Took Harley up to the Powerline Trail halfway up Grouse Mountain on the Northshore for a hike. We brought along a headlamp so we could hike out and watch the sunset and then hike back in the purple-black-sky bliss.
It was breathtaking.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Winter sunset
Took Harley up to the Powerline Trail halfway up Grouse Mountain on the Northshore for a hike. We brought along a headlamp so we could hike out and watch the sunset and then hike back in the purple-black-sky bliss.
It was breathtaking.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Sensationally Sumo
What better to do on a crisp winter evening mid-week than watch the sunset over Cypress mountain, the full moon rise over Hollyburn, and sumo wrestle my boyfriend on his 31st birthday in the kitchen?
It was a sweaty, smelly, huffing, and puffing good time.
Here's how it unfolded in pictures:
I was suited up when the unsuspecting victim arrived home.
Immediately, he took the upper hand.
I came back with a wicked body slam.
We both ended up on the ground unable to get up.
Then, when I got all hot and sweaty, I took off the suit, pulled out my rusty WWF moves from the 80s, and took him down again:
It was bliss.
It was a sweaty, smelly, huffing, and puffing good time.
Here's how it unfolded in pictures:
I was suited up when the unsuspecting victim arrived home.
Immediately, he took the upper hand.
I came back with a wicked body slam.
We both ended up on the ground unable to get up.
Then, when I got all hot and sweaty, I took off the suit, pulled out my rusty WWF moves from the 80s, and took him down again:
It was bliss.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Day 5: Olympic Torch Relay
Building pre-torchbearing excitement
It was an early morning in September when I received an email from the Vancouver Torch Relay team informing me that I had won the opportunity to carry the Olympic Torch for 300m in Sandspit, BC. I read the email over once, twice, three times. I closed my inbox. I opened it again. Still there.
And then I screamed in utter joy.
Four weeks later my Olympic Torchbearer uniform arrived. I paraded around the house, practicing my best torchbearing pose.
Then suddenly, Sunday November 1 arrived. The day my flight to Sandspit was booked. And I was jittery through and through. But the good kind of jitters. Warm, fuzzy, and excited.
Beautiful Sandspit BC
Sandspit is on the Queen Charlotte Islands in North Western BC, just south of Alaska. The actual city of Sandspit is on Moresby Island and has about 250 residents.
We were warmly greeted the moment we arrived. The sun broke through the clouds. The air was still. And Laura, our host from the Seaport Inn was waiting to drive us to our B&B. She was young and fun and full of zest. But laid back and indifferent, like most of the folks here. She had an air of calm. Like nothing was wrong in the world. And I was envious.
Our B&B was just 2 minutes down the road. Maybe a kilometre if that.
It was a cosy trailer all to ourselves. Filled with kitchy seaside knickknacks like shells and fishing lures and stuffed ducks (not real ones). The furniture was right out of the home I grew up in circa 1982. Big floral prints with matching floral lamp shades. The carpet was lime green and shag. The walls were wood-panelled and the hot water was on the wrong side of the tap.
It was bliss.
The best part: no key.
"we know who the thieves are in this town" we later learned from the next door neighbour, Monty.
Nobody really cares to lock their homes or cars or anything valuable. It's an honour system there. There's an underlying foundation of respect.
Nov 1
We left to explore the town, which consists of one major road and a few inner streets, and otherwise can be walked end to end in about 10 minutes. It's maybe 5 kilometers long.
"Listen" I said. "Hear that?"
It was the heavenly sound of absolutely nothing – no cars, no people, no weather, no electronics. Nothing. It was the sounds of lapping ocean waves and the wind in the trees. And it was so wonderful and soul-nourishing I nearly cried.
We quickly explored the town -- a stroll on the beach, a "spit" off the pier, a hunt for the town's only grocery store (which consequently is closed on Sundays), etc.
Laura had told us earlier that only one place was open for dinner tonight; The Orange Roof. It was right next door, so we hopped the fence and strolled in.
The only two people in the place were the couple who owned it, a hilarious duo – Monty and Judy.
We pulled up a seat next to them, ordered a beer, asked Judy to make us her famous homemade pizza, put on the Canucks game, and shot the shit island-style.
Most of their stories involved drinking or the island crazy. And at one point Playboy. But, hey, there's not a lot to do in a town of 250.
We ate. We drank. We were merry.
Then we scooted back to the Seaport B&B for a cosy night.
I haven't slept so soundly in I don't know when. It was blissful.
Nov 2
We slept in late and quickly learned that this "B&B" really didn't offer the second "B" in the traditional way. There were eggs in the fridge and bread in the freezer. A pan on the stovetop and plates in the cupboard.
So we whipped up our own "B" and set off for some more exploring.
First stop: Supervalu which is a 5-aisle grocery store where everything costs probably 30% more than it costs anywhere else.
Things like skim milk, low-fat cream cheese, and Bretons were no where to be seen. So we made due with 2%, Fruit Loops, and Pringles. Food for a champion, no doubt!
We made a quick calorie-loaded lunch, watched television, and packed up for a hike on the Dover Trail, supposedly one of the most beautiful trails on Moresby Island. Taking Monty's advice from the night before, we trudged along the main road and stuck our thumbs out at the first car that passed: a white pick-up with a gentleman named Greg who had the world's best moustache, handsdown. A big busy monstrosity that suited him so well.
Lucky for us, he lived right next to the trail head and drove us directly there. We stopped at his home, which he built himself from the ground up, showed us his wife's pottery studio, and introduced us to his german shepard Hamer. He was delightful.
"Have fun," he said as we headed toward the trailhead. "And when you see a bear, don't run."
We were a little concerned that he chose to say "WHEN you see a bear" versus "IF you see a bear". But we carried on any way.
The Dover Trail is littered with moss-covered Sitka Spruce trees. Some old growth, some second generation. One was fallen over a small stream and was nursing trees that must have been 100 years old or more. It was beautiful. Like it's own little eco-system.
The more we trekked, the thicker the bush came and less visible the trail. And, as a result, the more frightened we became (though we never admitted it to each other) that a bear might be just around the next corner. So almost in unison we proffered ideas for making noise: a clapping game (repeat back the other person's clap rhythm, Name That Tune, etc). It was ridiculous fun.
After a few muddy missteps, one slip, and a narrowly missed concussion due to a falling branch as thick as my arm, we came out on an old logging road and made our way back to the trail head.
We stopped by to chat with Greg and his wife Karen, buy some pottery, talk politics and Olympics, retirement and school policies, and then we headed back along Beach Road home.
Nov 3: Torchbearing Day!
I didn't sleep a wink. I kept dreaming that I was late for the torch and they started without me. So when the alarm chimed at 5 AM I was already anticipating it and bolted up and into the shower without the snooze button.
By 6:00 I was dressed in my official gear, had a belly full of fruit loops, and nervous pee.
I ran along Beach Road to the airport, anxious to make it in time. A local walking along the side of the road said "What's the hurry, darling? There's nothing but time in Sandspit."
He was right.
Although I was 5 minutes late to arrive, the Olympic charter plane had yet to land and there were only one or two people hanging around, interested more in the fact that a 737 was landing in Sandspit than the fact that the flame was on its way.
It felt like I waited forever. And then the plane landed, the Olympic caravan of sponsors, media, and olympic officials paraded onto the tarmac and life surged forth in mach speed.
Three people came and introduced themselves: Catherine from RBC and Sylvie and Heather from VanOC. "We are your hosts, all three just for you" said Sylvie. I felt instantly famous.
They briefed me and the other Sandspit runner, Maureen, on how the next 30 minutes would unfold, how we would pass the torch, how to handle the media, how to take a moment and truly reflect in the chaos of it all on a moment that is truly
lifechanging.
I smiled and nodded. I heard it all and yet I heard nothing. The airport was bustling and my nervous pee was at an all time high.
Then, Heather said, "Let's get you your torch."
And there it was. Like I've seen on TV, in the news, online, in magazine for the past few months. The Olympic Torch.
I wrapped my gloved fingers around it. It was sturdy and thick. It was powerful.
"It feels heavy now," said Heather. "But when it has the flame, you'll be able to hold it forever."
Maureen was ushered away to greet the media at the airport's entrance as she would be the first to run with the torch. I was ushered to the Big Salmon on Beach Rd, a sculpture that would mark the transition point. In front of this big fish, Maureen would pass the Olympic flame on to me. I was giddy in anticipation. My cheeks hurt from smiling and it was only 10 past seven.
A few minutes passed, and as the sun rose in the east and the full moon set in the west, I saw the torch, high above Maureen's head coming toward me.
"There it is" I said to myself.
I knew this moment was going to be cool; what I didn't expect was that it was going to be so beautiful and meaningful and to-the-core heartwarming.
Maureen ran. Then stopped. Held the flame high. Then I walked toward her, hand outstretched, and our torches kissed.
I looked up and, aside from meeting my nephews for the very first time, I had never experienced anything more meaningful in my life. I was overcome with emotion.
I shared a glance with Mike, whose smile beamed from the sidelines.
"The Torch!!!" I mouthed and pointed to it. "The Torch!"
After a few moments with Maureen and then a millisecond to myself, I started to run.
Heather was right: I could have carried that flame until the end of time, arm outstretched and head held high. It was empowering.
The media called at me from the van ahead: "Kim, slow down. Kim, run over here. Kim Kim Kim!" And, for the most part, I ignored them all. I just ran, looked up at that flame, and let it guide me.
Mike and I started singing the Calgary Olympics theme song out loud in unison. We'd been singing it for weeks. It was so fitting.
And, then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. At Tacan Road, I slowed down, stopped, held the flame high for a moment and soaked it in. My eyes welled up, my grin surpassed the edges of my face, and I dutifully passed the flame to a lantern carried by a VanOC official who would drive it to Alliford Bay and across a barge to Skidegate, where Haida elder Percy Williams who carry it next.
Maureen, Mike, and I, all high on Olympic wonderment, hitched a ride with a local town councillor who graciously followed the caravan to the barge and got us on the ferry.
There, we watched the sun rise over the islands. And it was heaven on earth. We took pictures with sponsors, media, and the Olympic crew. We shared stories. We hugged. We gave interviews. It was a whirlwind of fantastickness.
In Skidegate, we parlayed at the museum. Hundreds of Haida and other locals were there waiting in anticipation of the flame's arrival by Loota (Wave Eater) in the hands of their much respected elder. They oohed and aahed when they saw my torch. I let them hold it. Take pictures with it. Take pictures with me with it. Take pictures of their babies with it. Play air guitar with it. Everything. It became a source of happiness and glee and pride. I have never seen so many beaming faces. I beamed even more.
When Percy came ashore, the Haida formed a drum circle and all in the native dress, many with tears of pride in their eyes, sang and chanted and welcomed the Olympic flame in celebration that only these warm, generous, creative Haida people could perform.
I was moved. And I felt small. Like a little cog in the wheel of a huge machine. I was significant, yes. But the moment was bigger than me. And this culture was a gift to experience.
As the only non-local runner on this leg of the race, I was humbled and amazed and truly grateful for the Haida and this experience.
The torch carried on from Skidegate to Queen Charlotte City with four more torchbearers. A young university kid from the island named Alan, lit the final cauldron and a thousand locals cheered. We sang O Canada with fervour in French and English.
We took pictures, shared more stores, traded emails, received sponsor freebies, and ate cake.
VanOC relit the lantern and carried the flame back to Sandspit to fly it out to Whitehorse.
But the party in Queen Charlotte carried on.
We were invited to the local community centre where we sat with the mayor and dined on a community feast of halibut and salmon soup. I had never been filled by soup until this soup. It was spectacular. There was dancing and singing and many celebrations. All seven torchbearers were called onstage for a round of applause.
"This means a lot to us," said one woman named Fran. Then she asked us to stay a little longer and promised to drive us to the barge in time to catch our flight in Sandspit if we just stayed and spent more time.
One of the City Councillors, a near-blind man named Chris invited us to stay in Queen Charlotte next summer. "On a sailboat, in a cabin, you name it, we'll find it for you. Just call up the council and ask for me."
When they learned we would have to leave early to catch our flight, they quickly put together a parting gift package for us: etched Queen Charlotte City plates.
We were in love.
As I was heading out the door, a woman named Joanne stopped me: "You're the torchbearer from Vancouver, right?"
Yes,I replied.
"Well, you can come and sit with us if you'd like."
Hospitality, friendliness, and generosity aren't good enough words to describe the culture here. But they are all I have.
We boarded the barge just in time and shared a van with a media team from Hello BC Tourism and a lovely woman named Ellen from the island who cried tears of joy as I related my experience.
We quickly packed our things at the B&B, called for a ride, and boarded the plane home.
It was the time of my life. An experience so profound that I doubt I will ever understand how truly meaningful it was and will be in my life from here on.
Thank you VanOC
Thank you RBC
Thank you Mike
Thank you Haida Nation.
It was an early morning in September when I received an email from the Vancouver Torch Relay team informing me that I had won the opportunity to carry the Olympic Torch for 300m in Sandspit, BC. I read the email over once, twice, three times. I closed my inbox. I opened it again. Still there.
And then I screamed in utter joy.
Four weeks later my Olympic Torchbearer uniform arrived. I paraded around the house, practicing my best torchbearing pose.
Then suddenly, Sunday November 1 arrived. The day my flight to Sandspit was booked. And I was jittery through and through. But the good kind of jitters. Warm, fuzzy, and excited.
Beautiful Sandspit BC
Sandspit is on the Queen Charlotte Islands in North Western BC, just south of Alaska. The actual city of Sandspit is on Moresby Island and has about 250 residents.
We were warmly greeted the moment we arrived. The sun broke through the clouds. The air was still. And Laura, our host from the Seaport Inn was waiting to drive us to our B&B. She was young and fun and full of zest. But laid back and indifferent, like most of the folks here. She had an air of calm. Like nothing was wrong in the world. And I was envious.
Our B&B was just 2 minutes down the road. Maybe a kilometre if that.
It was a cosy trailer all to ourselves. Filled with kitchy seaside knickknacks like shells and fishing lures and stuffed ducks (not real ones). The furniture was right out of the home I grew up in circa 1982. Big floral prints with matching floral lamp shades. The carpet was lime green and shag. The walls were wood-panelled and the hot water was on the wrong side of the tap.
It was bliss.
The best part: no key.
"we know who the thieves are in this town" we later learned from the next door neighbour, Monty.
Nobody really cares to lock their homes or cars or anything valuable. It's an honour system there. There's an underlying foundation of respect.
Nov 1
We left to explore the town, which consists of one major road and a few inner streets, and otherwise can be walked end to end in about 10 minutes. It's maybe 5 kilometers long.
"Listen" I said. "Hear that?"
It was the heavenly sound of absolutely nothing – no cars, no people, no weather, no electronics. Nothing. It was the sounds of lapping ocean waves and the wind in the trees. And it was so wonderful and soul-nourishing I nearly cried.
We quickly explored the town -- a stroll on the beach, a "spit" off the pier, a hunt for the town's only grocery store (which consequently is closed on Sundays), etc.
Laura had told us earlier that only one place was open for dinner tonight; The Orange Roof. It was right next door, so we hopped the fence and strolled in.
The only two people in the place were the couple who owned it, a hilarious duo – Monty and Judy.
We pulled up a seat next to them, ordered a beer, asked Judy to make us her famous homemade pizza, put on the Canucks game, and shot the shit island-style.
Most of their stories involved drinking or the island crazy. And at one point Playboy. But, hey, there's not a lot to do in a town of 250.
We ate. We drank. We were merry.
Then we scooted back to the Seaport B&B for a cosy night.
I haven't slept so soundly in I don't know when. It was blissful.
Nov 2
We slept in late and quickly learned that this "B&B" really didn't offer the second "B" in the traditional way. There were eggs in the fridge and bread in the freezer. A pan on the stovetop and plates in the cupboard.
So we whipped up our own "B" and set off for some more exploring.
First stop: Supervalu which is a 5-aisle grocery store where everything costs probably 30% more than it costs anywhere else.
Things like skim milk, low-fat cream cheese, and Bretons were no where to be seen. So we made due with 2%, Fruit Loops, and Pringles. Food for a champion, no doubt!
