One Hot Chocolate Please

So it's Christmas time and at work we have a lot of our patients drop us off goodies. Candied nuts, Purdy's Chocolates, Roger's Chocolates, Poppycock( ya heard me) and chocolate truffles.
Mm mm, truffles.
So I sampled a morsel of truffle today, delicious and dusted with cocoa powder, which takes away from the yumminess but won't deter me from devouring many many many of these treats.
But the cocoa got me thinking about being a kid again in our house in the winter and having a nice delicious hot chocolate, piping hot with marshmallows and sprinkles and all the love in a cup that you'd ever need.

Except my childhood cocoa dreams are just that. Dreams. Because in our house we never had marshmallows cause we weren't allowed them, and sprinkles were unheard of.
And the hot chocolate was made with Fry's Cocoa powder and dehydrated milk.
That's right. Mmmm. (pause to let sarcasm linger)

We never had any of that Bisquick nonsense or the Carnation Deliciousness(that's what it's called right?) We had lumpy gross tasting hot chocolate that congealed in your stomach. I think some of it is still in there actually. Add water and stir were the directions but no matter how hard you stirred that milk never dissolved and no matter how much cocoa powder you added it was never sweet enough. But at least it was healthy? Or building character or something.

All this and much more was acquired at Famous Foods, a bulk food store in Vancouver.

Every year, once a year, special occasions only, we'd make the trip from Whistler to Vancouver. The drive would take anywhere from 2 hours to 4, depending on how many times I had to stop to pee. The trip was designed to stock up on stuff we needed for school, the pantry or outdoors clothes. Therefore we had 3 main stops. Mountain Equipment Co-op (been a member since I was 2!), Famous Foods, IKEA(3 cheers for the ball room!). Sometimes we'd hit up the aquarium on the way home if we felt like it.
Anyway, all I remember about Famous Foods is that the food wasn't packaged like it was in normal stores. all bright and cheerful. These were all in plain clear plastic, bulk, boring, blah. It did have 17 different kinds of chocolate chips though, this aisle you'd usually find me drooling in. But what did Dad get? Carob chips. Yaaaaaaay. So yummy those are.
We ate very healthy growing up. Dad made homemade granola. We'd have countless bowls of split pea soup with the countless bags of split peas we bought at FF. There was so many oatmeal raisin cookies. The buckwheat/wholewheat pancakes were endless, all of the ingredients bought at Famous Foods. Dad still shops there, in fact all trips are centered and timed around that place.
Ironically, now that I'm a grown up, or like to call myself one, I have cravings for nothing but, yup, you guessed it...dad's homemade granola, the oatmeal raisin cookies, the split pea soup, the pancakes. Cause it's a reminder of home and the memories of the special trips to the big city, the fighting for space in the backseat with your sisters.The dinners out to Trolls for fish and chips in Horseshoe Bay which deserve their own blog entry.
But I will never, ever, not once, desire a Fry's cocoa  hot chocolate with powdered milk.



Death and all his friends

I met her twice. Through a friend of a friend at that friends' birthday party and then we became facebook friends and that's how I learned she had died.
I can't tell you her middle name, her favorite color or type of food she preferred. I remember the night I met her and her partner and thinking how lovely they both were and how much we had alike. You know when you meet those people and you just click no matter who you are with or what you believe in? And I never saw her face again.

And then her heart stopped. And it never started again and although I didn't know her well it gets me to stop and think for a minute about how the wrong people get chosen by death all the time.
Because I think about her wife and her kids-her son and daughter, her little boy and girl who were just at the Santa Parade dreaming about presents under the tree and warm gooey cookies from the oven and snuggles from their two mommies. I hurt for their hurt and their loss and for my friends loss and heartache. The sudden. The shock. The 'I'm sorry for your loss' like we want to take some responsibility for this problem we can't fix. We want to help.
Death is there. All the time. And sometimes, he shows his face.
When it comes to death there are no words that can fix. The tightest hug won't heal the wound that ripped open your chest when you heard the news, the one that now swallows your tears that just won't stop.
But it's the comfort of the loved ones still here and the little snuggles from your kids and the memories and laughter from still fresh hours ago.
And you have to know it's okay to laugh. It's okay to remember those giggle fits and happy memories because that is what will get you through this.
So you make sure to appreciate the people around you and tell them you love them and you wake up every goddamn morning and you realize how lucky you are and you're thankful for what you have, no matter how little or big it is, or who or what is in your life.

