There is this Ingrid Micahelson song that I love – You and I.
It came on quite sporadically in my mix of iPod tunes as I was rushing to catch the subway to work this morning. I was frazzled and a little hung over. I had a bag full of food and juice for the day – the kind of stash I put together for a hiking trip or a picnic.
Today, it was my survival kit for weekend work.
Then Ingrid's song began and I smiled without knowing it until someone smiled back and I realized that I was pushing happiness outward.
It's a nice little diddy about love and life.
My favourite lines:
"Let's get rich and buy our parents homes in the south of France. Let's get rich and give everybody nice sweaters and teach them how to dance."
It makes me smile because I have goals posted in my home. Things I want – and will – achieve in this lifetime. Some this year. Some in 5 years. Some so far away I'm not sure i'll make it there, but if I do there are goals to achieve.
One says: Take my mom on a trip to France in 5 years. I pay.
Another says: Fly my family to Vancouver on my dime. All of them. At once.
I started the day with a tinge of resentment for entrepreneurialism and my steadfast commitment to work over play. I would miss a run with my friends on the first sunny day in weeks. I wouldn't play fetch with Harley. I would miss Stu's first symphony. I would not meet my best guy friends at Local for a pint. I would not have time to skype mom. I would miss Sherie's call ... again. I would say "working" when Chris texted "what are you up to?" and I'd say "Sorry, I can't" when Sam asked if I wanted to go to Adam's gig with her.
I would miss a handful of important moments and disappoint a handful of truly beautiful people, but I would do it for what matters most to me: not the work, but the goals. And the progress toward those goals.
Every weekend of work is a step closer.
Every evening in front of the computer screen is a notch in my belt.
Every disappointment today will be worth a thousand smiles and hugs and warm satisfaction tomorrow.
And when I am feeling overwhelmed or when the light at the end of the tunnel seems dim, it's a nice reminder that I'm in this thing to make a difference, to build a miraculous life, to bring smiles and contentment to my family, and to build something I can be proud of.
So I soldier on, because it's actually kinda fun and I'm getting close to the peak now. And the view is mindblowing.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
The Whistler 50 Mile Ultra Race
In September, fresh off a broken ankle and a glorious Iceland trek, my friend Amy sent an email: "Wanna do an 80k relay?"
"In!" I replied.
Pressed send.
Then I thought about it: What have I done?!
The Whistler 50 miler is 80 glorious kilometres through a well-groomed trail system in beautiful Whistler, BC. A handful of massively athletic (and perhaps clinically insane) runners do the whole thing themselves. Yes. They run 80k. They are amazing. They embody perseverance.
Lucky for me, Amy wasn't proposing this death sentence. (whew)
We rounded up 8 girls and on October 19th headed up to Whistler for the big race.
The race started promptly at 8am. Each of us would run a specific leg of the race – either a 13k or a 7k distance.
We woke up with fires in our bellies and the taste of trepidation in our throats. Still, we were confident.
"Let's do this thing!" we said with fury as we opened the condo door to get rolling.
To our surprise: the grounds was covered in snow and mother nature was brooding.
Wind. Snow. Cold.
Somehow, over night, it became winter in Whistler.
We shut the door.
Looked at each other.
Put on one more layer and headed out.
We anticipated that the race would take us 8 hours all-in – 7 hours and 32 minutes later, our last runner crossed the finish line with rosy cheeks and a big smile.
We killed it.
As a girl who loves to compete but has always been a back-of-the-pack kind of athlete, I found the relay to be immensely motivating and inspiring. When Dayna, our first runner, showed up at the crossover point in just over an hour after running 13k through a hilly trail, I thought Wow, so the bar has been set.
And for the next 5 hours, while I waited for my turn to go, I strategized, I pumped myself up, I gave myself inner pep talks. There was no way I was going to be the slowest on this team!
Turns out: I was totally the slowest on the team.
But, I ran fast (for me) and hard (for me). I felt strong. I felt grounded.
I ran through a snowstorm with a blue lake to my right and snow-covered trees all around.
I ran up hills and down. Over rocks. Across tree roots. Through forest.
And when I saw Kim (another one on our team) at the crossover station waiting for the pass-off, I was delighted. And I pushed on.
In the hot tub afterwards, with snowflakes drifting downward, steam rising upwards, and Starbucks cups filled with champagne, we cheersed.
And then immediately started planning next year's run. We could TOTALLY do it in 7 ... right? Or is that just the champagne talking?
"In!" I replied.
Pressed send.
Then I thought about it: What have I done?!
The Whistler 50 miler is 80 glorious kilometres through a well-groomed trail system in beautiful Whistler, BC. A handful of massively athletic (and perhaps clinically insane) runners do the whole thing themselves. Yes. They run 80k. They are amazing. They embody perseverance.
Lucky for me, Amy wasn't proposing this death sentence. (whew)
We rounded up 8 girls and on October 19th headed up to Whistler for the big race.
The race started promptly at 8am. Each of us would run a specific leg of the race – either a 13k or a 7k distance.
We woke up with fires in our bellies and the taste of trepidation in our throats. Still, we were confident.
"Let's do this thing!" we said with fury as we opened the condo door to get rolling.
To our surprise: the grounds was covered in snow and mother nature was brooding.
Wind. Snow. Cold.
Somehow, over night, it became winter in Whistler.
We shut the door.
Looked at each other.
Put on one more layer and headed out.
We anticipated that the race would take us 8 hours all-in – 7 hours and 32 minutes later, our last runner crossed the finish line with rosy cheeks and a big smile.
We killed it.
As a girl who loves to compete but has always been a back-of-the-pack kind of athlete, I found the relay to be immensely motivating and inspiring. When Dayna, our first runner, showed up at the crossover point in just over an hour after running 13k through a hilly trail, I thought Wow, so the bar has been set.
And for the next 5 hours, while I waited for my turn to go, I strategized, I pumped myself up, I gave myself inner pep talks. There was no way I was going to be the slowest on this team!
Turns out: I was totally the slowest on the team.
But, I ran fast (for me) and hard (for me). I felt strong. I felt grounded.
I ran through a snowstorm with a blue lake to my right and snow-covered trees all around.
I ran up hills and down. Over rocks. Across tree roots. Through forest.
And when I saw Kim (another one on our team) at the crossover station waiting for the pass-off, I was delighted. And I pushed on.
In the hot tub afterwards, with snowflakes drifting downward, steam rising upwards, and Starbucks cups filled with champagne, we cheersed.
And then immediately started planning next year's run. We could TOTALLY do it in 7 ... right? Or is that just the champagne talking?
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