We made a quick calorie-loaded lunch, watched television, and packed up for a hike on the Dover Trail, supposedly one of the most beautiful trails on Moresby Island. Taking Monty's advice from the night before, we trudged along the main road and stuck our thumbs out at the first car that passed: a white pick-up with a gentleman named Greg who had the world's best moustache, handsdown. A big busy monstrosity that suited him so well.
Lucky for us, he lived right next to the trail head and drove us directly there. We stopped at his home, which he built himself from the ground up, showed us his wife's pottery studio, and introduced us to his german shepard Hamer. He was delightful.
"Have fun," he said as we headed toward the trailhead. "And when you see a bear, don't run."
We were a little concerned that he chose to say "WHEN you see a bear" versus "IF you see a bear". But we carried on any way.
The Dover Trail is littered with moss-covered Sitka Spruce trees. Some old growth, some second generation. One was fallen over a small stream and was nursing trees that must have been 100 years old or more. It was beautiful. Like it's own little eco-system.
The more we trekked, the thicker the bush came and less visible the trail. And, as a result, the more frightened we became (though we never admitted it to each other) that a bear might be just around the next corner. So almost in unison we proffered ideas for making noise: a clapping game (repeat back the other person's clap rhythm, Name That Tune, etc). It was ridiculous fun.
After a few muddy missteps, one slip, and a narrowly missed concussion due to a falling branch as thick as my arm, we came out on an old logging road and made our way back to the trail head.
We stopped by to chat with Greg and his wife Karen, buy some pottery, talk politics and Olympics, retirement and school policies, and then we headed back along Beach Road home.
Nov 3: Torchbearing Day!
I didn't sleep a wink. I kept dreaming that I was late for the torch and they started without me. So when the alarm chimed at 5 AM I was already anticipating it and bolted up and into the shower without the snooze button.
By 6:00 I was dressed in my official gear, had a belly full of fruit loops, and nervous pee.
I ran along Beach Road to the airport, anxious to make it in time. A local walking along the side of the road said "What's the hurry, darling? There's nothing but time in Sandspit."
He was right.
Although I was 5 minutes late to arrive, the Olympic charter plane had yet to land and there were only one or two people hanging around, interested more in the fact that a 737 was landing in Sandspit than the fact that the flame was on its way.
It felt like I waited forever. And then the plane landed, the Olympic caravan of sponsors, media, and olympic officials paraded onto the tarmac and life surged forth in mach speed.
Three people came and introduced themselves: Catherine from RBC and Sylvie and Heather from VanOC. "We are your hosts, all three just for you" said Sylvie. I felt instantly famous.
They briefed me and the other Sandspit runner, Maureen, on how the next 30 minutes would unfold, how we would pass the torch, how to handle the media, how to take a moment and truly reflect in the chaos of it all on a moment that is truly
lifechanging.
I smiled and nodded. I heard it all and yet I heard nothing. The airport was bustling and my nervous pee was at an all time high.
Then, Heather said, "Let's get you your torch."
And there it was. Like I've seen on TV, in the news, online, in magazine for the past few months. The Olympic Torch.
I wrapped my gloved fingers around it. It was sturdy and thick. It was powerful.
"It feels heavy now," said Heather. "But when it has the flame, you'll be able to hold it forever."
Maureen was ushered away to greet the media at the airport's entrance as she would be the first to run with the torch. I was ushered to the Big Salmon on Beach Rd, a sculpture that would mark the transition point. In front of this big fish, Maureen would pass the Olympic flame on to me. I was giddy in anticipation. My cheeks hurt from smiling and it was only 10 past seven.
A few minutes passed, and as the sun rose in the east and the full moon set in the west, I saw the torch, high above Maureen's head coming toward me.
"There it is" I said to myself.
I knew this moment was going to be cool; what I didn't expect was that it was going to be so beautiful and meaningful and to-the-core heartwarming.
Maureen ran. Then stopped. Held the flame high. Then I walked toward her, hand outstretched, and our torches kissed.
I looked up and, aside from meeting my nephews for the very first time, I had never experienced anything more meaningful in my life. I was overcome with emotion.
I shared a glance with Mike, whose smile beamed from the sidelines.
"The Torch!!!" I mouthed and pointed to it. "The Torch!"
After a few moments with Maureen and then a millisecond to myself, I started to run.
Heather was right: I could have carried that flame until the end of time, arm outstretched and head held high. It was empowering.
The media called at me from the van ahead: "Kim, slow down. Kim, run over here. Kim Kim Kim!" And, for the most part, I ignored them all. I just ran, looked up at that flame, and let it guide me.
Mike and I started singing the Calgary Olympics theme song out loud in unison. We'd been singing it for weeks. It was so fitting.
And, then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. At Tacan Road, I slowed down, stopped, held the flame high for a moment and soaked it in. My eyes welled up, my grin surpassed the edges of my face, and I dutifully passed the flame to a lantern carried by a VanOC official who would drive it to Alliford Bay and across a barge to Skidegate, where Haida elder Percy Williams who carry it next.
Maureen, Mike, and I, all high on Olympic wonderment, hitched a ride with a local town councillor who graciously followed the caravan to the barge and got us on the ferry.
There, we watched the sun rise over the islands. And it was heaven on earth. We took pictures with sponsors, media, and the Olympic crew. We shared stories. We hugged. We gave interviews. It was a whirlwind of fantastickness.
In Skidegate, we parlayed at the museum. Hundreds of Haida and other locals were there waiting in anticipation of the flame's arrival by Loota (Wave Eater) in the hands of their much respected elder. They oohed and aahed when they saw my torch. I let them hold it. Take pictures with it. Take pictures with me with it. Take pictures of their babies with it. Play air guitar with it. Everything. It became a source of happiness and glee and pride. I have never seen so many beaming faces. I beamed even more.
When Percy came ashore, the Haida formed a drum circle and all in the native dress, many with tears of pride in their eyes, sang and chanted and welcomed the Olympic flame in celebration that only these warm, generous, creative Haida people could perform.
I was moved. And I felt small. Like a little cog in the wheel of a huge machine. I was significant, yes. But the moment was bigger than me. And this culture was a gift to experience.
As the only non-local runner on this leg of the race, I was humbled and amazed and truly grateful for the Haida and this experience.
The torch carried on from Skidegate to Queen Charlotte City with four more torchbearers. A young university kid from the island named Alan, lit the final cauldron and a thousand locals cheered. We sang O Canada with fervour in French and English.
We took pictures, shared more stores, traded emails, received sponsor freebies, and ate cake.
VanOC relit the lantern and carried the flame back to Sandspit to fly it out to Whitehorse.
But the party in Queen Charlotte carried on.
We were invited to the local community centre where we sat with the mayor and dined on a community feast of halibut and salmon soup. I had never been filled by soup until this soup. It was spectacular. There was dancing and singing and many celebrations. All seven torchbearers were called onstage for a round of applause.
"This means a lot to us," said one woman named Fran. Then she asked us to stay a little longer and promised to drive us to the barge in time to catch our flight in Sandspit if we just stayed and spent more time.
One of the City Councillors, a near-blind man named Chris invited us to stay in Queen Charlotte next summer. "On a sailboat, in a cabin, you name it, we'll find it for you. Just call up the council and ask for me."
When they learned we would have to leave early to catch our flight, they quickly put together a parting gift package for us: etched Queen Charlotte City plates.
We were in love.
As I was heading out the door, a woman named Joanne stopped me: "You're the torchbearer from Vancouver, right?"
Yes,I replied.
"Well, you can come and sit with us if you'd like."
Hospitality, friendliness, and generosity aren't good enough words to describe the culture here. But they are all I have.
We boarded the barge just in time and shared a van with a media team from Hello BC Tourism and a lovely woman named Ellen from the island who cried tears of joy as I related my experience.
We quickly packed our things at the B&B, called for a ride, and boarded the plane home.
It was the time of my life. An experience so profound that I doubt I will ever understand how truly meaningful it was and will be in my life from here on.
Thank you VanOC
Thank you RBC
Thank you Mike
Thank you Haida Nation.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
City Chase 2009
Back in August, I was fortunate enough to have a client sign me and Mike up for City Chase, an Amazing-Race-esque scavenger adventure race of sorts that takes place in cities across the world. It is (now that I've completed it) hands down the most fun I've had on the race course - ever!
Here's how the day unfolded:
We showed up in running gear and big smiles on the edge of Gas Town with 700+ other people. Everyone competes in teams of two, and as we stood in the crowd listening to our instructions, the emcee made a point to say: "Look at the person beside you. Hug them." (the entire crowd embraced. "No matter what, you need this person. So when they get on your nerves, and believe me they will, hug them."
To start the race, we had to quickly find another team with a bib number that ended in the same last number as others. Then run with them to the Vancouver Art Gallery where a City Chase official would hand us our official clues sheet.
Mike and I tagged teamed with a brother-sister team who was in their third year of City Chase. "Kim, slow down and save your energy" said the girl as Mike and I tried to coax them to run faster to the Vancouver Art Gallery. "I know how this race is done."
She was kinda pretentious and a whole lot of annoying. So I smiled, nodded, and picked up the pace.
Luckily, we were able to ditch them as soon as we got our clue sheet.
We sat down at the gallery, read the sheet almost in full, and plotted a strategy.
Before we could cross the finish line, we would have to complete 10 Chase Points, located all around the city. Some of the clues told us exactly where to find them. Some were more vague.
Since it was early in the morning, we thought our best bet would be to tackle the clues that were the furthest away first. We wanted to beat traffic across the Lions Gate Bridge to North Vancouver. Official rules state that we can only use our feet and public transit (i.e ferries, buses, and subway) to get to each Chase Point.
We hopped on a bus across the bridge and headed to a community centre in North Van for our first Chase Point.
Chase Point 1 and 2
When we arrived, we were sent into an art room. The City Chase official said "You have to both draw, on the same paper, the nude model in the middle of the room. When your drawing is deemed 'good enough', you can get a Chase Point."
We ran in, grabbed a seat in front of the nude model, picked up our graphite slabs, and fiercely drew a pretty darn good image. There were two other teams in the room doing the same.
"Finished!" we yelled holding up our image.
The official stamped our card and threw us for a loop when he said: "We'll give you another Chase Point if you both take off your clothes and one draws the other naked."
Our jaws were agape.
We shared a glance for about a second and a half and then feverishly started taking off our clothes.
Hey, anything for a Chase Point.
The opportunity to get two at one location would be a HUGE advantage.
So Mike lay down on the ground and "posed" while I sat on a stool, left arm over boobs and legs crossed, and drew him.
By this time there were about 20 people in the room. So much for modesty.
It was hilarious!
We left with two Chase Points and the fever of fun. We were loving this race.
Chase Point 3
We hopped back on the bus and headed toward East Vancouver to our next stop. We had to take a number of transfers and ended up waiting about 15 minutes for the last bus. Funny thing: once we hopped on, it literally dropped us off a block and a half away. We could have ran! It was our biggest folly time-wise that day.
We ran to a soccer field at a local high school that was littered with thousands of coloured balls.
The official gave us the rules: "One of you will be blind-folded the other will shout out directions. You have to get through the field to the big ball and pick it up without touching ANY of the small balls. Once you pick it up and put it in the air, we will give you your point."
Mike was blindfolded. I gave instructions.
And we excelled hugely.
Mike didn't touch a single ball and we were out of there in less than five minutes as other teams struggled to complete it.
We high-fived and headed back to the bus stop.
Chase Point 4
Next, we ran about a kilometre from a bus stop to a park near Commercial Drive where we had to put nylons on our heads, with tennis balls in the toes. The objective: use only your head to spin around the tennis ball and loop the nylon leg around another team's nylon and yank off their nylon. It was weird to the nth degree. And sweaty. But down right hilarious.
We lost the first round as one wily team managed to get Mike's nylon off, but we managed to kick butt in the second round, receive our Chase Point and run off to our next destination.
Chase Point 5
Next stop: Bowling!
We ran in, grabbed our bowling shoes, and listened to the instructions as we laced up:
"You EACH must bowl a spare or a strike. you can't leave until you do. Every time that you don't bowl a spare or a strike, your partner has to remove a layer of clothing."
Lucky for me, Mike is an exceptional bowler and got a spare on the first try.
Unlucky for Mike, I am a terrible bowler and he was down to his boxers -- no shoes, socks, shirt, or pants until I eventually knocked 'em all down.
"That was close, babe" he said wiping sweat from his brow.
We got our point and headed north.
5 down, 5 to go!
Chase Point 6
On our way to Chase Point 6 we ran into an Italian Cafe for a cold slice of pizza on the go.
"Win win win!" said the owner.
"We hope you do well," cheered the patrons.
We felt famous.
We ran and ate, ate and ran. It was bliss.
We ended up at the RONA Olympic Pre-Fabrication shop where we had to paint a piece of plywood then build a wooden Inukshuk for the olympics. My aggressive painting technique resulted in a broken brush. "That's a first," said the official.
And our over-enthusiastic wood glueing application made our inukshuk look slightly worse for the wear.
Once completed, we were given an official Olympic Pin, and our 6th Chase Point.
We were feeling mighty fine!
Chase Point 7 and 8
Our next Chase Point was relatively close to the last one with one obstacle: a fenced in train yard.
We didn't want to lose time going all the way around, so we ran to teh station, sweet talked a guard to letting us hop on and then hop off a passenger train, and run through the yard.
As we were running though, the guard yelled out "fence! barbed-wired fence!"
We looked around.
We were surrounded. But we kept running.
"There's got to be a gate we can hop," I said to Mike.
"You're insane," he said and high-fived me.
We came across a 15-ft gate with a 12-inch or so gap in between and a good foot of barbed wire on top. I climbed up on the chain and inched through. Mike did the same. And, to our surprise and joy, we were directly in front of our next adventure: Cliffhanger Climbing Gym.
This was a two-parter challenge. One person had to climb the climbing wall and touch the ceiling while the other completed a Sudoku puzzle. We glanced at each other and shared a knowing nod. "Sudoku!" Mike screamed with over-exuberance. He is, after all, a Sudoku master. I quickly got harness and began my ascent.
By the time I got down, Mike was well finished the Sudoku with officials raving at his speed and accuracy. Other teams were on the grass outside of the gym squabbling: "Why can't you get this!" "Hurry up! It's not THAT hard."
Music to our ears!
We received a second Chase Point here for raising over $500 for Right To Play, for which we thank all of our friends and family. It definitely gave us a leg up in the compeition.
So we left with two Chase Points.
Making us have only 2 more left to go.
Chase Point 9
The run to our next Chase Point was about 5k. We had been competing for 3 hours now and were slightly pooped but still hopped up on adrenaline. We jogged over the Cambie Bridge. Underneath was a bootcamp. In order to get our next Chase Point we would have to do a set of strenuous activities.
First, we were spun around 10 times and then had to compete in a three-legged obstacle course.
Then, we had to skip rope while tied together for 30 seconds.
Then, they tied a rope around me and gave the ends to Mike. I had to run forward while he pulled back. Exhausting!
Next up: burpees. We had to do ten each: you jump up, then jump into a push up position, do a push-up, and jump up again.
After that, a wheelbarrow race. I held on to Mike's lags while he ran 60 meters with his arms. But, to make it interesting (and WAY more difficult), they lathered up my hands and arms with vaseline!!! So it was very slippery and I had no grip on Mike's legs!
The last boot camp event involved Mike being blindfolded and diving into a pool of Ice Tea cans. I had to direct him to a magic green can. When he found it, we finally got our Chase Point!
The most gruelling and hilarious event of the day!
Chase Point 10 - last one!
Excited to be just about finished, we ran speedily to David Lam Park where we were given a frozen, knotted sock. The task: unfreeze and untie the sock and put it on!
Sounded easy but this was the most difficult task of the day.
We breathed on it, we hit the sock against cement to break the ice, we had a lady pour her tea on it, we tried to melt it in the water fountain. Turns out, it just took some patience. 15 minutes later, Mike had the sock knee high on his left foot, we received our final Chase Point and we ran like heck to the finish line.
