Dissection of an Idyllic Run

Every Sunday morning at 8:30 AM, I meet with my Running Room run club for a Sunday jaunt. Today's run was 17.5k.
I was anticipating the sheer length of it to prove difficult on my energy, my knees, and maybe even my psyche, but what I didn't anticipate was that this run, on this day, would be perfect.

Here's how it unravelled:

KMs 0 - 5:
The first five kilometres heading NorthWest from the Running Room are familiar. I've done this stretch of the run at least a thousand times it seems. But in the last 3 months, as I've been training with this group, I have almost 100% of the time, run this route in rain — big droplets of rain, drizzling rain, freezing rain, thunderstorming rain. Always rain. Today, however, it was 8 degrees, the sun was shining, and as it rose into the sky, it became clear that the sky would be cloudless today.

Our ocean-front jaunt took us to Jericho Beach on the Westside of Kitsilano. Jericho means "the good land" in the Squamish native language. And the "good land" it is. The beach is dense with golden sand; the ocean waves lapped gently on the shore. The gravel path was puddle free; and the view was breathtaking: As we ran, the sun was rising and the snow-capped mountains in the distance were surrounded by a pink glow.

It was like running in a postcard.

The latter half of this first 5k has us running through the Spanish Banks. There is no distinctive change from Jericho to Spanish Banks other than the name. Spanish Banks are a series of beaches as you approach the University of British Columbia Grounds. They are surrounded by grassy knolls, parks where dogs this morning were playing happily, and paths for running and biking galore.

As we rounded one of the paths last bends on our way up to the University grounds, my coach said: "Look!" and pointed skyward at a leafless maple with a bald eagle perched on the top. We shared a collective "WOW!" and continued on our way.

KMs 5-7.5
I often dread this small but difficult stretch in our Sunday runs. As we left Spanish Banks and the glory of the ocean front view, the mountainous backdrop, and the eagle-filled trees, we headed up. And up. And up. Most people dub this 2-kilometer long hill simple "THE hill". It's a long, slow, upward spiral. For most of it, I keep my head down, concentrating on one foot in front of the other and hoping that Lenny Kravitz has the beats to propel me to the top! Though no one really "sees" anything during this small section of our run, except for their laces, their breath, and perhaps their doom, the sun is still shining and we're glad to be out here.

KMs 7.5 - 10
Once at the top, the air chilled (as it does at higher altitudes) and our stroll 30 minutes before on beach front gravel trails were replaced with a slippery, cool trot across snow and ice-filled sidewalks along West Mall Rd as we weaved our way through the beautiful University of British Columbia Campus. The sky was blue. The air was just chilly enough to keep us cool as we sweat. There was rarely a person to be seen.

KMs 10-14
Eventually we weaved our way into the trails on the Crown Lands. This intricate system of well-groomed trails are a runners haven and a dog's heaven. We instantly crossed from concrete and winter wonderland into chilly yet tropical rain forest paradise. Huge green ferns exploded out of the underbrush, as tall douglas firs closed up the canopy. It was dry, snow-less, and misty in there. Like something out of a fantasy novel. Our group had been engaging in mindless chatter until we entered the forest. And suddenly, we embarked on an almost-silent, enlightening, single-file run through nature's paradise. Our paces quickened. We held our heads high. The air was crisp. The forest was lush. It was a beautiful day to be outside.

KMs 15-17.5
When we finally emerged at 37th Avenue from nature and back out in to the city, Vancouver was alive and the population was ripe with a fever for the outdoors. We must have passed 30 or 40 runners in our last 3 kilometers, sharing waves, smiles, and affectionate "Perfect day for a run, huh?" shout outs. Kids were playing on their bicycles. People were walking their dogs and having breakfast on their front porches. If there is one thing about Vancouverites that you can consistently count on, it's that when the sun is shining, they are ALL outside.

The stretch from 37th Ave to 14th Ave is all up hill. Not as nasty as "THE hill" but still quite a hike up for a group that has already run 15k. Still, we pushed through. The higher we got, the more clearly we were able to see one of the most gorgeous and stunning views of the city. At the top of 10th and Camouson, where the hill finally evens out and starts its descent to Kitsilano, the sky was by that time entirely blue, like a Robin's Egg Blue, and was the perfect contrasting backdrop to the black and white mountains on the North Shore. The ocean glistened like gold as the sun bounced off of it. We could see for miles. Three, four, five mountains back. The further the mountains were away, the less like mountains they looked and the more like clouds. This kind of clarity is so rare in the city that sleeps under low-hanging grey skies for 6 months of the year.

It was a humble and crystal clear reminder of why one would want to live here and run here.

As we descended down the 8th avenue hill (in the home stretch), my coach asked: "Kim, how are you holding up?"