And you appreciate that you had the pleasure of knowing her at all.

Hi, how are you today?

Fine, thanks for asking.

Which is the normal response one gets when asked that question.
I, however, work in a dentist office, and I can't decide if people are actually grumpy all the time, genuinely hate life, or just hate the dentist office.

Patients walk in and I greet them with a smile and ask them how they are. They usually grimace, roll their eyes, nod, or have lost their hearing and reply with: 'No, it's not raining yet, but it's threatening to."
All right then.

Other responses I've received:

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Fine, until I walked in" (how nice)

"Alive"

"None of your business" (fair enough, I guess)

"The right side of Tuesday" (what?)

"I'll be honest with you, I drank some whisky before coming here"

No one is ever happy to see you at the dentist office. And when they leave they usually have a frozen mouth and can't talk or have taken 3 Valiums and a little left of center.

Outside of the dentist office, a lot of people ask how you're doing and don't actually listen to the answer, or on the flip-side, they ask you and REALLY want to know. They want to get in deep with you and talk about your childhood  or their bowel movements (both painful) and you're all "thanks but I don't really know you that well and you have some mustard on your chin and that's all I can focus on right now"

I worked in a grocery store once where the first rule was DON'T ask how people are doing because they will tell you, and this will cause a line to form. But it's my first instinct to, so I would always end up saying "Hi, how are you...uh, your potatoes, they look real good, um, that will be $4.67, here's your receipt...erm, kthanksbye"

So no matter who you ask or how they are be prepared for any kind and length of answer. Be prepared to listen, ignore, or get distracted by the errant piece of fluff on the bridge of their nose. (How do they not know it's there??)

On Reading

I have a serious problem. I have had this problem for years and it's a habit that has never wavered or changed over the course of these years.
I, Dawn MacLeod, cannot put a book down.
I know. I told you it was serious.

Since June of this year I have read around 20 books. For a really long time I couldn't find a book that would hold my attention or capture my interest, which is very strange because I will read, and have read, just about anything. A list of books I've read this year:

Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortensen
The unauthorized biography of Axl Rose
Eating Animals by Jonathan Safran Foer
The Lost Dogs by Jim Gorant
The Hunger Games Trilogy
One Fish Two Fish by Dr. Seuss
The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo and it's sequel.
The Runner's Rule Book
I am Number Four by Pittacus Lore (secretly James Frey. Remember him?)
One Day by David Nicholls
Russell Brands My Booky Wook.

Clearly, I'll read anything.
As a kid I vividly remember the bedtime reading sessions with my Dad. He'd sit through many a Babysitters Club book just to hear me read and learn new words. I'm so sorry about that Dad, I'm sure it was painful and you probably nodded off more than a few times.Often when I was hyper about something or had big plans coming up (like visiting cousins!) and I couldn't sit still mom would tell me to get a book. One because I was pissing her off, two because she knew it'd calm me down. This is where the problem started. Because as soon as I opened up a book I'd dive in to that particular world with abandon. I get lost in the story and the places and the time and I have an insatiable drive to know what happens in the end, and therefore I stay up late reading until I either a) finish b) pass out with the lights on. I have this problem with red wine as well. I need to finish the bottle so that a) I know what happens at the bottom and b) I pass out with the lights on.