The thing is, we didn't really know exactly where the finish line was. So we ran. And ran. And ran into a store to ask. And ran some more. And then finally spotted some other City Chasers and stumpled onto the finish line.
We ran across the finish line in 3 hours and 45 minutes. We can 45th out of 350+ teams (so we did REALLY well!) and had a blast!
The City Chase after party featured free beers and hamburgers and lots of prizes.
in addition to our awesome finish, I also took home a 6 month Golds Gym membership (which i totally don't need or want, but, hey!, i won!)
The whole day was smiley, fun, exhilarating, wild, edgy, exhausting, surprising, stimulating, hilarious, nerve-racking, and more. It was the very best day I've had in a long time and I'm itching to compete again next year!
Here's how the day unfolded:
We showed up in running gear and big smiles on the edge of Gas Town with 700+ other people. Everyone competes in teams of two, and as we stood in the crowd listening to our instructions, the emcee made a point to say: "Look at the person beside you. Hug them." (the entire crowd embraced. "No matter what, you need this person. So when they get on your nerves, and believe me they will, hug them."
To start the race, we had to quickly find another team with a bib number that ended in the same last number as others. Then run with them to the Vancouver Art Gallery where a City Chase official would hand us our official clues sheet.
Mike and I tagged teamed with a brother-sister team who was in their third year of City Chase. "Kim, slow down and save your energy" said the girl as Mike and I tried to coax them to run faster to the Vancouver Art Gallery. "I know how this race is done."
She was kinda pretentious and a whole lot of annoying. So I smiled, nodded, and picked up the pace.
Luckily, we were able to ditch them as soon as we got our clue sheet.
We sat down at the gallery, read the sheet almost in full, and plotted a strategy.
Before we could cross the finish line, we would have to complete 10 Chase Points, located all around the city. Some of the clues told us exactly where to find them. Some were more vague.
Since it was early in the morning, we thought our best bet would be to tackle the clues that were the furthest away first. We wanted to beat traffic across the Lions Gate Bridge to North Vancouver. Official rules state that we can only use our feet and public transit (i.e ferries, buses, and subway) to get to each Chase Point.
We hopped on a bus across the bridge and headed to a community centre in North Van for our first Chase Point.
Chase Point 1 and 2
When we arrived, we were sent into an art room. The City Chase official said "You have to both draw, on the same paper, the nude model in the middle of the room. When your drawing is deemed 'good enough', you can get a Chase Point."
We ran in, grabbed a seat in front of the nude model, picked up our graphite slabs, and fiercely drew a pretty darn good image. There were two other teams in the room doing the same.
"Finished!" we yelled holding up our image.
The official stamped our card and threw us for a loop when he said: "We'll give you another Chase Point if you both take off your clothes and one draws the other naked."
Our jaws were agape.
We shared a glance for about a second and a half and then feverishly started taking off our clothes.
Hey, anything for a Chase Point.
The opportunity to get two at one location would be a HUGE advantage.
So Mike lay down on the ground and "posed" while I sat on a stool, left arm over boobs and legs crossed, and drew him.
By this time there were about 20 people in the room. So much for modesty.
It was hilarious!
We left with two Chase Points and the fever of fun. We were loving this race.
Chase Point 3
We hopped back on the bus and headed toward East Vancouver to our next stop. We had to take a number of transfers and ended up waiting about 15 minutes for the last bus. Funny thing: once we hopped on, it literally dropped us off a block and a half away. We could have ran! It was our biggest folly time-wise that day.
We ran to a soccer field at a local high school that was littered with thousands of coloured balls.
The official gave us the rules: "One of you will be blind-folded the other will shout out directions. You have to get through the field to the big ball and pick it up without touching ANY of the small balls. Once you pick it up and put it in the air, we will give you your point."
Mike was blindfolded. I gave instructions.
And we excelled hugely.
Mike didn't touch a single ball and we were out of there in less than five minutes as other teams struggled to complete it.
We high-fived and headed back to the bus stop.
Chase Point 4
Next, we ran about a kilometre from a bus stop to a park near Commercial Drive where we had to put nylons on our heads, with tennis balls in the toes. The objective: use only your head to spin around the tennis ball and loop the nylon leg around another team's nylon and yank off their nylon. It was weird to the nth degree. And sweaty. But down right hilarious.
We lost the first round as one wily team managed to get Mike's nylon off, but we managed to kick butt in the second round, receive our Chase Point and run off to our next destination.
Chase Point 5
Next stop: Bowling!
We ran in, grabbed our bowling shoes, and listened to the instructions as we laced up:
"You EACH must bowl a spare or a strike. you can't leave until you do. Every time that you don't bowl a spare or a strike, your partner has to remove a layer of clothing."
Lucky for me, Mike is an exceptional bowler and got a spare on the first try.
Unlucky for Mike, I am a terrible bowler and he was down to his boxers -- no shoes, socks, shirt, or pants until I eventually knocked 'em all down.
"That was close, babe" he said wiping sweat from his brow.
We got our point and headed north.
5 down, 5 to go!
Chase Point 6
On our way to Chase Point 6 we ran into an Italian Cafe for a cold slice of pizza on the go.
"Win win win!" said the owner.
"We hope you do well," cheered the patrons.
We felt famous.
We ran and ate, ate and ran. It was bliss.
We ended up at the RONA Olympic Pre-Fabrication shop where we had to paint a piece of plywood then build a wooden Inukshuk for the olympics. My aggressive painting technique resulted in a broken brush. "That's a first," said the official.
And our over-enthusiastic wood glueing application made our inukshuk look slightly worse for the wear.
Once completed, we were given an official Olympic Pin, and our 6th Chase Point.
We were feeling mighty fine!
Chase Point 7 and 8
Our next Chase Point was relatively close to the last one with one obstacle: a fenced in train yard.
We didn't want to lose time going all the way around, so we ran to teh station, sweet talked a guard to letting us hop on and then hop off a passenger train, and run through the yard.
As we were running though, the guard yelled out "fence! barbed-wired fence!"
We looked around.
We were surrounded. But we kept running.
"There's got to be a gate we can hop," I said to Mike.
"You're insane," he said and high-fived me.
We came across a 15-ft gate with a 12-inch or so gap in between and a good foot of barbed wire on top. I climbed up on the chain and inched through. Mike did the same. And, to our surprise and joy, we were directly in front of our next adventure: Cliffhanger Climbing Gym.
This was a two-parter challenge. One person had to climb the climbing wall and touch the ceiling while the other completed a Sudoku puzzle. We glanced at each other and shared a knowing nod. "Sudoku!" Mike screamed with over-exuberance. He is, after all, a Sudoku master. I quickly got harness and began my ascent.
By the time I got down, Mike was well finished the Sudoku with officials raving at his speed and accuracy. Other teams were on the grass outside of the gym squabbling: "Why can't you get this!" "Hurry up! It's not THAT hard."
Music to our ears!
We received a second Chase Point here for raising over $500 for Right To Play, for which we thank all of our friends and family. It definitely gave us a leg up in the compeition.
So we left with two Chase Points.
Making us have only 2 more left to go.
Chase Point 9
The run to our next Chase Point was about 5k. We had been competing for 3 hours now and were slightly pooped but still hopped up on adrenaline. We jogged over the Cambie Bridge. Underneath was a bootcamp. In order to get our next Chase Point we would have to do a set of strenuous activities.
First, we were spun around 10 times and then had to compete in a three-legged obstacle course.
Then, we had to skip rope while tied together for 30 seconds.
Then, they tied a rope around me and gave the ends to Mike. I had to run forward while he pulled back. Exhausting!
Next up: burpees. We had to do ten each: you jump up, then jump into a push up position, do a push-up, and jump up again.
After that, a wheelbarrow race. I held on to Mike's lags while he ran 60 meters with his arms. But, to make it interesting (and WAY more difficult), they lathered up my hands and arms with vaseline!!! So it was very slippery and I had no grip on Mike's legs!
The last boot camp event involved Mike being blindfolded and diving into a pool of Ice Tea cans. I had to direct him to a magic green can. When he found it, we finally got our Chase Point!
The most gruelling and hilarious event of the day!
Chase Point 10 - last one!
Excited to be just about finished, we ran speedily to David Lam Park where we were given a frozen, knotted sock. The task: unfreeze and untie the sock and put it on!
Sounded easy but this was the most difficult task of the day.
We breathed on it, we hit the sock against cement to break the ice, we had a lady pour her tea on it, we tried to melt it in the water fountain. Turns out, it just took some patience. 15 minutes later, Mike had the sock knee high on his left foot, we received our final Chase Point and we ran like heck to the finish line.
The thing is, we didn't really know exactly where the finish line was. So we ran. And ran. And ran into a store to ask. And ran some more. And then finally spotted some other City Chasers and stumpled onto the finish line.
We ran across the finish line in 3 hours and 45 minutes. We can 45th out of 350+ teams (so we did REALLY well!) and had a blast!
The City Chase after party featured free beers and hamburgers and lots of prizes.
in addition to our awesome finish, I also took home a 6 month Golds Gym membership (which i totally don't need or want, but, hey!, i won!)
The whole day was smiley, fun, exhilarating, wild, edgy, exhausting, surprising, stimulating, hilarious, nerve-racking, and more. It was the very best day I've had in a long time and I'm itching to compete again next year!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Kusam Klimb 09
One of my goals this year was to tackle a mountain on the NorthEast shore of Vancouver Island called Mount H'Kusam. Each year, the community of Sayward, BC (pop. 1400) hosts a few hundred athletes who dare to tackle what they call the "Kusam Klimb", a 23-km mountain race that features a 1500-ft elevation gain over the first 5.5km and some intensely challenging terrain, including rope ascents and descents, snow and ice, mud, rivers, and more. In fact, we found out only later that elite trail runner Dale Reicheneder believes its the toughest race he has ever done.
So, clearly, I had no business being on this trail, on the mountain, or in this race.
Mike and I arrived in Sayward the night before the race. It had rained fiercely and we set up the tent in the dark at Fisherboy Campground a sweet little car-camping lot owned by two sweet and kind souls. As soon as the tent was up, we were down for the count and slept pretty solidly until 5 a.m. when our BlackBerry summoned us awake.
The first drawback of the day happened early: my contact lens ripped in half and, having not planned for this, I was forced to don my glasses for the race. Normally, this isn't a big deal. But with steep ascents and descents and a lot of sweat, I knew it'd be trouble.
Still, we carried on preparing for the day. We ate heartily, we filled out camelback water packs to the brim. We packed snacks. We donned our gloves. We were ready for the race.
We were picked up at Fisherboy by Sayward's only taxi driver, Helene from Quebec. She was hilarious and inviting. She said "You can do it. Just finishing this is an accomplishment." She dropped us off at the start line, about a km away from the base of Mount H'Kusam and said "I'll see you at the finish line."
After a quick scan of the 300+ athletes at the start line, we soon realized that perhaps we were in for something a little beyond what we had anticipated. Racers had walking poles, ice crampons, and hiking boots. They had food and massive amounts of water. We were 2 of say 30 people with running shoes. Everyone else was pretty much ready for something far more intense than "running".
When the race started, a sea of people headed down the main drag in Sayward toward the mountain. It was maybe 10 minutes before we hit the trail and started going up. And boy, was it UP! Our running quickly became strenous step-ups. We were out of breath, sweaty, and starting to doubt ourselves only 5 minutes in. But we persevered ... because everyone else looked and felt the same way.
This first leg of the race is the hardest. It's a 1500-ft elevation gain over 5.5 km to the peak. It is up up up. Steep steps, lots of ropes to pull on, climbing through snow, etc. It was incredibly difficult and incredibly rewarding at the same time.
After we passed Checkpoint 1 where volunteers offer food, drinks, and check in every racer to make sure that no one gets left behind on the mountain, we pushed forth. Not long into the second stretch to the peak, Mike cracked his head on a low-hanging rock. Blood everywhere. "How does it look," he asked? "You have no skin on your head," I said. He put some kleenex over it and pressed forth.
On the way up, our gaze was mostly down, looking for tree roots and rocks to use as support to hoist ourselves up. But every now and again, there was a break in the trees and we got a glimpse of how far up we really were and why we were doing this: the view was impeccable. We were pretty sure we could see all of Vancouver Island. It was majestic.
About 500 meters from the top is a natural lake that looks like black glass. It was surrounded in snow and ice. And it looked like something out of a story book. We stopped. Ate a granola bar. Took a picture. And nearly cried.
We were so exhausted and tired and sore, and only 1/4 into our race, and this bit of beauty was so refreshing. It made it all worthwhile.
The summit was, consequently, also Checkpoint 2. Two amazing volunteers in blankets shivering at the top with a notepad recording all the numbers of racers coming in. We sat here for only a minute. We were so high in the clouds at this point that we could barely make out the view ... so we pressed forth. After all, we were racing, right?
From here on in, the rest of the race was down down down. One would think that this makes it easy. And one would be very wrong.
The first kilometre is a steep descent through mud and snow using a series of ropes for balance. Without the ropes, you'd fall off the mountain. It was THAT steep. As a result, it was also incredibly thrilling and downright fun. At one point, we ditched the ropes, sat on our bottoms, and slid down the snow. It hurt like heck, but we got there fast and it was a hoot of a time. We felt 12 again.
At one point, during this steep ascent, a man about 60 happened upon us. He had braces on his legs. And he quickly overtook us and disappeared into the thick forest.
I looked at Mike.
Mike look at me.
"There is no way I'm getting beaten by a man with braces on his legs," I said.
"We'll catch him," Mike said.
"Don't worry."
I sensed hesitation in his voice.
At Checkpoint 3, we stopped in at the nurses station to get Mike's head looked at. Since he wasn't feeling nauseous or headachy, she said he should be fine to continue. The terrain at this point was still thick with forest and slightly less muddy, though we were about to stumble upon a number of creek and small river bed crossings that we would eventually stop strategizing over and wasting time and just run straight through.
The first time we bit the bullet and stepped shin-deep in water, it was exhilirating.
"That's going to be a blister," Mike said.
We high-fived, picked up the pace, and carried on.
At Checkpoint 4, we were met with two big surprises. The first and the best was Nanaimo Bars and Bagel Sandwiches! It was a feast and we were starving. The second was: Brace Legs! The man who had passed us two hours before with braces on his legs.
We eyed him up as he took his last bite of a bagel and started forth on his descent. He was walking. So we felt we had a good chance of catching him.
We scarfed down our food, high-fived the volunteers, and started running. This was our element! The terrain was rolling hills and valleys now (with stunning views of mountains in the distance) and we were keeping a fairly descent jogging pace as we skipped over creeks and rounded grassy knolls. At this point, we had about 12 more kilometers to go. And we were pretty much spent (though our second wind came from the thrill of seeing and hopefully catching Brace Legs.)
As we ran, we passed a number of people who had passed us on the climb. We felt strong. We felt fast. But we didn't see Brace Legs. Time and time again, we'd see someone in the distance, and as we approached, realized it wasn't Brace Legs. It took nearly four kilometres for us to catch up to and finally pass him. Which we did with subtle high five and two big smiles.
But the more we ran, the more our knees hurt. The terrain was a lot of up and down on unstable ground, not the usual pavement we were used to. And more the ran, the more we pounded the ground, and eventually we both had to stop.
"What about Brace Legs?" I inquired desperately.
"You need to rest," Mike said "We'll walk for a bit. He's way behind us."
"I can't be beaten by him."
"You won't." said Mike.
We hobbled along, both of us limping slightly, letting the swelling in our knees subside. We had 5 km to go.
We heard voices be behind us.
"Brace Legs!" I thought with fear.
We turned around, and there he was!
My mouth was agape.
Mike's mouth was agape.
And we walked right on past us. And I am pretty sure he winked.
"We've got to start running!" I said desperately and started limping fast forward.
Mike laughed and walked beside me as I struggled along.
After 3 minutes, I gave up my fruitless efforts, listened to Mike, walked gingerly for another 15 minutes until the pain subsided, and then we began to trot forward slowly.
We came out of the hills and into a new growth forest, which made us feel really tall, as the trees and plants were only 50-100 years old versus the thousands of years old in the forest we have just scaled through. It was lush and green. There was a cool breeze. We decided to let the idea of beating Brace Legs go (after all, he had completed the race 6 times before), and chock it up to our inexperience.
