One year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To: Uncle Phil.
Ouch.

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

I miss him actually.

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

I miss him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's pure shit.

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

Man, I miss that laugh.

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

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

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

5 Peaks – Alice Lake

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

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

But man, I love it.

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

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

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

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

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

Before race / After race

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

46 minutes!!!

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

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

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

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

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

Today, I reached the top in 46 minutes.

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

I feel amazing.
Take that Grouse Grind.