"If I could see this from everywhere I ran today, I wouldn't stop running," I said with a puff of exhaustion and a smile.
"Hell yea." he said and nodded in agreement.
"I totally agree" bolstered one of the girls coming up the rear.
"It's the most perfect day," agreed another. "I wish my legs could keep going until dark."

Though we were all happy to see the store and to successfully finish the day's long run, we were also collectively sad to not be running and soaking it all in again: the beach, the ocean, the mountains, the sunrise, the eagle, the hills, the forest, the ferns, the crisp air, the happy people, the hilltop city view... it would all be missed.

When I came home, I quickly grabbed my camera and the dog and we headed down to Kits Beach to photograph what has to be one of the most stunning days I have experienced since I moved here in May.

Like I said, it's like living in a postcard.

An experiment in social consciousness

Knowing full well that I wouldn't be traveling back to Ontario this season to visit my family and take part in our Christmas tradition: a Christmas morning trek to the Good Neighbour Club in downtown Toronto where we spend 4 or 5 hours preparing for, serving, and cleaning up after breakfast for hundreds of Toronto's homeless, I knew I had to do some sort of "feel good" experiment here on my own.

The Good Neighbour Club experience has, for the past 7 years or so, been a source of both heart-wrenching sadness and heart-warming glee. It's a time when I always realize how fortunate I am.

This year, Paul and I decided to make gourmet turkey sandwiches with our leftover turkey dinner and walk them down to our less fortunate friends on the East Side (Canada's "ghetto" as it has been referred) to ensure that they, too, had the opportunity to eat well this season.

The idea was met with both praise and repulsion. One friend said to Paul: "She's taking you to the East Side? You don't want to go there." And, although he knew that I wouldn't take him anywhere unsafe or where we may be in jeopardy, he was cautiously optimistic.

On December 29th, we woke up early, bought some fresh multi-grain bread from the bakery, some organic veggies, some mayo, etc and began our assembly line of excellent sandwich-making. Our 3-inch thick sandwiches were loaded with cranberries, turkey, mayo, tomatoes, lettuce, mozzarella, and more. We coupled them with tangerines and cereal bars, tied a ribbon around our little packages, and a note that read: "You ARE important. We believe in you. You can do anything (it's true!)"

We made 24 meal kits in all, packed our shopping bags full, and began our 8 k walk to the East Side.

"Where are the homeless people in this city?" Paul joked after 45 minutes of walking downtown and no sign of anyone in dire need of a sandwich.

"Just wait," I said. "They are all in a three block span. We're almost there."

The downtown East Side is probably THE saddest place I have ever seen. It is also a four-block span that both appalled me and frightened me when I first saw it. Once you cross Carroll and Hastings, the buildings are instantly grim, the people are sad, and the air is desperate. There are hundreds (literally) of homeless and impoverished men, women, and children roaming the streets, selling garbage for pennies, shooting up heroin in the daylight, profferring sex for money, stumbling around, leaning against buildings, sitting on stoops, being sad. It is a shame that this place exists in Canada. In the world, actually.

The worst part is that most people here in Vancouver try to pretend it doesn't exit. Because it is just a four-block concentrated area of poverty, most people overlook it. It's kind of like litter when you see it on the street. Most people just get angry that it's there but keep walking. A minority will actually stop and pick it up. Paying attention and doing something is what makes a difference.

When we crossed Hastings and Carroll into the hear tof the downtown East Side, Paul let out an overwhelmed and quiet "whoa."

"Ask him" I said and nudged Paul to speak to a jittery young man pacing on the street edge.

He asked if he would like a sandwich; the man looked into his eyes and said "Thank you."

There's something to be said for asking a homeless person if they would like some help. They are people too. And they have their pride.

Within five minutes (quite literally), our bags were empty, all of the sandwiches were gone, and what we once thought was a huge heap of food suddenly seemed small and inconsequential. There were at least 100 more people outside on the street at that very moment that would have appreciated a bite to eat.

Once we started handing out food, people crawled out from the woodwork. News of free food spread like wildfire and we instantly had a small and gracious crowd of people asking us if it was true. Were we giving out food?

When it was all said and done, Paul looked at me and said: "Those were 24 of the most gracious and genuine Thank Yous I have ever received in my life. Thank you for taking me here."

We crossed over Hastings and Carroll again to the West Side, and the street lamps lit up, and the people looked richer, and the bustle of the season hummed with glee. We were changed people. It sounds dramatic, but it's not. Making that crossover — literally 20 steps across a street — is a painfully obvious divide between rich and poor, fortunate and unfortunate. It is, by my experience, the saddest place on earth. And all of those people are just down on their luck. They need a friend. They need someone to love them. They need someone to believe in them. And they need a sandwich...

We'll be back again. And not just at Christmas. Every time we have a little extra food or money or time, we will be back. Because it matters. Those people matter.

And I've never in my life been more grateful for the roof over my head and the love in my life. Man, does it make a difference.