When we finally hit the highway we felt strong and excited. The citizens of Sawyward were on their porches and lawns cheering. We felt on top of the world! They cheered! They invited us over for beers later. They spray painted "Are You Tough Enough?" on the road.
We wound around the final bend and down the chute some 6 and a half hours after we started. The crowd cheered. We high-fived. And immediately plunked down on bench and rested our heads on each other.
Our knees would hurt for days after. Our bodies would ache. And my heel would take 3 weeks to heal. But it was, by far, the most challenging and rewarding and humbling experience we have ever had. We tackled nature and all of her elements and she gave it to us hard and heavy. We were not prepared. We were amateurs at best. We went in cocky and left humbled. We had an appreciation for every single athlete who finished before us and every single one that finished after us.
We were tired, bruised, sore, but not defeated.
Helene the taxi driver was at the finish line!
"You did it!!!" she said, arms up in the air, with the pride of a mom.
"You are amazing!"
She drove us back to camp where we promptly cracked open two beers.
We will be back next year for more.
So, clearly, I had no business being on this trail, on the mountain, or in this race.
Mike and I arrived in Sayward the night before the race. It had rained fiercely and we set up the tent in the dark at Fisherboy Campground a sweet little car-camping lot owned by two sweet and kind souls. As soon as the tent was up, we were down for the count and slept pretty solidly until 5 a.m. when our BlackBerry summoned us awake.
The first drawback of the day happened early: my contact lens ripped in half and, having not planned for this, I was forced to don my glasses for the race. Normally, this isn't a big deal. But with steep ascents and descents and a lot of sweat, I knew it'd be trouble.
Still, we carried on preparing for the day. We ate heartily, we filled out camelback water packs to the brim. We packed snacks. We donned our gloves. We were ready for the race.
We were picked up at Fisherboy by Sayward's only taxi driver, Helene from Quebec. She was hilarious and inviting. She said "You can do it. Just finishing this is an accomplishment." She dropped us off at the start line, about a km away from the base of Mount H'Kusam and said "I'll see you at the finish line."
After a quick scan of the 300+ athletes at the start line, we soon realized that perhaps we were in for something a little beyond what we had anticipated. Racers had walking poles, ice crampons, and hiking boots. They had food and massive amounts of water. We were 2 of say 30 people with running shoes. Everyone else was pretty much ready for something far more intense than "running".
When the race started, a sea of people headed down the main drag in Sayward toward the mountain. It was maybe 10 minutes before we hit the trail and started going up. And boy, was it UP! Our running quickly became strenous step-ups. We were out of breath, sweaty, and starting to doubt ourselves only 5 minutes in. But we persevered ... because everyone else looked and felt the same way.
This first leg of the race is the hardest. It's a 1500-ft elevation gain over 5.5 km to the peak. It is up up up. Steep steps, lots of ropes to pull on, climbing through snow, etc. It was incredibly difficult and incredibly rewarding at the same time.
After we passed Checkpoint 1 where volunteers offer food, drinks, and check in every racer to make sure that no one gets left behind on the mountain, we pushed forth. Not long into the second stretch to the peak, Mike cracked his head on a low-hanging rock. Blood everywhere. "How does it look," he asked? "You have no skin on your head," I said. He put some kleenex over it and pressed forth.
On the way up, our gaze was mostly down, looking for tree roots and rocks to use as support to hoist ourselves up. But every now and again, there was a break in the trees and we got a glimpse of how far up we really were and why we were doing this: the view was impeccable. We were pretty sure we could see all of Vancouver Island. It was majestic.
About 500 meters from the top is a natural lake that looks like black glass. It was surrounded in snow and ice. And it looked like something out of a story book. We stopped. Ate a granola bar. Took a picture. And nearly cried.
We were so exhausted and tired and sore, and only 1/4 into our race, and this bit of beauty was so refreshing. It made it all worthwhile.
The summit was, consequently, also Checkpoint 2. Two amazing volunteers in blankets shivering at the top with a notepad recording all the numbers of racers coming in. We sat here for only a minute. We were so high in the clouds at this point that we could barely make out the view ... so we pressed forth. After all, we were racing, right?
From here on in, the rest of the race was down down down. One would think that this makes it easy. And one would be very wrong.
The first kilometre is a steep descent through mud and snow using a series of ropes for balance. Without the ropes, you'd fall off the mountain. It was THAT steep. As a result, it was also incredibly thrilling and downright fun. At one point, we ditched the ropes, sat on our bottoms, and slid down the snow. It hurt like heck, but we got there fast and it was a hoot of a time. We felt 12 again.
At one point, during this steep ascent, a man about 60 happened upon us. He had braces on his legs. And he quickly overtook us and disappeared into the thick forest.
I looked at Mike.
Mike look at me.
"There is no way I'm getting beaten by a man with braces on his legs," I said.
"We'll catch him," Mike said.
"Don't worry."
I sensed hesitation in his voice.
At Checkpoint 3, we stopped in at the nurses station to get Mike's head looked at. Since he wasn't feeling nauseous or headachy, she said he should be fine to continue. The terrain at this point was still thick with forest and slightly less muddy, though we were about to stumble upon a number of creek and small river bed crossings that we would eventually stop strategizing over and wasting time and just run straight through.
The first time we bit the bullet and stepped shin-deep in water, it was exhilirating.
"That's going to be a blister," Mike said.
We high-fived, picked up the pace, and carried on.
At Checkpoint 4, we were met with two big surprises. The first and the best was Nanaimo Bars and Bagel Sandwiches! It was a feast and we were starving. The second was: Brace Legs! The man who had passed us two hours before with braces on his legs.
We eyed him up as he took his last bite of a bagel and started forth on his descent. He was walking. So we felt we had a good chance of catching him.
We scarfed down our food, high-fived the volunteers, and started running. This was our element! The terrain was rolling hills and valleys now (with stunning views of mountains in the distance) and we were keeping a fairly descent jogging pace as we skipped over creeks and rounded grassy knolls. At this point, we had about 12 more kilometers to go. And we were pretty much spent (though our second wind came from the thrill of seeing and hopefully catching Brace Legs.)
As we ran, we passed a number of people who had passed us on the climb. We felt strong. We felt fast. But we didn't see Brace Legs. Time and time again, we'd see someone in the distance, and as we approached, realized it wasn't Brace Legs. It took nearly four kilometres for us to catch up to and finally pass him. Which we did with subtle high five and two big smiles.
But the more we ran, the more our knees hurt. The terrain was a lot of up and down on unstable ground, not the usual pavement we were used to. And more the ran, the more we pounded the ground, and eventually we both had to stop.
"What about Brace Legs?" I inquired desperately.
"You need to rest," Mike said "We'll walk for a bit. He's way behind us."
"I can't be beaten by him."
"You won't." said Mike.
We hobbled along, both of us limping slightly, letting the swelling in our knees subside. We had 5 km to go.
We heard voices be behind us.
"Brace Legs!" I thought with fear.
We turned around, and there he was!
My mouth was agape.
Mike's mouth was agape.
And we walked right on past us. And I am pretty sure he winked.
"We've got to start running!" I said desperately and started limping fast forward.
Mike laughed and walked beside me as I struggled along.
After 3 minutes, I gave up my fruitless efforts, listened to Mike, walked gingerly for another 15 minutes until the pain subsided, and then we began to trot forward slowly.
We came out of the hills and into a new growth forest, which made us feel really tall, as the trees and plants were only 50-100 years old versus the thousands of years old in the forest we have just scaled through. It was lush and green. There was a cool breeze. We decided to let the idea of beating Brace Legs go (after all, he had completed the race 6 times before), and chock it up to our inexperience.
When we finally hit the highway we felt strong and excited. The citizens of Sawyward were on their porches and lawns cheering. We felt on top of the world! They cheered! They invited us over for beers later. They spray painted "Are You Tough Enough?" on the road.
We wound around the final bend and down the chute some 6 and a half hours after we started. The crowd cheered. We high-fived. And immediately plunked down on bench and rested our heads on each other.
Our knees would hurt for days after. Our bodies would ache. And my heel would take 3 weeks to heal. But it was, by far, the most challenging and rewarding and humbling experience we have ever had. We tackled nature and all of her elements and she gave it to us hard and heavy. We were not prepared. We were amateurs at best. We went in cocky and left humbled. We had an appreciation for every single athlete who finished before us and every single one that finished after us.
We were tired, bruised, sore, but not defeated.
Helene the taxi driver was at the finish line!
"You did it!!!" she said, arms up in the air, with the pride of a mom.
"You are amazing!"
She drove us back to camp where we promptly cracked open two beers.
We will be back next year for more.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
A sunshiny adventure on the Sunshine Coast -- Part 2
Part 2 of this fantastic getaway is long overdue. The summer has been warm and dry and I've been too busy having fun to actually write about how much fun I am having. It's not a bad problem to have.
So after a wild and woolly afternoon of mountain biking (and falling) with Gary, we got back to the cabin, took Harley for a quick walk, threw on our swimming trunks, and headed to the kayak launch deck. We'd book ourselves a 3-hour tour (not of the sinking-ship Gilligan variety, thank goodness!)
After a quick lesson in paddling and self recovery, the team at the deck helped us launch our kayaks and Mike and I, with map in hand and candy in our stuff sacks, headed off into the sun.
With no real agenda, the world was our oyster. The three hours passed quickly, and yet we managed to pack all of this in:
- We followed the shoreline of the sunshine coast, checking out coastal houses, oohing and ahhing about the size of people's decks and boats.
- We paddled in and out of small groups of islets.
- We saw a seal in the distance.
- We watched a heron stand guard.
- We saw the neatest cluster of orange-billed blackbirds from maybe 6 feet away, and they didn't even blink.
- We picked electric purple Sea Stars (starfish) off the rocks and placed them gently back
- We saw two bald eagles nesting just above our heads. They came out onto a brand and sang for us. It was beautiful.
- We bet who could put the most Sour Gummys in their mouth at one time without vomiting or crying. Mike won. Hands down.
- We splashed around.
- We raced.
- We got turned around. We misread the map. We eventually found our way back.
The water all days was a sea of small rippled. Clouds were scarce. And the sky was a minty blue.
After almost three hours, we reluctantly paddled back to the bay and to the resort, our only motivation really being that me missed Harley and we had an upcoming massage that – after a day of mountain biking and paddling – was desperately sought.
We steered into the bay, and banked our boats, thanking the outfitting company for lending them to us without a guide.
We headed quickly back to the cabin for a ball-throwing session with Harley, then put on our robes, and moseyed on down to the spa. To our delight, our massage was booked outside, in an open tent, on a cliff, over looking the ocean, as the sun set.
Yes.
It was that idyllic.
Side by side we let our respective masseuses turn us into jelly as the sun beat down on us, keeping us warm, and the laps of the ocean waves soothed our thoughts.
It was incredible.
By the time the hour was up, we were both asleep.
"Take as long as you need," said one of the masseuses as she left the tent so we could change.
We took that to mean "take as long as you want" so we lay on the tables and slept some more and enjoyed every ounce of the experience.
"Uhm, are you almost ready?" she inquired 15 minutes later.
"Oh!" we jolted awake.
Apparently, we're not allowed to adopt that massage tent as our cabin for the night.
Too bad.
We got dressed and literally shuffled back to our cabin, played a fierce game of Yahtzee, and dozed off to sleep.
Never have I slept so soundly.
So after a wild and woolly afternoon of mountain biking (and falling) with Gary, we got back to the cabin, took Harley for a quick walk, threw on our swimming trunks, and headed to the kayak launch deck. We'd book ourselves a 3-hour tour (not of the sinking-ship Gilligan variety, thank goodness!)
After a quick lesson in paddling and self recovery, the team at the deck helped us launch our kayaks and Mike and I, with map in hand and candy in our stuff sacks, headed off into the sun.
With no real agenda, the world was our oyster. The three hours passed quickly, and yet we managed to pack all of this in:
- We followed the shoreline of the sunshine coast, checking out coastal houses, oohing and ahhing about the size of people's decks and boats.
- We paddled in and out of small groups of islets.
- We saw a seal in the distance.
- We watched a heron stand guard.
- We saw the neatest cluster of orange-billed blackbirds from maybe 6 feet away, and they didn't even blink.
- We picked electric purple Sea Stars (starfish) off the rocks and placed them gently back
- We saw two bald eagles nesting just above our heads. They came out onto a brand and sang for us. It was beautiful.
- We bet who could put the most Sour Gummys in their mouth at one time without vomiting or crying. Mike won. Hands down.
- We splashed around.
- We raced.
- We got turned around. We misread the map. We eventually found our way back.
The water all days was a sea of small rippled. Clouds were scarce. And the sky was a minty blue.
After almost three hours, we reluctantly paddled back to the bay and to the resort, our only motivation really being that me missed Harley and we had an upcoming massage that – after a day of mountain biking and paddling – was desperately sought.
We steered into the bay, and banked our boats, thanking the outfitting company for lending them to us without a guide.
We headed quickly back to the cabin for a ball-throwing session with Harley, then put on our robes, and moseyed on down to the spa. To our delight, our massage was booked outside, in an open tent, on a cliff, over looking the ocean, as the sun set.
Yes.
It was that idyllic.
Side by side we let our respective masseuses turn us into jelly as the sun beat down on us, keeping us warm, and the laps of the ocean waves soothed our thoughts.
It was incredible.
By the time the hour was up, we were both asleep.
"Take as long as you need," said one of the masseuses as she left the tent so we could change.
We took that to mean "take as long as you want" so we lay on the tables and slept some more and enjoyed every ounce of the experience.
"Uhm, are you almost ready?" she inquired 15 minutes later.
"Oh!" we jolted awake.
Apparently, we're not allowed to adopt that massage tent as our cabin for the night.
Too bad.
We got dressed and literally shuffled back to our cabin, played a fierce game of Yahtzee, and dozed off to sleep.
Never have I slept so soundly.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
A sunshiny adventure on the Sunshine Coast -- Part 1
Though the weathermen are in a tizzy about how dry and sunny Vancouver has been in June, I am not complaining.
Summer came early this month and, as a result, so did an overwhelming urge to get away.
So, as the blue sky glistened and the sun sparkled on the ocean, I packed my bags and headed to the Sunshine Coast with Mike and Harley for a few days of adventure.
Our home base was a cabin at RockWater Resort, a mini piece of relaxing paradise near Sechelt.
We arrived late the first evening, just in time to check into our humble cabin, dip our feet in the ocean, play ball with Harley, and set up our Muskoka Chairs at just the right angle to watch the sunset from our ocean-view cabin. We cracked open a couple of beers. Murmured the trademark "ahhhh!" and enjoyed one of the most relaxing evenings we've had in a long time.
Day 2, however, would be quite different.
We woke up early, enjoyed a continental breakfast at the lodge, and then quickly met up with Gary from Off The Edge for a mountain bike ride.
Gary was full of life and love for nature. His energy was infectious, and we high-fived as he handed us our bikes and started our Mountain Biking 101 crash course. After learning the gears, brakes, and all the moves, we set forth on a beautiful trail near Sechelt. It was littered with sharp ess curves, stumps, rocks, steep climbs, and precarious descents.
It was the kind of trail I'd love to hike. The kind of trail I'd fear to bike!
After a rocky start, on my part, of fear, anxiety, and lots of stopping, Gary sent Mike off to challenge himself (as he was picking it up really quickly), and had a heart to heart with me.
"You're being a pansy," he said forthright.
"I know," I said, wincing. "I hate it!!! I'm not that girl!!! But for some reason, I am really scared."
He told me how his wife had studied and theorized on women and extreme sports and their underlying fear of failure, pain, and more. He said "Stop thinking that Mike isn't having fun because you're slower. Stop thinking about hurting yourself. Just have fun! Be willing to get a few stitches!"
I gulped.
"Now, tell me you're going to go off this jump" he said.
I looked at the jump: by all accounts, the kind of jump that even a pansy like me could do. Maybe a 2 foot drop (max). A sharp left and a stable bridge. It could be done.