I happen to have 3 books on the go right now, and 4 books on hold at the public library. Good lord, what happens if all the books on hold suddenly become available? I'll be buried underneath the novels and I'll have to fall asleep with the lights on cause I won't be able to reach the switch!!!
Speaking of public libraries. These institutions are the greatest. Go in, sign out a book, walk out. You don't even have to pay. It's kind of like stealing. Okay, borrowing I know, cause generally you'll return the book in a couple of weeks, which is why people say the sentence "I just borrowed a couple of books from the library" which means they will return it. I went many years NOT going to the public library, preferring to build my own library at my house. I like collecting books I'll read again, and I like knowing that people will one day peruse my shelves whence they visit my house and comment something such as "oh, you've read 'The Origins of the First World War' aren't you just so smart and knowledgeable." Yes, yes I am.
And I kept my study books from my college days too, thinking 'well, I'm sure one day I'll skim through the pages of Psychology 101'. Eventually my collection got too big, I moved one too many times and books got too damned expensive, so I rediscovered the free wonders of the Public Library.
I also have a habit of walking and reading. People used to laugh at me when they saw me walking around town with my nose in a book. I can actually walk a fair bit without injuring myself, and I get to plow through a couple of chapters. Win win.
I'm so glad I have a love of books and reading in general, and an active imagination so that I can create the authors world in my own head and I can't wait to pass this on to my kids. I'd gladly sit through a hundred sittings of "Green Eggs and Ham" just to hear my kid read it to me.
I have a weird thing I do when I've moved houses in the past: the first thing I pack are the books, and the first thing to get unpacked in the new place are the books, cause it's not really home until you have a shelf full of books.
Enough blathering. I have a book to finish reading.

Dreaming my dreams

Killer robotic dogs trying to tear into Air Force One to kill President Obama.
Playing baseball with Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston (Before they were together. Let that blow your mind)
Flying through trees and waterfalls and other various landscapes.
Skiing so recklessly and jumping so high I jump over power lines but I always land perfectly.
Speaking of landing, I land triple Axel's a hundred times over.
More flying.
These are things I dream about.

I am a very active dreamer. My dreams have color, landscapes, mountains, oceans, snow, ice, sunshine, now that I think aboutit it never rains, plot points, motive, story lines.
The other night I had a dream there was an earthquake and my sisters and I had to climb up up up this shattered parking garage to get to the roof to safety and oh gosh, I got stuck, oh, I made it through thank goodness, and we got to the roof and lo and behold there was some random guy, and President Obama. Again! What is with that guy?? Anyways, he wasn't doing much president type stuff at the moment so I had to yell at him but he wouldn't listen and I wanted to take a picture of Obama but of course I didn't have my camera and it doesn't matter cause what I should have been wondering was how my sisters and I just climbed 40 storeys of a concrete parking garage and who random guy was on the roof.
As for messages or divine moments, the only true message I got in a dream was years and years ago and I was staying in some log cabin and wanted another sleeping bag. And someone there said "Don't take more than you need". Which I immediately woke up and wrote down cause it was such a clear image and I've always remembered that one. I used to write all my dreams down, as people say it helps improve memories and stuff but who has time in the morning really? Half the time I'm so mad at my alarm clock for interrupting my dreams that I can't remember what happened anyways.

There are dream interpretation books but there isn't much out there for killer robotic dogs and what they mean. Sure, I have the generic teeth falling out dreams that everyone has. And it either means that I'm coming into money, or I've eaten too many corn nuts.
Speaking of food, be careful what you eat before you go to bed! For instance, I ate Greek salad the other night and lo and behold I dreamt I was raising The Titanic...huh? what?
I love that I have an active, dreamy mind, that holds active, dreamy men but I just wish they would show his face already and that I would stop waking up before all the good stuff happens and that the killer robotic dogs would go haunt someone else's brain cause I want to have dinner with George Clooney again.

The Yellow Canoe

Summertime has finally arrived in Victoria and with it pilgrimages to lakes around B.C. and frolicking in the sunshine. And in my opinion, a lake is not complete without a canoe.

