and rain. I waited. And waited. And waited. It rained. And rained. And rained. The day was nearly half over when I decided to grin and bear it. I geared up, and headed out! It wasn't so bad. My pace was brisk. The rain was cool. I was relatively comfortable. My iPod was hopping. And then I began to get wet. Really wet. And my running pants started to get heavy. And every couple of blocks I would yank them up, in fear of mooning passersby. Then I began to slip on wet leaves. The wetter I got, the longer my pants seemed to get, and the more I slipped on leaves. By the 8k mark, I was a running disaster. I was running not on the concrete below me but on five inches of stretched, wet, leaf-covered pant ends. I was miserable and frustrated. I turned around, hiked up my pants, and trudged home.

Of course, there were several other runners out in the rain this day having marvellous runs. So why was mine so exctuciatingly awful? Because the other runners are "rain smart". They were dressed appropriately for it. Again, that blasted perparedness that locals have! (I hope to inherit it soon). In the meantime, I think I'm going shopping for some new, water-proof, anti-grow-five-inches running pants.

So it's rainy.
It's wet.
But getting by and loving life here is all a matter of preparation.
When you expect them and embrace them, the rainy days here are actually beautiful.
Really beautiful.

So, "no" I say to all the people who thought the rain might coax me home.
I still like it here.
Love it, actually.
Who knew that it rained in paradise?