"I can do it" I said without as much conviction as I wanted.
"On the first try?" Gary asked.
I gulped again.
"Definitely on the first try."
Confident that I could do it, Gary quickly gave me the low down on how to approach the jump successfully.
- Get some speed up front. "None of this pansy gliding nonsense." He wanted to see hard pedaling.
- Hop on the bridge on the left side. Take it sharp.
- Don't look down, look ahead. At Gary. In the eyes.
- Go off the bridge and into the jump on the far left of the bridge and make a sharp left.
- Don't sit on the seat.
- Be flexible.
- Be willing to crash.
I nodded.
I was scared.
As I walked my bike back up the trail to where I would start, Mike came back from his adventure. I heard him whisper to Gary: "Is she going to go off this jump?"
"Yep."
"are you sure?"
"she can do it. She said she would."
"This is going to be AWESOME!"
I was trembling.
"GO!!!!" Gary shouted and I hopped on to my bike, pedalled hard, veered on to the bridge on the left. It was all going according to plan. I looked right at Gary. In the eyes, like he said. He pumped his fists: "You're doing it!!! This is AWESOME!!!" He and Mike high fived. In my head and heart, I thought "I AM doing it! Holy crap!" and then I let the excitement get the best of me.
I started to steer shakily and came off the bridge on the right hand side, not the left. The consequence? I landed straight on a massive tree stump which sent me and my bike skyward. I came down hard on the seat. It broke off. I kept riding. More bumps. I came down hard again. The seat poll took a bite-sized piece of flesh out of my inner thigh. Mike and Gary cheered: "So AWESOME!!!!"; I nearly peed my pants.
I managed to bring the bike to a stop after some time. Gary and Mike ran to high five me. "You did it!!" "That was so cool!"
I had left the "pansy" behind and entered the realm of "cool."
Well, until they said: "Do it again!!!!" and I kindly declined.
The rest of the trek was much more fun and far less fearful. I tackled some steep downhills at an impressive clip. I maneuvered over rockes, around tree stumps, and through bushes. And I had a slew of bruises, scrapes, and blood to show for it.
The best part?
The forest was stunning. Packed full of giant firs ... some first generation that had escaped logging.
They were breathtaking.
When we pedaled back up to the truck, loaded our bikes and ditched our helmets, we were sad.
Mike had enjoyed every second of this adventure; and I had come around and truly enjoyed the challenge.
We were sad to say goodbye to Gary and the bikes but happy to have made a great friend, learned a thing or to, and tried our hand at something that scared us.
It was glorious.
And we were desperate for a nap!!
Summer came early this month and, as a result, so did an overwhelming urge to get away.
So, as the blue sky glistened and the sun sparkled on the ocean, I packed my bags and headed to the Sunshine Coast with Mike and Harley for a few days of adventure.
Our home base was a cabin at RockWater Resort, a mini piece of relaxing paradise near Sechelt.
We arrived late the first evening, just in time to check into our humble cabin, dip our feet in the ocean, play ball with Harley, and set up our Muskoka Chairs at just the right angle to watch the sunset from our ocean-view cabin. We cracked open a couple of beers. Murmured the trademark "ahhhh!" and enjoyed one of the most relaxing evenings we've had in a long time.
Day 2, however, would be quite different.
We woke up early, enjoyed a continental breakfast at the lodge, and then quickly met up with Gary from Off The Edge for a mountain bike ride.
Gary was full of life and love for nature. His energy was infectious, and we high-fived as he handed us our bikes and started our Mountain Biking 101 crash course. After learning the gears, brakes, and all the moves, we set forth on a beautiful trail near Sechelt. It was littered with sharp ess curves, stumps, rocks, steep climbs, and precarious descents.
It was the kind of trail I'd love to hike. The kind of trail I'd fear to bike!
After a rocky start, on my part, of fear, anxiety, and lots of stopping, Gary sent Mike off to challenge himself (as he was picking it up really quickly), and had a heart to heart with me.
"You're being a pansy," he said forthright.
"I know," I said, wincing. "I hate it!!! I'm not that girl!!! But for some reason, I am really scared."
He told me how his wife had studied and theorized on women and extreme sports and their underlying fear of failure, pain, and more. He said "Stop thinking that Mike isn't having fun because you're slower. Stop thinking about hurting yourself. Just have fun! Be willing to get a few stitches!"
I gulped.
"Now, tell me you're going to go off this jump" he said.
I looked at the jump: by all accounts, the kind of jump that even a pansy like me could do. Maybe a 2 foot drop (max). A sharp left and a stable bridge. It could be done.
"I can do it" I said without as much conviction as I wanted.
"On the first try?" Gary asked.
I gulped again.
"Definitely on the first try."
Confident that I could do it, Gary quickly gave me the low down on how to approach the jump successfully.
- Get some speed up front. "None of this pansy gliding nonsense." He wanted to see hard pedaling.
- Hop on the bridge on the left side. Take it sharp.
- Don't look down, look ahead. At Gary. In the eyes.
- Go off the bridge and into the jump on the far left of the bridge and make a sharp left.
- Don't sit on the seat.
- Be flexible.
- Be willing to crash.
I nodded.
I was scared.
As I walked my bike back up the trail to where I would start, Mike came back from his adventure. I heard him whisper to Gary: "Is she going to go off this jump?"
"Yep."
"are you sure?"
"she can do it. She said she would."
"This is going to be AWESOME!"
I was trembling.
"GO!!!!" Gary shouted and I hopped on to my bike, pedalled hard, veered on to the bridge on the left. It was all going according to plan. I looked right at Gary. In the eyes, like he said. He pumped his fists: "You're doing it!!! This is AWESOME!!!" He and Mike high fived. In my head and heart, I thought "I AM doing it! Holy crap!" and then I let the excitement get the best of me.
I started to steer shakily and came off the bridge on the right hand side, not the left. The consequence? I landed straight on a massive tree stump which sent me and my bike skyward. I came down hard on the seat. It broke off. I kept riding. More bumps. I came down hard again. The seat poll took a bite-sized piece of flesh out of my inner thigh. Mike and Gary cheered: "So AWESOME!!!!"; I nearly peed my pants.
I managed to bring the bike to a stop after some time. Gary and Mike ran to high five me. "You did it!!" "That was so cool!"
I had left the "pansy" behind and entered the realm of "cool."
Well, until they said: "Do it again!!!!" and I kindly declined.
The rest of the trek was much more fun and far less fearful. I tackled some steep downhills at an impressive clip. I maneuvered over rockes, around tree stumps, and through bushes. And I had a slew of bruises, scrapes, and blood to show for it.
The best part?
The forest was stunning. Packed full of giant firs ... some first generation that had escaped logging.
They were breathtaking.
When we pedaled back up to the truck, loaded our bikes and ditched our helmets, we were sad.
Mike had enjoyed every second of this adventure; and I had come around and truly enjoyed the challenge.
We were sad to say goodbye to Gary and the bikes but happy to have made a great friend, learned a thing or to, and tried our hand at something that scared us.
It was glorious.
And we were desperate for a nap!!
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Hiking with Harley - Buntzen Lake
An old friend came to visit from Ontario over the long weekend which provided me with a perfect excuse to not work and to proffer the idea of an afternoon hike. Lucky for me, she's an easy going soul, so she and I, plus one eager boyfriend, and an overly excited pup, headed to Port Moody for hike along the Buntzen Lake trail.
It's the perfect time of year for a hike: warm and sunny, but cool and breezy. Dogs and tourists and visitors grazed the well-trodden path. The moss was ripe. The trees were blooming. The ferns were so thick they looked like lush green shag carpet.
Harley led the way with zeal. Sniffing every tree. Peeing on every leaf. Smiling the way that happy puppies smile.
The three of us (humans, that is), laughed, looked, enjoyed.
It was just a peaceful sweet day.
We hiked for about an hour until we came to an opening and a mini-beach on Buntzen Lake where we could enjoy a picnic lunch: cheese, crackers, sandwiches, juice, cherries! It was a feast!
We laughed a little more.
told really bad jokes.
soaked up the sun.
Tapped our full bellies gingerly, and then hiked out.
it was a short but brisk hike, and the perfect first taste of nature this Spring.
It left us all satiated with nature's beauty yet craving more more more!
So this is, no doubt, the first of many hiking posts ...
after all, mother nature is calling and I can't help but to answer.
It's the perfect time of year for a hike: warm and sunny, but cool and breezy. Dogs and tourists and visitors grazed the well-trodden path. The moss was ripe. The trees were blooming. The ferns were so thick they looked like lush green shag carpet.
Harley led the way with zeal. Sniffing every tree. Peeing on every leaf. Smiling the way that happy puppies smile.
The three of us (humans, that is), laughed, looked, enjoyed.
It was just a peaceful sweet day.
We hiked for about an hour until we came to an opening and a mini-beach on Buntzen Lake where we could enjoy a picnic lunch: cheese, crackers, sandwiches, juice, cherries! It was a feast!
We laughed a little more.
told really bad jokes.
soaked up the sun.
Tapped our full bellies gingerly, and then hiked out.
it was a short but brisk hike, and the perfect first taste of nature this Spring.
It left us all satiated with nature's beauty yet craving more more more!
So this is, no doubt, the first of many hiking posts ...
after all, mother nature is calling and I can't help but to answer.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Vancouver Marathon 2009
I have wanted to run a full marathon for years. I've talked about it. I've dreamed about it. I've been scared of it. I've made excuses why I shouldn't do it. I've lived in fear of it. I've lived in awe of it. And, finally, this year, I did it.
On Sunday May 3, 2009 I lined up on Pacific Boulevard with my best pal Mike. The sun was rising. It was a chilly 10 degrees. We held hands, smiled nervously, and staved off our collective "nervous pee". When the gun went off, we smiled, high-fived, and said: "See you at the finish line." and lost ourselves in the rhythm of our own strides and in the energy of the nearly 13,000 runners around us.
Here is how the dream unfolded:
The Day Before
On Saturday, the day before the race, I woke up feeling ill.
"Nerves," I thought as I carried on with my day: purchasing fuel/gel shots for my fuel belt, stocking up on gatorade, etc.
By midday, I still hadn't been able to stomach a morsel of food. But I knew I had too. Being properly nourished before a marathon or any endurance event is one of the sport's most well-known pieces of advice.
Mike and I had planned a pre-race carbohydrate-filled meal of penne and veggies and sauce that night.
I called him midday: "I'm not feeling well, Mike. I think it's nerves."
He gave me a few pep talks. Told me I could do it. And told me the importance of eating a big meal.
"You're going to be drained if you have no calories, Kimmers, You've got to eat."
I trudged over to his place. My stomach growled. My intestines howled.
The pasta smelled delicious.
But, one look at the giant mound of carbs with thick tomato sauce and juicy veggies, and I was instantly ill.
"I'm gonna be sick!" I said as I bee-lined it for the bathroom and stayed there for a good hour while Mike kindly listened to the Canucks game at an unusually high volume.
As the night progressed, my symptoms grew worse. Vomitting. Diarrhea. Fever.
I started to cry.
All I could think about was how much I wanted to do this marathon. How many people were expecting me to do this marathon. And how utterly awful I felt at that very moment.
I was defeated.
"I'm like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump," I said to Mike as he tried to force feed me some gatorade just for the calories. "When he's on the Shrimp Boat and the hurricane comes in. And he says to God: "It's you and me now. Come and get me."
Ultimately, Lieutenant Dan and the Shrimp Boat survive the storm, but not without a fight.
"I've got to fight this." I said.
"see how you feel in the morning," said Mike.
The morning
I felt like crap in the morning.
My fever had broke, but my stomach was a mess.
I ate a bagel.
I threw up the bagel.
I cooked an egg.
I put the egg in the garbage.
I made a fruit smoothie.
I stared at the smoothie then poured it down the sink.
My mind was a melting pot of negativity.
"How am I going to run today?"
"I am so hungry."
"There is no way you can do this."
But I had to. I needed to. It was a challenge of the greatest kind. Tack on the upset stomach and it was even more challenging.
Add to that that my longest training run had been 27k (15k short of a marathon), and the challenge-o-meter rose even still.
I knew the race was going to be difficult.
I knew I would struggle.
But somehow, I knew I needed to prove to myself that I could overcome these challenges, and cross that finish line.
I showed up at Mike's house at quarter to 7.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, as he whirled around his apartment like Tornado Mike trying to prepare for the race himself.
"I am so unprepared."
Me, too, I thought.
Me, too.
The start line
Though rain had been forecasted all week for Marathon Sunday, the weatherman was blissfully wrong and the sun rose big and boisterous in the east as we made our way to the start line on Pacific Boulevard.
We had nervous pee.
I had shivers.
I felt ill ... both from being ill and from the enormity of the task ahead of me while feeling ill.
They played the anthem while we waited in line for a last chance at the Port-a-Pottys.
Then, before we knew it, we were in the line up. Standing amongst our peers. Among runners who would beat us. And runners whom we would pass.
The gun went off.
I stopped breathing.
And then we started to run.
The run
It was, by all accounts, a glorious day for a marathon. Not too hot. Just brisk enough to sweat comfortably.
The streets were lined with fans.
And since everyone's race bib had their name on it, strangers cheered loudly for just about everyone.
"You can do it, Kim!"
"Good effort, Kim!"
"Keep it up, Kim!"
I wonder if these people know just really how helpful their spirit is.
Especially when, as the runner, your energy is drained, your spirit is draining, and your mind is telling you to quit.
It's these cheers that helped me get through it as much as my own resolve. It was the supprot of anonymous fans who made me feel strong and confident all the way to the finish.
Although my stomach was nauseatingly upset for the entire portion of the race and I was terribly hungry having gone 36 hours without food, I actually felt somewhat strong.
I eased into a comfortable pace that I felt I could maintain for a long distance.
I passed a few people.
A few people passed me.
I was on par, I felt, to run a sub-5hour marathon and considering how I felt, I would be ecstatic with that.
Starving and starting to feel drained and hungry and in need of a boost, I grabbed a Power Gel at one of the water stations around 15 k. I pounded it down. And kept on running. 5 minutes later, that Power Gel came right back up and I threw up roadside.
This is where I started talking to myself ("you've got to be kidding me!") and I would continue this battle with my brain for the remaining 28k.
Two gels and one throw-up later, I had made it through Stanley Park and was on my way toward the last leg of the race.
"Once I get to Burrard bridge, it's only 12 more k" i said to myself. I was nearing the homestretch.
Then, just as I eclipsed the bridge and veered on to Cornwall Street in the heart of my own neighboourhood, my foot became earth-shatteringly painful. Perhaps a stretched Plantar Fascitis. Maybe even torn. I wasn't sure as I have never had foot pain before. Not even a twinge. and this was like running on a knife.
I cried. I stopped to stretch it out on the sidelines. Put it was permanently writhing.
"there's only 12 more k to go," I thought to myself. "I've come this far."
I figured the cramp/injury would work itself out over the next 12 k, so started to run with a noticeable limp, putting on the pressure on my left quad so that my right foot could heal.
It didn't heal.
For 12 long kilometers, I hobbled, I winced, i cried.
Rounding the last turnaround point at the peak of 4th Ave, I was fortunate enough to seek water from an older gentlemen on the sidelines. He took one look at me hobbling, put his arm around me, and said:
"Honey. I know you are hurting. But you are a warrior. And I want you to tell yourself that you are good and your are strong 200 times until you reach that finish line. "
My lip quivered.
My eyes teared.
I was in so much pain.
I was so tired.
I wanted to quit and he knew it.
"It doesn't matter what the time on the clock says, honey," he continued "You are going to cross that finish line. I know you can do it. I'll see you there."
And so I vowed to carry forth.
It was the longest 10 kilometers of my life. Not only had my pain slowed my pace to a crawl, but my mind was running rampid. It was like in cartoon,s with a devil telling me "you can't do it" on one shoulder and an angel on the other cheering "Yes! You! Can!".
When the first "walker" passed me, a sign that my pace had truly slowed and that my goal was slipping out of reach, I said to myself "What's the point?". then side 2 of my self responded: "The point is that you've always wanted to run a marathon, and just because you're hurt and tired and in pain, does not mean you can't achieve this goal."