Growing up in Whistler on the edge of Alpha Lake near Creekside, I spent a lot of time in, on, or near the water. We had a 'private dock' where my sisters and I would launch ourselves off of, I would stand at the edge of the dock and fish with my Dad, or we would just lie on the dock and enjoy the view of Whistler Mountain and it's snowy glaciers. And invariably, we would canoe. We were the proud owners of a giant 300 pound (I'm sure of this) canoe which was the color of a classic yellow Post It Note. This canoe drifted along the River of Golden Dreams. It was the main character in many a portage from Alpha to Nita to Alta Lakes with my hippie parents and their hippie friends and us hippie kids. I spent most of my formative years floating around in it, swaddled in a bright orange life jacket that was always too big for me. And, I'll admit this now, my sisters and my parents and our dog Buffy all piled into the yellow canoe for a photo shoot for the cover of The Vancouver Sun at one time.

Anyways, one of my favorite and ever lasting memories of this canoe was the night Dad and I went out in it at night to watch the full moon rise. Now, I want to say this happened in November because I remember it being cold, and at the time it seemed kind of like a weird idea Dad would have randomly. Like "hey, it's cold out. You know what would be neat? If we went and sat in the canoe on the lake. Yes, this sounds like a great idea. Everyone will think I'm a genius."

Well, not everyone was in on this idea except for me. (This was also the case for the "let's sleep in the igloo overnight" idea.) So it could have been November but I also remember mosquitoes, but that could be poetic licensing. So off Dad and I went in the dark, bundled, down the trail and to the dock. We hopped in the canoe and paddled out a ways so we could get a nice clear view of the moon rising over the tip of Whistler. It was going to be amazing.

We waited. And waited. I started to say something along the lines of "well maybe we can go in now for hot chocolate" or "Dad, I can't feel my fingers"  and Dad would respond "well let's just wait a few more minutes, the moon was supposed to rise at such and such a time. It was supposed to be amazing"

And it was amazing, except we didn't get to see it because the moon rose, oh yes indeed it did. However it rose just behind the peak and then continued to dip along the edge and behind the mountain staying out of sight. So if we had climbed to the top of the mountain we would have seen a moon that was full. However, we were on a lake and it was cold and maybe there were mosquitoes. We paddled back to shore and headed home. Luckily I was raised with a fantastic sense of humour and to this day whenever Dad mentions a full moon (no matter where we are) I shout out "QUICK GRAB THE CANOE!!!!" and we launch into the re-telling of the story of the yellow canoe and the invisible moon.

I went home last month for a visit and there was the yellow canoe resting happily on the side of the house. It has seen better days. It's patched up and scratched and fiberglassed and the edges are chipped but it's still yellow. Dad says all it needs is a little love and a fresh coat of paint and it'll be good as new. It shall live to float another day. And I think it's secretly still waiting for that full moon.

That's me in the back with my sisters in the canoe

iScream for my iPhone.

About a month ago I became aware of a deal online at Telus where you can get a 'refreshed' iPhone for 30$ with a monthly plan. I immediately thought "30$, what a deal, and if it turns out bad, then I'm only out 30 bucks. What could go wrong?"
Everything apparently.
I hopped online on May 20th and ordered an iPhone, tra la la. They said it would be there within 3-5 business days. I put my work address down as Telus' instructions said they would not deliver to rural addresses. Okay then. I then continued to play email and phone tag for a week with the web orders on line store and helpline. I played along in the beginning but by the start of the 2nd week of still not receiving my phone I started to get a little peeved. I'd checked my bank statement and had indeed been charged for it so it should have been here by now. A lot of my calls to Telus went a little like this:
"Hi, and welcome to Telus. Press 1 for English, 2 for French.
I press 1.
"Hi, and welcome to Telus. Press 1 for English, 2 for French.
um, what? Press one again, a little firmer, just in case.
"Hi and welcome to Telus. Please press 1 for English 2 for...
I hung up. Swore. Took a deep breathe. Tried again. I don't know what I did right this time but after pressing 1,a 4, a 3 and 5, I got to a robotic voice asking me to enter my 10 digit phone number.
Well, I don't have my phone yet. So I don't have a number do I??? I waited calmly while the robot asked me three more times for my non existent phone number, and explained to me why I had to enter it so that they could better assist me. Soon enough I was put on hold to an agent. I went through my story, telling her I ordered a phone, hadn't gotten it yet, wonder where it is. Okay, she puts me on hold for a minute, asks me a couple of questions, then says she's going to transfer me to another agent. I asked her why, but never got a straight answer. Plus I have to start all over again with my story! What does she do? She puts me on hold, except she accidentally hangs up on me. My lunch hour now over I'm steaming mad. I give up for the day, sent a few more emails that went unanswered.
Called again a few days later on my break. I'm tired of explaining my story at this point so when I get an agent I just blurt out my account number I know off by heart now and let them read the story of my iPhone life, which apparently has been sent out and sent back again. Well good for it. Hope it took some pictures along the way! I get transferred, put on hold, etc. I'm using my 'angry voice' and scaring Helen who works in the office as well. My cheeks are flushed. I'm on hold for a good 20 minutes.
Buddy from Telus: I'm so sorry ma'am, but we have to get you to phone 18664882709 to deal with web orders. They should help you.
Me: Well, that's the exact number I called to get to you right now.
Buddy: What? Really. That's weird. I don't know how that happened.