I hobbled on.
"Do you need medical attention, ma'am?" asked a first aid worker at one of the stations I passed.
"No." I said matter of factly.
"You seem injured," she persisted.
"I just want to make it to the finish," I said, pleading with my eyes as I hobbled.
"Ok, ma'am. but if you need to stop, there is another station 3 kilometers ahead."
I smiled. Nodded.
And carried on.
The piercing pain in my right foot had not dulled overtime as I had hoped. In fact, because of my awkward new stride and my left side compensating for my right, my left calf seized. It cramped severely around kilometer 34 and would stay that way all the way to the finish (and for two days after, for that matter).
My stride because more strained.
More runners passed me.
More walkers passed me.
I looked down and soldiered on.
I really wanted to quit.
"Just quit," said the devil on my shoulder. "You tried your best. You're hurt. you're sick. Just quit."
It sounded like good advice.
But then I thought of all the people who were rooting for me. Mike was already at the finish waiting to cheer me on as I came in. My dad and mom would inevitably call first thing after the race. My friends were eager to hear how I'd done.
And there was no way I was going to tell anyone "I quit".
And so I battled through.
As I came up onto the Burrard bridge for the last 2 kilometer stretch home, a woman on a bicycle said "You're amazing! Keep going! Almost there.". A man in a purple wig said "You are going to do it!!" Another man held a sign: OWN THE BRIDGE.
I smiled and picked up the pace.
The last kilometer was horrific.
I was pushing myself hard (though my hunched-over, constricted and hobbling stride wouldn't show it.)
The pain in my foot and leg were the worst I've ever felt.
My body was taxed.
My mind was tired of fighting.
I was half-crying, half-laughing.
And then, like a beacon, there it was. The finish line.
A big blue BMO banner: FINISH LINE.
I smiled and pushed forth.
As I came down the shoot, I saw Mike and some other friends. THey smiled. Cheered loudly, And ran gate-side to bring me in!
I hobbled forth.
The race announcer said "Here comes Kim McMullen ladies and gentlemen, and look how much pain she's in. Imagine how much that hurts folks."
And suddenly, the entire finish line crowd was cheering for me (or so it seemed).
"Way to battle through," said a main in a shirt that said "Coach."
I heard my name a million times over.
I heard cheers!
I heard respect.
And then, I did it, an hour and half past my goal: I crossed the finish line.
I actually ran 42,2 kilometers.
It was not easy.
(in fact, it was never easy.)
It was not as I had planned.
(It was no where close to what I had planned)
and yet, when I crossed that finish line and hobbled into the arms of the first aid workers, first, then my friends second, I felt alive and proud. And I cried like a baby.
It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.
It was the most excruciatingly difficult challenge to overcome.
I thought 100 times through out those 5 hours and 50 minutes that I could not do it.
And then I challenged myself 100 times to push through and do it any way.
So I didn't run it fast.
So I missed my goal.
So I was beat by walkers.
In the end, I struggled through 42.2 kilometers of pain, nausea, and self-doubt and I still crossed that finish line.
And, I have to say, it made me feel alive.
I can't wait for the next one.
On Sunday May 3, 2009 I lined up on Pacific Boulevard with my best pal Mike. The sun was rising. It was a chilly 10 degrees. We held hands, smiled nervously, and staved off our collective "nervous pee". When the gun went off, we smiled, high-fived, and said: "See you at the finish line." and lost ourselves in the rhythm of our own strides and in the energy of the nearly 13,000 runners around us.
Here is how the dream unfolded:
The Day Before
On Saturday, the day before the race, I woke up feeling ill.
"Nerves," I thought as I carried on with my day: purchasing fuel/gel shots for my fuel belt, stocking up on gatorade, etc.
By midday, I still hadn't been able to stomach a morsel of food. But I knew I had too. Being properly nourished before a marathon or any endurance event is one of the sport's most well-known pieces of advice.
Mike and I had planned a pre-race carbohydrate-filled meal of penne and veggies and sauce that night.
I called him midday: "I'm not feeling well, Mike. I think it's nerves."
He gave me a few pep talks. Told me I could do it. And told me the importance of eating a big meal.
"You're going to be drained if you have no calories, Kimmers, You've got to eat."
I trudged over to his place. My stomach growled. My intestines howled.
The pasta smelled delicious.
But, one look at the giant mound of carbs with thick tomato sauce and juicy veggies, and I was instantly ill.
"I'm gonna be sick!" I said as I bee-lined it for the bathroom and stayed there for a good hour while Mike kindly listened to the Canucks game at an unusually high volume.
As the night progressed, my symptoms grew worse. Vomitting. Diarrhea. Fever.
I started to cry.
All I could think about was how much I wanted to do this marathon. How many people were expecting me to do this marathon. And how utterly awful I felt at that very moment.
I was defeated.
"I'm like Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump," I said to Mike as he tried to force feed me some gatorade just for the calories. "When he's on the Shrimp Boat and the hurricane comes in. And he says to God: "It's you and me now. Come and get me."
Ultimately, Lieutenant Dan and the Shrimp Boat survive the storm, but not without a fight.
"I've got to fight this." I said.
"see how you feel in the morning," said Mike.
The morning
I felt like crap in the morning.
My fever had broke, but my stomach was a mess.
I ate a bagel.
I threw up the bagel.
I cooked an egg.
I put the egg in the garbage.
I made a fruit smoothie.
I stared at the smoothie then poured it down the sink.
My mind was a melting pot of negativity.
"How am I going to run today?"
"I am so hungry."
"There is no way you can do this."
But I had to. I needed to. It was a challenge of the greatest kind. Tack on the upset stomach and it was even more challenging.
Add to that that my longest training run had been 27k (15k short of a marathon), and the challenge-o-meter rose even still.
I knew the race was going to be difficult.
I knew I would struggle.
But somehow, I knew I needed to prove to myself that I could overcome these challenges, and cross that finish line.
I showed up at Mike's house at quarter to 7.
"How are you feeling?" He asked, as he whirled around his apartment like Tornado Mike trying to prepare for the race himself.
"I am so unprepared."
Me, too, I thought.
Me, too.
The start line
Though rain had been forecasted all week for Marathon Sunday, the weatherman was blissfully wrong and the sun rose big and boisterous in the east as we made our way to the start line on Pacific Boulevard.
We had nervous pee.
I had shivers.
I felt ill ... both from being ill and from the enormity of the task ahead of me while feeling ill.
They played the anthem while we waited in line for a last chance at the Port-a-Pottys.
Then, before we knew it, we were in the line up. Standing amongst our peers. Among runners who would beat us. And runners whom we would pass.
The gun went off.
I stopped breathing.
And then we started to run.
The run
It was, by all accounts, a glorious day for a marathon. Not too hot. Just brisk enough to sweat comfortably.
The streets were lined with fans.
And since everyone's race bib had their name on it, strangers cheered loudly for just about everyone.
"You can do it, Kim!"
"Good effort, Kim!"
"Keep it up, Kim!"
I wonder if these people know just really how helpful their spirit is.
Especially when, as the runner, your energy is drained, your spirit is draining, and your mind is telling you to quit.
It's these cheers that helped me get through it as much as my own resolve. It was the supprot of anonymous fans who made me feel strong and confident all the way to the finish.
Although my stomach was nauseatingly upset for the entire portion of the race and I was terribly hungry having gone 36 hours without food, I actually felt somewhat strong.
I eased into a comfortable pace that I felt I could maintain for a long distance.
I passed a few people.
A few people passed me.
I was on par, I felt, to run a sub-5hour marathon and considering how I felt, I would be ecstatic with that.
Starving and starting to feel drained and hungry and in need of a boost, I grabbed a Power Gel at one of the water stations around 15 k. I pounded it down. And kept on running. 5 minutes later, that Power Gel came right back up and I threw up roadside.
This is where I started talking to myself ("you've got to be kidding me!") and I would continue this battle with my brain for the remaining 28k.
Two gels and one throw-up later, I had made it through Stanley Park and was on my way toward the last leg of the race.
"Once I get to Burrard bridge, it's only 12 more k" i said to myself. I was nearing the homestretch.
Then, just as I eclipsed the bridge and veered on to Cornwall Street in the heart of my own neighboourhood, my foot became earth-shatteringly painful. Perhaps a stretched Plantar Fascitis. Maybe even torn. I wasn't sure as I have never had foot pain before. Not even a twinge. and this was like running on a knife.
I cried. I stopped to stretch it out on the sidelines. Put it was permanently writhing.
"there's only 12 more k to go," I thought to myself. "I've come this far."
I figured the cramp/injury would work itself out over the next 12 k, so started to run with a noticeable limp, putting on the pressure on my left quad so that my right foot could heal.
It didn't heal.
For 12 long kilometers, I hobbled, I winced, i cried.
Rounding the last turnaround point at the peak of 4th Ave, I was fortunate enough to seek water from an older gentlemen on the sidelines. He took one look at me hobbling, put his arm around me, and said:
"Honey. I know you are hurting. But you are a warrior. And I want you to tell yourself that you are good and your are strong 200 times until you reach that finish line. "
My lip quivered.
My eyes teared.
I was in so much pain.
I was so tired.
I wanted to quit and he knew it.
"It doesn't matter what the time on the clock says, honey," he continued "You are going to cross that finish line. I know you can do it. I'll see you there."
And so I vowed to carry forth.
It was the longest 10 kilometers of my life. Not only had my pain slowed my pace to a crawl, but my mind was running rampid. It was like in cartoon,s with a devil telling me "you can't do it" on one shoulder and an angel on the other cheering "Yes! You! Can!".
When the first "walker" passed me, a sign that my pace had truly slowed and that my goal was slipping out of reach, I said to myself "What's the point?". then side 2 of my self responded: "The point is that you've always wanted to run a marathon, and just because you're hurt and tired and in pain, does not mean you can't achieve this goal."
I hobbled on.
"Do you need medical attention, ma'am?" asked a first aid worker at one of the stations I passed.
"No." I said matter of factly.
"You seem injured," she persisted.
"I just want to make it to the finish," I said, pleading with my eyes as I hobbled.
"Ok, ma'am. but if you need to stop, there is another station 3 kilometers ahead."
I smiled. Nodded.
And carried on.
The piercing pain in my right foot had not dulled overtime as I had hoped. In fact, because of my awkward new stride and my left side compensating for my right, my left calf seized. It cramped severely around kilometer 34 and would stay that way all the way to the finish (and for two days after, for that matter).
My stride because more strained.
More runners passed me.
More walkers passed me.
I looked down and soldiered on.
I really wanted to quit.
"Just quit," said the devil on my shoulder. "You tried your best. You're hurt. you're sick. Just quit."
It sounded like good advice.
But then I thought of all the people who were rooting for me. Mike was already at the finish waiting to cheer me on as I came in. My dad and mom would inevitably call first thing after the race. My friends were eager to hear how I'd done.
And there was no way I was going to tell anyone "I quit".
And so I battled through.
As I came up onto the Burrard bridge for the last 2 kilometer stretch home, a woman on a bicycle said "You're amazing! Keep going! Almost there.". A man in a purple wig said "You are going to do it!!" Another man held a sign: OWN THE BRIDGE.
I smiled and picked up the pace.
The last kilometer was horrific.
I was pushing myself hard (though my hunched-over, constricted and hobbling stride wouldn't show it.)
The pain in my foot and leg were the worst I've ever felt.
My body was taxed.
My mind was tired of fighting.
I was half-crying, half-laughing.
And then, like a beacon, there it was. The finish line.
A big blue BMO banner: FINISH LINE.
I smiled and pushed forth.
As I came down the shoot, I saw Mike and some other friends. THey smiled. Cheered loudly, And ran gate-side to bring me in!
I hobbled forth.
The race announcer said "Here comes Kim McMullen ladies and gentlemen, and look how much pain she's in. Imagine how much that hurts folks."
And suddenly, the entire finish line crowd was cheering for me (or so it seemed).
"Way to battle through," said a main in a shirt that said "Coach."
I heard my name a million times over.
I heard cheers!
I heard respect.
And then, I did it, an hour and half past my goal: I crossed the finish line.
I actually ran 42,2 kilometers.
It was not easy.
(in fact, it was never easy.)
It was not as I had planned.
(It was no where close to what I had planned)
and yet, when I crossed that finish line and hobbled into the arms of the first aid workers, first, then my friends second, I felt alive and proud. And I cried like a baby.
It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life.
It was the most excruciatingly difficult challenge to overcome.
I thought 100 times through out those 5 hours and 50 minutes that I could not do it.
And then I challenged myself 100 times to push through and do it any way.
So I didn't run it fast.
So I missed my goal.
So I was beat by walkers.
In the end, I struggled through 42.2 kilometers of pain, nausea, and self-doubt and I still crossed that finish line.
And, I have to say, it made me feel alive.
I can't wait for the next one.
Monday, April 27, 2009
A wrench in my marathon plans
It's exactly seven days before my first marathon.
And I broke my toe.
It's a mighty fine curve ball, but nothing is going to stop me from running this race.
Not even a big, fat, gnarly purple sausage-toe.
No way.
And I broke my toe.
It's a mighty fine curve ball, but nothing is going to stop me from running this race.
Not even a big, fat, gnarly purple sausage-toe.
No way.
Love Thy Earth
On Earth Day 2009, it was a beautiful day to be alive (and to consequently realize how awesome nature really is.)
It was a breezy 20 degrees. The sun was shining. The snow on the mountains glistened in the distance. And 3 friends and I walked up to Jericho Beach to participate in a tree-planting event hosted by Evergreen.
We arrived an hour after the event started, keen on lending a hand, getting dirty, and really appreciating things that grow.
To our surprise, the event had garnered so many volunteers, that nearly all of the 4,000 trees had been planted in the hour before our arrival (And the event had five more hours to go!).
It was an enormous victory for this little initiative run by do-gooders trying to make – and keep – a metropolitan city crisp, clean, and green. We were ecstatic that so many people, young and old, came out to make our city great. But although this was a huge victory for Earth Day and for the organization, we were admittedly bummed. We had been so excited to take part.
All was not lost.
The day was beautiful. There where thousands of people at the beach. The air was salty. And the fun with ripe for the picking.
The next best thing to planting trees on Earth Day, we thought, would be just to spend the day outside, in the Earth, loving every minute of what Mother Nature offered us.
We started with some hula-hooping.
Though you'd think my plus-size hips would make me a natural, Dante took me down 8 times out of 10 in our hula-off.
And I limped out of there with a slightly turned ankle after trying to show off how I could hula hoop around my ankle. (note: it turns out that I canNOT hula hoop around my ankle.)
Next: playing on the beach.
First we half-burried each other. Then we thought it would be much more fun to bury our friend Mike, and promptly made him into a sand surf board. It was all fun and games until the tide came in, so we let him break free before the tide brought him out to sea.
Next up: fries and popcorn from the concession stand. Nothing says "beach day" then eating crud from a concession stand. It was disgustingly overpriced and generally stale. But somewhow, it always tastes oh-so-good!
We headed back to the beach for a rousing game of frisbee, and we all perfected our moves for our upcoming Ultimate Frisbee season. Well, "perfected" might be a strong word. I got a few good hammer throws in there. But my third "flick" went awry and nearly decapitated a breast-feeding baby.
So our game promptly ended.
The entire day was filled with this general lazy funness. We dabbed a little in this. A little in that. We caught ladybugs. We went knee deep into the ocean and competed to see who could last the longest before we were too cold. We found seashells. We walked along the rocks in our bare feet. We bought ice cream at the ice cream truck.
It was a wonderful day to be alive.
Thank you, Earth.
You are amazing.
It was a breezy 20 degrees. The sun was shining. The snow on the mountains glistened in the distance. And 3 friends and I walked up to Jericho Beach to participate in a tree-planting event hosted by Evergreen.
We arrived an hour after the event started, keen on lending a hand, getting dirty, and really appreciating things that grow.
To our surprise, the event had garnered so many volunteers, that nearly all of the 4,000 trees had been planted in the hour before our arrival (And the event had five more hours to go!).
It was an enormous victory for this little initiative run by do-gooders trying to make – and keep – a metropolitan city crisp, clean, and green. We were ecstatic that so many people, young and old, came out to make our city great. But although this was a huge victory for Earth Day and for the organization, we were admittedly bummed. We had been so excited to take part.
All was not lost.
The day was beautiful. There where thousands of people at the beach. The air was salty. And the fun with ripe for the picking.
The next best thing to planting trees on Earth Day, we thought, would be just to spend the day outside, in the Earth, loving every minute of what Mother Nature offered us.
We started with some hula-hooping.
Though you'd think my plus-size hips would make me a natural, Dante took me down 8 times out of 10 in our hula-off.
And I limped out of there with a slightly turned ankle after trying to show off how I could hula hoop around my ankle. (note: it turns out that I canNOT hula hoop around my ankle.)
Next: playing on the beach.
First we half-burried each other. Then we thought it would be much more fun to bury our friend Mike, and promptly made him into a sand surf board. It was all fun and games until the tide came in, so we let him break free before the tide brought him out to sea.Next up: fries and popcorn from the concession stand. Nothing says "beach day" then eating crud from a concession stand. It was disgustingly overpriced and generally stale. But somewhow, it always tastes oh-so-good!
We headed back to the beach for a rousing game of frisbee, and we all perfected our moves for our upcoming Ultimate Frisbee season. Well, "perfected" might be a strong word. I got a few good hammer throws in there. But my third "flick" went awry and nearly decapitated a breast-feeding baby.
So our game promptly ended.
The entire day was filled with this general lazy funness. We dabbed a little in this. A little in that. We caught ladybugs. We went knee deep into the ocean and competed to see who could last the longest before we were too cold. We found seashells. We walked along the rocks in our bare feet. We bought ice cream at the ice cream truck.
It was a wonderful day to be alive.
Thank you, Earth.
You are amazing.
Friday, April 17, 2009
New Shoes!
"Hey, I put some new shoes on,
and suddenly everything's alright.
I said Hey, I put some new shoes on
and everybody's smiling,
it's so inviting.
Hello new shoes.
Bye bye blues," sang Paolo Nutini through my iPod headphones as I went for my first run in my new runners on Thursday.
It was fitting.
Now, normally, getting new shoes isn't really something to blog about.
But, these are more than shoes.
These shoes are stability.
They are the inspiration to go out for a 30k run in a rain storm.
They are support for my ailing feet.
They are the tools to help me break my running rut.
They are the road from today to the marathon finish line.
They will be there with me when I cross that line.
They are cushioning for my aching knees and pulled IT band.
They will pound the pavement with me every step.
They will keep me up right and in good form.
They will take me home.
Good bye old shoes: Thank you for carrying me 500+ km. You were amazing, even when I wasn't.
Hello new shoes: Let's go get' em!!!
and suddenly everything's alright.
I said Hey, I put some new shoes on
and everybody's smiling,
it's so inviting.
Hello new shoes.
Bye bye blues," sang Paolo Nutini through my iPod headphones as I went for my first run in my new runners on Thursday.
It was fitting.
Now, normally, getting new shoes isn't really something to blog about.
But, these are more than shoes.
These shoes are stability.
They are the inspiration to go out for a 30k run in a rain storm.
They are support for my ailing feet.
They are the tools to help me break my running rut.
They are the road from today to the marathon finish line.
They will be there with me when I cross that line.
They are cushioning for my aching knees and pulled IT band.
They will pound the pavement with me every step.
They will keep me up right and in good form.
They will take me home.
Good bye old shoes: Thank you for carrying me 500+ km. You were amazing, even when I wasn't.
Hello new shoes: Let's go get' em!!!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Inspiration is all around
Wow. What a weekend.
Coming into this weekend I was feeling weighed down. I was overwhelmingly exhausted from 4 full weeks of 16-hour work days, including weekends. My brain was burnt out. My body was tired. I was a wreck. My marathon training had been feeling a lot more like work and a lot less like fun. I was feeling lethargic (most likely due to my over-worked-diet of chips, Subway sandwiches, and cookies. Lots of cookies.) I was feeling like a lump of mashed potatoes.
Then I ran a 10k for Rural Medicine in the endowment lands at UBC. ANd things started to look up. But not in a way that I had expected.
My running buddy Mike and I arrived at the race start line early. The sun was starting to shine. It was warm enough for short sleeves. It was the first time the sky had been perfectly clear of clouds in five months. Still, I was feeling fat, tired, and sore. My knees and quads still achy from a run over a week ago. "It's beautiful" I said.
The race start time was significantly postponed ... almost 30 minutes, as an unfortunate incident had occurred on the trails upon which we were supposed to chart our 10k. Although we didn't know it at the time, we found out later that a runner had been viciously slain. Difficult and sad news to hear as the Endowment Lands at UBC have 55 kms of trails that runners and bikers of all kinds enjoy all year round.
So our course was, naturally, deterred so as not to impede with the ongoing police investigation.
Since we didn't know what had actually occurred at the time, we were still anxiously awaiting our race and the opportunity to run the trails ... something I haven't done since last year.
Our new route was a 5 k route that we would do twice.
It was brisk but bright in the forest and along the trail. We felt like we were running solo as there were only about 100 runners total and as the trails wound up and down and around, the crowd dispersed quickly.
For the first 5k I ran with Mike. It was invigorating, but exhausting. Mike is a superior runner. A sub-4 hour marathoner. And an all-round athlete. He wanted a leisurely run, so he ran with me. But still, I could feel him pushing the pace and I was exhausted. Still, as we came down the chute to cross the finish line for the first 5 k and to enter into our second 5k, I was excited to see the time. I had really been pushing it.
But I was devastated.
The time was inching up at 40 minutes. 40 minutes!!! I nearly cried. Even my first 5k, when I was overweight and untrained, I ran in well under 40 minutes. I instantly felt like a load of bricks.
"Go ahead" I urged Mike as I battled with myself mentally to go on.
Here I was, training for a marathon, with a personal best 5k time of 27 minutes, and I just ran a 7.5/min kilometer. I was angry and sad and unmotivated.
Mike ran off into the distance and I was left to wrangle with my own thoughts.
I came into the finish at 1:17 and was miserable. Mike high-fived me. I walked away. I was cursing. I was angry. I was calling myself every name in the book.
Then, the race coordinator said, "By the way, the new course was about 12-13k ..."
In having to divert the course due to the tragic police incident simultaneously occurring in the park, the course was unmeasured.
Though I was still angry at myself for feeling sluggish, I was relieved. I was slow. But not THAT slow.
With the run under my belt, Mike and I headed out for brunch and then departed for much deserved naps.
We hooked up again at 6 for a documentary film I have been anxiously awaiting for months. Running the Sahara.
The movie, featuring Canadian runner (and former overweight pack-a-day smoker) Ray Zahab, features three ultra-runners who ran across the entire Sahara Desert in 111 days, covering 4300 miles (7500+ kilometers) and NEVER taking a day off. They ran the equivalent of 2 marathons a day in sometime 60 degree Celsius-heat for 111 days.
In the movie, ray says: "It's 90% mental. And the other 10% is mental." which garnered some laughs from the audience and which provoked me to think of my own experiences... even that same morning ... where I battle my brain, which is convincing me that I can't. When I can.
The documentary itself was a fascinating journey that was about so much more than running and perserverence. It was about different cultures and the human spirit. It focused on the water crises in Africa. It showed the value of team, especially in times of great anguish. It should to power of perseverance. I laughed. I cried. I felt inspired.
The best, however, was yet to come. Ray Zahab was at the film screening and came into the theatre to speak with the audience.
He was, by all accounts, a hero. I felt like a teenager seeing Brad Pitt for the first time. I burst instantly into tears out of inspiration. So did Mike. That's how amazing this man is. He said "If you think you can only run 5 or 10 k, then you know what? You can only run 5 or 10 k. But if you believe you can push yourself, you can. Your body is a powerful thing."
I listened to him intently.
He was honest about faltering. About wanting to give up because of the pain. About not wanting to run some days. About feeling fear. But he reminded us all that just 3 years ago, he was an average Joe, being unhealthy, living poorly, treating his body like garbage. And then he found running. Like me. Like dad. Like so many people.
We left the theatre high as kites. High fiving. Laughing. Talking about our ability to do anything and everything. ANd we were so excited to get a good sleep, wake up, and push ourselves to run in the morning.
Sunday morning, at 7 o'clock, I got up, ate well, walked Harley, put on my iTunes and set out for a 17k jaunt around the city with a desire to reconnect with the reason I love running. And I did. It was a beautiful spring morning. The paths were littered with other runners, smiling, talking, running, living. On the home stretch, as I came down the descent of Burrard Bridge toward kits, fueled by both inspiration and a nice decline, I passed Mike who was on the last leg of his 30k. We high-fived. We felt alive.
Then, another dose of inspiration was hot on my heels. I headed east to the Forum at the PNE, where I would spend the next three hours in interviews and training for what would be my first of many many sessions as a 2010 Olympic and Paralympic volunteer.
The excitement was hard to contain.
For 2010, there will be 25,000 volunteers from across the world. Billions of people will watch the olympics. hundreds of thousands will descend on this city that I call home and that I love fiercely to be a part of this incredible event. I feel like I'd be a fool not to be a part of it.
"Sleep now, " some volunteers from the 1988 Calgary Olympics said, as if we were to become new parents to bouncing baby twins. "You won't sleep. It'll be immensely difficult work. You will be exhausted. But you will never ever forget the enormity of teh experience or the richness it adds to your life. Not ever."
Shivers, up and down my arms.
Although there is much coordination to come and many jobs to assign, I've been singled out foremost as a potential volunteer to lead a program for kids and Paralympic athletes, that enables paralympians from across the world to interact with children, show them their sports, and show them that athletics are boundless and that, truly, no matter your disability, you can do anything.
Just the thought of the chance to work one on one with kids and paralympians of that calibre is exciting to the core.
I have fallen in love with the Olympics and Paralympics.
I can't wait to get my hands dirty and make a mark.
If they want my to clean toilets or shovel snow, I will.
As a mediocre athlete with pretty much no talent at any sport (it's not negativity, just truth), I am in awe at what these athletes can and will achieve.
It's going to be life-changing.
And I feel empowered.
As a I said: Wow. What a weekend.
Coming into this weekend I was feeling weighed down. I was overwhelmingly exhausted from 4 full weeks of 16-hour work days, including weekends. My brain was burnt out. My body was tired. I was a wreck. My marathon training had been feeling a lot more like work and a lot less like fun. I was feeling lethargic (most likely due to my over-worked-diet of chips, Subway sandwiches, and cookies. Lots of cookies.) I was feeling like a lump of mashed potatoes.
Then I ran a 10k for Rural Medicine in the endowment lands at UBC. ANd things started to look up. But not in a way that I had expected.
My running buddy Mike and I arrived at the race start line early. The sun was starting to shine. It was warm enough for short sleeves. It was the first time the sky had been perfectly clear of clouds in five months. Still, I was feeling fat, tired, and sore. My knees and quads still achy from a run over a week ago. "It's beautiful" I said.
The race start time was significantly postponed ... almost 30 minutes, as an unfortunate incident had occurred on the trails upon which we were supposed to chart our 10k. Although we didn't know it at the time, we found out later that a runner had been viciously slain. Difficult and sad news to hear as the Endowment Lands at UBC have 55 kms of trails that runners and bikers of all kinds enjoy all year round.
So our course was, naturally, deterred so as not to impede with the ongoing police investigation.
Since we didn't know what had actually occurred at the time, we were still anxiously awaiting our race and the opportunity to run the trails ... something I haven't done since last year.
Our new route was a 5 k route that we would do twice.
It was brisk but bright in the forest and along the trail. We felt like we were running solo as there were only about 100 runners total and as the trails wound up and down and around, the crowd dispersed quickly.
For the first 5k I ran with Mike. It was invigorating, but exhausting. Mike is a superior runner. A sub-4 hour marathoner. And an all-round athlete. He wanted a leisurely run, so he ran with me. But still, I could feel him pushing the pace and I was exhausted. Still, as we came down the chute to cross the finish line for the first 5 k and to enter into our second 5k, I was excited to see the time. I had really been pushing it.
But I was devastated.
The time was inching up at 40 minutes. 40 minutes!!! I nearly cried. Even my first 5k, when I was overweight and untrained, I ran in well under 40 minutes. I instantly felt like a load of bricks.
"Go ahead" I urged Mike as I battled with myself mentally to go on.
Here I was, training for a marathon, with a personal best 5k time of 27 minutes, and I just ran a 7.5/min kilometer. I was angry and sad and unmotivated.
Mike ran off into the distance and I was left to wrangle with my own thoughts.
I came into the finish at 1:17 and was miserable. Mike high-fived me. I walked away. I was cursing. I was angry. I was calling myself every name in the book.
Then, the race coordinator said, "By the way, the new course was about 12-13k ..."
In having to divert the course due to the tragic police incident simultaneously occurring in the park, the course was unmeasured.
Though I was still angry at myself for feeling sluggish, I was relieved. I was slow. But not THAT slow.
With the run under my belt, Mike and I headed out for brunch and then departed for much deserved naps.
We hooked up again at 6 for a documentary film I have been anxiously awaiting for months. Running the Sahara.
The movie, featuring Canadian runner (and former overweight pack-a-day smoker) Ray Zahab, features three ultra-runners who ran across the entire Sahara Desert in 111 days, covering 4300 miles (7500+ kilometers) and NEVER taking a day off. They ran the equivalent of 2 marathons a day in sometime 60 degree Celsius-heat for 111 days.
In the movie, ray says: "It's 90% mental. And the other 10% is mental." which garnered some laughs from the audience and which provoked me to think of my own experiences... even that same morning ... where I battle my brain, which is convincing me that I can't. When I can.
The documentary itself was a fascinating journey that was about so much more than running and perserverence. It was about different cultures and the human spirit. It focused on the water crises in Africa. It showed the value of team, especially in times of great anguish. It should to power of perseverance. I laughed. I cried. I felt inspired.
The best, however, was yet to come. Ray Zahab was at the film screening and came into the theatre to speak with the audience.
He was, by all accounts, a hero. I felt like a teenager seeing Brad Pitt for the first time. I burst instantly into tears out of inspiration. So did Mike. That's how amazing this man is. He said "If you think you can only run 5 or 10 k, then you know what? You can only run 5 or 10 k. But if you believe you can push yourself, you can. Your body is a powerful thing."
I listened to him intently.
He was honest about faltering. About wanting to give up because of the pain. About not wanting to run some days. About feeling fear. But he reminded us all that just 3 years ago, he was an average Joe, being unhealthy, living poorly, treating his body like garbage. And then he found running. Like me. Like dad. Like so many people.
We left the theatre high as kites. High fiving. Laughing. Talking about our ability to do anything and everything. ANd we were so excited to get a good sleep, wake up, and push ourselves to run in the morning.
Sunday morning, at 7 o'clock, I got up, ate well, walked Harley, put on my iTunes and set out for a 17k jaunt around the city with a desire to reconnect with the reason I love running. And I did. It was a beautiful spring morning. The paths were littered with other runners, smiling, talking, running, living. On the home stretch, as I came down the descent of Burrard Bridge toward kits, fueled by both inspiration and a nice decline, I passed Mike who was on the last leg of his 30k. We high-fived. We felt alive.
Then, another dose of inspiration was hot on my heels. I headed east to the Forum at the PNE, where I would spend the next three hours in interviews and training for what would be my first of many many sessions as a 2010 Olympic and Paralympic volunteer.
The excitement was hard to contain.
For 2010, there will be 25,000 volunteers from across the world. Billions of people will watch the olympics. hundreds of thousands will descend on this city that I call home and that I love fiercely to be a part of this incredible event. I feel like I'd be a fool not to be a part of it.
"Sleep now, " some volunteers from the 1988 Calgary Olympics said, as if we were to become new parents to bouncing baby twins. "You won't sleep. It'll be immensely difficult work. You will be exhausted. But you will never ever forget the enormity of teh experience or the richness it adds to your life. Not ever."
Shivers, up and down my arms.