 Buddy wants to transfer me to a sales person but I have to go back to work. I arrange for them to call me at home at 6pm when I have time.
I get home, wait patiently till 6pm. No call. I wait rather less patiently till 7pm. I get online and file a complaint with the head honcho communications people and tell them Telus has some serious issues. Press send. Phone rings, it's Telus, I think, well there's some instant response, that's what I'm talking about.
Except it's a man from Telus who is trying to get me to switch from Shaw Phones to Telus. Ironically that's exactly what I'm trying to do too sir!!! Thanks for helping guy in India!!! Except he has nothing to do with my iPhone so I hang up on him.
The next day I call again, on my break again.
Me: dialing 1-8664882709. Hi and welcome to Telus..." GRRRRRR.
Guy: Hi how can I help you?
Me: Can I give you my account number cause I'm tired of talking. I'll give you a minute to read my file.
Guy: Ya...there's some notes here. Please hold.
Me: You don't say... (footloose song plays)
10 minutes later.
Guy: Ya, so what I'm going to have you do is dial a different # for your web order.
Me: uh huh, and what number would that be do you think?
Guy: 18664882709
Me: well guy, that's the number I called to get to you right now. (Standing. face turning purple. grey hairs growing by the second)
Guy: whoa. That's not right
Me: Exact (swearing) conversation I had with you guys yesterday.

This guy was actually helpful to a point and in the end they wanted to make sure I was who I said I was and they didn't like that I had a different shipping address than my billing address. At one point I got so mad I snorted, and that's saying something. Long story short another appointment to call from my house land line so I could be who I said I was..?
At this point I really didn't want the god damned phone anymore, and my shiny dream of being part of the iPhone club and comparing apps was diminishing rapidly and I was about to murder the next person I saw, and the blood would be on Telus's hands.
So I got home on Friday, called up my dear friends at Telus, pressed one for 'I hate you so much Telus' in English and listened to 'Footloose' for the umpteenth time until I got a lady. She believed that it was me, and I was calling, and that the world was round and that I wasn't the person on the grassy knoll and that I didn't know what happened at the end of Sopranos. She said, yes, that's all good and asked me to hang up so she could call me at home. I silently nodded in defeat, questioned my existence and whether or not I actually was speaking English and hung up. Not 30 seconds later Telus called back again. A man who clearly did NOT speak English was on the other end, he was most likely at a call center in India in fact and was asking me about switching to Telus from Shaw. I could not believe it. The timing was too crazy. I was so astounded I didn't even let the guy get his allotted minute in so he could get paid.
Him: " ...and we would like to offer you a one time low-"
Me: I'm sorry, but does this call have anything to do with an iPhone?
Him: excuse me?
Me: an iPhone? On any level, will you be sending me an iPhone?
Him: uh, (rustles paper, checks his notes) uh, no.
click.
Two seconds later my lady calls me back, says I am who I say I am and says it will be delivered in 3-5 business days. Oh how I have heard that before.
So on Tuesday June 15th at around 10am the Purolator guy dropped my phone off at work and instead of an excited plonk it landed on my desk with a dull thud. I opened the box and inside it was a smudged phone, unwrapped in a box labelled "previously enjoyed iPhone." It was not shiny, it was not wrapped in an Apple box, it did not make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
It was disappointing but in the end I was excited about the new toy, and glad I had stuck through it to the end. My life motto is fight to the death or quit and die-never give up. Stick to your guns and hold your ground. Dad once said to me "some might call you obsessive, I'll just call you tenacious." I like it.
So the squeaky wheel gets the iPhone or however that saying goes and I'm currently waiting for my phone to make me dinner and change my cats litter. I'm sure there is an app for that.