Although there is much coordination to come and many jobs to assign, I've been singled out foremost as a potential volunteer to lead a program for kids and Paralympic athletes, that enables paralympians from across the world to interact with children, show them their sports, and show them that athletics are boundless and that, truly, no matter your disability, you can do anything.
Just the thought of the chance to work one on one with kids and paralympians of that calibre is exciting to the core.
I have fallen in love with the Olympics and Paralympics.
I can't wait to get my hands dirty and make a mark.
If they want my to clean toilets or shovel snow, I will.
As a mediocre athlete with pretty much no talent at any sport (it's not negativity, just truth), I am in awe at what these athletes can and will achieve.
It's going to be life-changing.
And I feel empowered.
As a I said: Wow. What a weekend.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Perils of Marathon Training
Now that my hip has healed and my body feels strong again, I've been quite adamant to keep up a rigid marathon training program, if only out of sheer desperation to not come last on May 3rd.
"No matter what," I told friends and family, "I will not make excuses. I will train!"
And then life got in the way.
After three weeks of 16-hour days on the job, weekends included, the stars on my running calendar (which indicate a run) were few and far between. In fact, there are only 6 on the first three weeks of March. There *should* be 15.
So I have wavered. And i know I have, but I literally haven't had a moment to breathe or sleep or eat, let alone polish off 25+k.
So as I started to see a light at the end of the tunnel this week, I promised myself that a l-o-n-g training run was in order.
To make sure I followed through, I told people about it. When they asked what I was doing on Saturday, I happily and boisterously replied: "Oh, you know, just running 33 kilometers or so."
As the week progressed, I received phone calls, texts, and emails. "Good luck on your long run on Saturday."
Gulp.
The idea to be held responsible seemed like a good idea at first, but as Saturday approached I started to wonder how the heck I was going to pull it off. Scared and intimidated, I was prepared to do it, no matter what came my way.
"Down with excuses!" I said Friday night as I carb-loaded for Saturday's run.
Nothing would get in my way of 33k on Saturday.
Nothing!
Or so I thought.
Here is how Saturday unfolded:
I woke up alarm-less for the first time in months and it was bliss! The sun was shining for the first time in three weeks. The sky was blue. The temperature had risen to a perfect 10 degrees (not too warm; not too cool), and the world was my oyster.
I whipped up a protein-packed smoothie, and as the bananas and soy were pureeing, 33k Run Interference #1 occurred.
33k Run Interference #1:
It was a client. On the phone. (On a Saturday!!!) I shouldn't have answered. But I did. Delirious from the excitement of my ensuing run, no doubt. I should have looked at Call Display. But I didn't, and somehow roped myself into a few hours of work on a Saturday morning. As long as I am out by 12, I'll be just fine!, I thought. So I settled in front of my computer, hunched over and immobile, the protein-power from my shake slowly edging it's way to my hips.
My friend Mike sent a text: "Are you running yet? you inspired me! I am going for a 30k too!"
I texted back: "Boo. Hiss. I am working. Hoping to be out by noon."
Just a little after 12, I wrapped things up, sent my last email, and put on my running gear. Well, everything but my shoes and fuel belt, which were in the car trunk from a previous workout in Stanley Park a few days before. I wanted to get some gels from the Running Room anyhow, so I grabbed Harley and the car keys and walked out to the car.
33k Run Interference #2 and #3
We walked a block and a half to where the car was parked. As we rounded Arbutus on to 6th Ave, the very corner where I had parked the car a few days before, we were greeted with an unpredicted surprise: the car was gone. On the boulevard beside where it had once been was a new sign: "temporary no parking" which had clearly been erected sometime after I had parked my car three days ago and this very moment when i really needed my car.
Just in case I was wrong and I hadn't actually parked on 6th and Arbutus, and the missing Hyundai was a figment of my imagination, Harls and I scoured the neighbourhood in all of our favourite parking spots just to be sure. After all, this wouldn't be the first time that my car "went missing" and turned out to be on an adjacent street. heh heh. I am notorious for forgetting where I left that blue bird.
After a half an hour I felt pretty sure that my car was gone.
Grumpily, and with a few aggravated tears, I marched back home to call a few towing companies. It was almost 2:00.
Sure enough, Buster's had towed my little Hyundai because I was parked too close to the sidewalk (I want proof!) and the car was sitting in the impound lot at Granville and Pacific -- downtown, across the bridge, and not accessible in a timely manner at all!
At first I thought "I'll run there!" and then I remembered that in addition to confiscating my car, Buster's had rather inconveniently confiscated my running gear. Darn!
The clock kept ticking.
33k Run Interference #4
I decided that since my shoes were downtown and I had been humming and hawing about getting new runners for months, I might as well bite the bullet and buy the shoes I wanted. After all, after my last long run, my knees ached and my shins writhed. It was time for new shoes. So perhaps this towing incident was a blessing in disguise!
I called the local Running Room to make sure they had a pair in stock.
They didn't.
They called the other Vancouver stores.
Nothing.
I said "How about the Elixer 2s then?"
"Nope"
"How about the new model?"
"Everything but a 10 and a half, ma'am. We'll have to order them special. Two-threee weeks delivery."
I let out an audible frustrating cry. Something like: "Gerrachigugraaaaah!"
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing," I replied as I dug through the "For Goodwill" bin in storage with a pair of old Mizunos with no tread and no padding and one heckuva stench.
I laced them up. They would have to do.
It was 3:00. So I plotted my route, put on my iPod, and left. Nothing was going to stop me from this run!
I ran to the Running Room first, a short 5k away, to pick up some gels and a new Fuel Belt en route.
33k Run Interference #5
"I don't need a bag," I said. "I am heading out on my long run now!" It felt good to say it.
I gave the cashier my debit card as I put the belt around my waste and loaded up the pockets with new gels.
The card, infamous for it's finicky stripe, did not go through. Not the first time. Not the second time. Not the third time when she wiped the stripe on her shirt. Not the fourth time when she used a plastic bag. Not the fifth time when she swiped it back and forth forty-seven times at mach speed.
"Do you have another card?"
I slowly un-velcroed my new Fuel Belt.
Since I was on my run, I hadn't brought my wallet. Just one card to fit in my pocket that wouldn't be cumbersome. Just one card that would not swipe.
So I left the store - no shoes, no gels, no fuel belt. Basically totally unprepared for the task at hand.
But I put on a brave face and pressed forth.
After 12 k, I was hungry. Starving actually. And I could feel the water from the fountain at kilometer 6 swishing in my belly. Bad sign, I thought. Bad sign.
The day was a perfect day for running, all unforeseen circumstances aside. Blue skies. Slight breeze. Clear view of the mountains. As is typically Vancouverian, everyone was outside soaking up the Vitamin D. And so was I. And despite the fact that my car was impounded with my shoes, it was 5 hours past when I was supposed to start out, i was gel-less, and my knees were killing me, it was so glorious. Nature therapy.
There were 8 loons in a line on the support leg of the Lion's Gate Bridge. Lined up like dominos. The second looking like a shadow of the first. There was an impromptu drum circle on Second Beach on the Northwest side of Stanley Park, and people who didn't know each other were dancing. A one-legged man ran past me on his prosthetic leg and I was humbled. Birds chirped. Children laughed. Elderly couples sauntered while holding hands. It was a great day to be alive (impound fees notwithstanding).
About half-way through Stanley Park and about 17k into my run, my right calf seized up. So tight it felt like I'd been stabbed.
I ran through it. I limped a little. I stopped to stretch. But it wouldn't rest. It was clamping up and I was mad. My brain was sending my calf mean nasty messages: "Listen you idiot. I've had to overcome a lot to get out here today. you are NOT doing this. Not now." But the little bugger persisted.
As I crossed Georgia Street and exited the Park, I knew I only had 10 more k to go. But my calf was seizing so tightly, I was running through tears. And I knew, the closer I got to the bridge home and the slower I started to run, that I was not going to run 33k today. And I was frustrated.
At Burrard Bridge I was supposed to continue east for 5 k until turning back home and across the Bay, but instead I made an acute right turn, headed over the bridge, and hobbled my way home.
I was miserable.
Wildly disappointed in myself - for not doing all 33 (turned out to be approximately 27.2), for parking illegally, for having big feet that need special-order shoes, for not saying no to work on a Saturday, for everything.
Consequently, 3 hours and $150 later, I got my car, my runners, my Fuel Belt and a wee bit of my dignity back.
I even laughed with the lady at the impound. In hindsight, it was all pretty hilarious!
I still have five more weeks to go until race day, and need to get in a 33 k before the race.
Here's hoping that nothing, and I mean nothing gets in the way next Saturday.
"No matter what," I told friends and family, "I will not make excuses. I will train!"
And then life got in the way.
After three weeks of 16-hour days on the job, weekends included, the stars on my running calendar (which indicate a run) were few and far between. In fact, there are only 6 on the first three weeks of March. There *should* be 15.
So I have wavered. And i know I have, but I literally haven't had a moment to breathe or sleep or eat, let alone polish off 25+k.
So as I started to see a light at the end of the tunnel this week, I promised myself that a l-o-n-g training run was in order.
To make sure I followed through, I told people about it. When they asked what I was doing on Saturday, I happily and boisterously replied: "Oh, you know, just running 33 kilometers or so."
As the week progressed, I received phone calls, texts, and emails. "Good luck on your long run on Saturday."
Gulp.
The idea to be held responsible seemed like a good idea at first, but as Saturday approached I started to wonder how the heck I was going to pull it off. Scared and intimidated, I was prepared to do it, no matter what came my way.
"Down with excuses!" I said Friday night as I carb-loaded for Saturday's run.
Nothing would get in my way of 33k on Saturday.
Nothing!
Or so I thought.
Here is how Saturday unfolded:
I woke up alarm-less for the first time in months and it was bliss! The sun was shining for the first time in three weeks. The sky was blue. The temperature had risen to a perfect 10 degrees (not too warm; not too cool), and the world was my oyster.
I whipped up a protein-packed smoothie, and as the bananas and soy were pureeing, 33k Run Interference #1 occurred.
33k Run Interference #1:
It was a client. On the phone. (On a Saturday!!!) I shouldn't have answered. But I did. Delirious from the excitement of my ensuing run, no doubt. I should have looked at Call Display. But I didn't, and somehow roped myself into a few hours of work on a Saturday morning. As long as I am out by 12, I'll be just fine!, I thought. So I settled in front of my computer, hunched over and immobile, the protein-power from my shake slowly edging it's way to my hips.
My friend Mike sent a text: "Are you running yet? you inspired me! I am going for a 30k too!"
I texted back: "Boo. Hiss. I am working. Hoping to be out by noon."
Just a little after 12, I wrapped things up, sent my last email, and put on my running gear. Well, everything but my shoes and fuel belt, which were in the car trunk from a previous workout in Stanley Park a few days before. I wanted to get some gels from the Running Room anyhow, so I grabbed Harley and the car keys and walked out to the car.
33k Run Interference #2 and #3
We walked a block and a half to where the car was parked. As we rounded Arbutus on to 6th Ave, the very corner where I had parked the car a few days before, we were greeted with an unpredicted surprise: the car was gone. On the boulevard beside where it had once been was a new sign: "temporary no parking" which had clearly been erected sometime after I had parked my car three days ago and this very moment when i really needed my car.
Just in case I was wrong and I hadn't actually parked on 6th and Arbutus, and the missing Hyundai was a figment of my imagination, Harls and I scoured the neighbourhood in all of our favourite parking spots just to be sure. After all, this wouldn't be the first time that my car "went missing" and turned out to be on an adjacent street. heh heh. I am notorious for forgetting where I left that blue bird.
After a half an hour I felt pretty sure that my car was gone.
Grumpily, and with a few aggravated tears, I marched back home to call a few towing companies. It was almost 2:00.
Sure enough, Buster's had towed my little Hyundai because I was parked too close to the sidewalk (I want proof!) and the car was sitting in the impound lot at Granville and Pacific -- downtown, across the bridge, and not accessible in a timely manner at all!
At first I thought "I'll run there!" and then I remembered that in addition to confiscating my car, Buster's had rather inconveniently confiscated my running gear. Darn!
The clock kept ticking.
33k Run Interference #4
I decided that since my shoes were downtown and I had been humming and hawing about getting new runners for months, I might as well bite the bullet and buy the shoes I wanted. After all, after my last long run, my knees ached and my shins writhed. It was time for new shoes. So perhaps this towing incident was a blessing in disguise!
I called the local Running Room to make sure they had a pair in stock.
They didn't.
They called the other Vancouver stores.
Nothing.
I said "How about the Elixer 2s then?"
"Nope"
"How about the new model?"
"Everything but a 10 and a half, ma'am. We'll have to order them special. Two-threee weeks delivery."
I let out an audible frustrating cry. Something like: "Gerrachigugraaaaah!"
"Pardon me?"
"Nothing," I replied as I dug through the "For Goodwill" bin in storage with a pair of old Mizunos with no tread and no padding and one heckuva stench.
I laced them up. They would have to do.
It was 3:00. So I plotted my route, put on my iPod, and left. Nothing was going to stop me from this run!
I ran to the Running Room first, a short 5k away, to pick up some gels and a new Fuel Belt en route.
33k Run Interference #5
"I don't need a bag," I said. "I am heading out on my long run now!" It felt good to say it.
I gave the cashier my debit card as I put the belt around my waste and loaded up the pockets with new gels.
The card, infamous for it's finicky stripe, did not go through. Not the first time. Not the second time. Not the third time when she wiped the stripe on her shirt. Not the fourth time when she used a plastic bag. Not the fifth time when she swiped it back and forth forty-seven times at mach speed.
"Do you have another card?"
I slowly un-velcroed my new Fuel Belt.
Since I was on my run, I hadn't brought my wallet. Just one card to fit in my pocket that wouldn't be cumbersome. Just one card that would not swipe.
So I left the store - no shoes, no gels, no fuel belt. Basically totally unprepared for the task at hand.
But I put on a brave face and pressed forth.
After 12 k, I was hungry. Starving actually. And I could feel the water from the fountain at kilometer 6 swishing in my belly. Bad sign, I thought. Bad sign.
The day was a perfect day for running, all unforeseen circumstances aside. Blue skies. Slight breeze. Clear view of the mountains. As is typically Vancouverian, everyone was outside soaking up the Vitamin D. And so was I. And despite the fact that my car was impounded with my shoes, it was 5 hours past when I was supposed to start out, i was gel-less, and my knees were killing me, it was so glorious. Nature therapy.
There were 8 loons in a line on the support leg of the Lion's Gate Bridge. Lined up like dominos. The second looking like a shadow of the first. There was an impromptu drum circle on Second Beach on the Northwest side of Stanley Park, and people who didn't know each other were dancing. A one-legged man ran past me on his prosthetic leg and I was humbled. Birds chirped. Children laughed. Elderly couples sauntered while holding hands. It was a great day to be alive (impound fees notwithstanding).
About half-way through Stanley Park and about 17k into my run, my right calf seized up. So tight it felt like I'd been stabbed.
I ran through it. I limped a little. I stopped to stretch. But it wouldn't rest. It was clamping up and I was mad. My brain was sending my calf mean nasty messages: "Listen you idiot. I've had to overcome a lot to get out here today. you are NOT doing this. Not now." But the little bugger persisted.
As I crossed Georgia Street and exited the Park, I knew I only had 10 more k to go. But my calf was seizing so tightly, I was running through tears. And I knew, the closer I got to the bridge home and the slower I started to run, that I was not going to run 33k today. And I was frustrated.
At Burrard Bridge I was supposed to continue east for 5 k until turning back home and across the Bay, but instead I made an acute right turn, headed over the bridge, and hobbled my way home.
I was miserable.
Wildly disappointed in myself - for not doing all 33 (turned out to be approximately 27.2), for parking illegally, for having big feet that need special-order shoes, for not saying no to work on a Saturday, for everything.
Consequently, 3 hours and $150 later, I got my car, my runners, my Fuel Belt and a wee bit of my dignity back.
I even laughed with the lady at the impound. In hindsight, it was all pretty hilarious!
I still have five more weeks to go until race day, and need to get in a 33 k before the race.
Here's hoping that nothing, and I mean nothing gets in the way next Saturday.
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