Stanley

I will never win the Stanley Cup. I know this because I am a girl. And I can't skate.

Well okay, I can figure skate, but hockey is a different kind of power skating with moves and dekes that I don't have. 

The Stanley Cup was won last night by the Chicago Blackhawks who beat my Vancouver Canucks. I am okay with this because 5 of the players are from BC which is pretty awesome and a couple of those guys are from Penticton. These guys just won the Stanley Cup. The Holy Grail. The Reason You Play Hockey. No matter who wins I'm genuinely happy for whoever it is, as it is so much work just to make it to the finals, let alone win the damn thing, and the players revert to being kids and jumping on each-other when they win and their parents and spouses are there and it's all very, very weepy for me.

If I did win the Cup I'd be honored with one solitary day with it, as each player is once they win one. I would have a hard time planning my day around it.

It would travel everywhere with me. I mean room to room people. This thing would not leave my sight. I'd take it out for breakfast. I'd take a lot of photos of it. I'd like to have a picture of it on top of Whistler Mountain and on the Peak to Peak Chair, I'd have to somehow get it to mom as well, although if this is a fictional story, she was there when I won it. Anyways, I'd want to take it to Powell River to my Aunt's property just for the sheer beauty and photo opportunities on the beach. Stanley likes bonfires, so we'd have one.

I'd eat Cheerios out of it.
It would be the best Cheerios you'd ever tasted.
I'd lie on the couch with my arm around it and watch a movie.
I'd tell it my deepest darkest secrets (Stanley is VERY understanding.)
More photos.
There would come a time where I would just sit in silence and stare at it. (Editor's note: In the bath. With a glass of wine. Definitely)

After a day of Whistler/Powell River/Victoria we'd both be very tired so a steak dinner at The Keg should be in order. With family of course (and anyone I'd ever met) and Stanley would pick up the bill.

At some point the dude with the white gloves (real name: The Keeper of The Cup) would show up and take Stanley away so another player could share it with his family and friends.  And I would wake up from my dream of a dream coming true and wait for the Canucks turn to hoist the Cup of Cups one day.

Family Trees

My Auntie Marcie sent me an e-mail the other day asking me for some family history- a friend of hers, or a relative I've never heard of, is making a family tree and wanted my mom's parent's information. I thought sure, no problem, let me just call up mom.

Me: Hey Mom, where was Grandpa born?
Mom: 57 Albert Street
Me: Wow, that's specific. Maybe just give me a city and a year. That would be great.
Mom: Oh. I have no fucking idea. But his mother was the first person to drive a car in Ontario.
Me(in my head): seriously how the frick do you know this stuff?
Mom: Her last name was Shirk
Me: okay, so can you tell me where Ashley (my sister) was born?
Mom: At the original Grace hospital.
Me: Wait, is that Grey's as in Grey's Anatomy or Grace as in Amazing Grace?
Mom: the second one. You could still smoke in the hallways there too.
Me: excellent. I'll see if there is a spot for that on the tree. (in my head) OMFreakingLORD.
Me: Do you have any information whatsoever concerning when and where your parents were born or when they died? Any at all?
Mom: When who died?
Me:You know what? Maybe I should have just emailed your sister for this.
Mom: Probably.

File this one under "Things I should have known were going to be frustrating before I even started"

Lessons learned

Disclaimer!! I say all of this with love and compassion for my parents...I take nothing away from what they taught me and this isn't meant to be cruel or mean spirited. It's just the truth. Which sometimes can be cruel and mean spirited.

1. Feeling flu-ish? Mom: Drink rum. Hot Toddy's mainly.
2. Spicy food? Dad:  Drink beer.
3. Always clean up after yourself. Dad: This pertains to grooming snow mostly. Never leave a mess behind, you've got to leave it smooth, like you were never there. Now when he cooked, this was a different scenario. The man leaves a messy kitchen like I've never seen. You've got 12 more bran granola flax muffins left on the counter when he's through.
4. Dad: Know where the fuse box is and how one 'works'
Side note: The thing about fuse boxes is that you could take ten thousand panels and line em up and they would all look exactly the same- half assed labelling, chicken scratch writing, abbreviations, old labels scribbled out and written over (toaster got replaced for the cappuccino machine, and what used to be the switch for the microwave is now the "brand new power tool extravaganza shed").
5. Safety first. Dad: if you are driving/walking through a construction site or walking by someone working an excavator/tractor/or any other heavy machinery, always make eye contact with the person before blindly strolling/driving through so that you know it's safe to cross and the operator knows someone is there.
6. Dad: Never sign a contract without reading it thoroughly.
7.Dad: Know how to use a CB radio and how to use a chainsaw.
8. Mom: Television shows go on hiatus before the months of November and May, in order to draw in more viewers during those select months and thereby winning the ratings war. Until then, it's repeats folks.
9. If your feet are cold put a hat on. Never ever ever were we allowed to turn up the heat. The wood stove did it's best woodstoving most of the time, but you'd normally find us fighting for the little ledge RIGHT beside the fireplace. Quite often we'd have burn marks on our pants. Luckily we had 16 layers on.
10. Visitation rights: Coming over to visit? Chat? Great- bring a load of wood in for the fireplace as you enter.
11. Mom : never date someone who is prettier than you are.
12. Mom: don't point at people. It's rude.
13. Laughter is the best medicine: Both Mom and Dad- Find yourself hilarious. Tell a bad joke to break the ice, and then chuckle at your own unique cleverness. Think to yourself  "My gosh, I really am funny aren't I? I bet they've never encountered someone like me before" And they probably haven't met someone like you. But that's why it's such an awesome lesson. Quite often ( and if you've read any of the previous posts you'll know this)I've tripped in public or gotten tangled in my headphone wires at the gym while on the treadmill, and instead of getting flustered or embarrassed I make a joke of it. It's not that big a deal. I often wish I had a camera following me around for moments where I've walked into a pole (it's happened) or miscalculated a step or two (yup, been there) because I imagine it looks hilarious. And it's way better on you and your ego to think you are awesome than to get bogged down in meaningless mistakes or embarrassments from every day life. Just roll with the punches. And maybe find some better jokes.

14. Love your parents  (something I've taught myself) They may drive you crazy. You may have to be the adult most of the time. You probably have a ton of traits that remind you of them and you might resent them for it. Don't. Embrace it, accept it, love the fact that you are so much like them and remember how funny they are, even in the moments that make you crazy, because it will help you get through it most likely. Exhibit A: my mother and any VCR.

Okay, I'm about done here. These obviously aren't the only lessons. And if they are then I am in more trouble than I thought.

A whistle while you walk

Ever been wolf whistled? What's your reaction?

There are a few options. Some risky.
If you hear the whistle and look, and it's not actually meant for you, then you look conceited and feel kind of embarrassed. If you hear the whistle and don't look at all it could mean one of three things 1) Heard it but don't bother looking. 2) you heard but don't look in case it isn't for you, hereby saving face 3) wait, what wolf whistle? I fall under #2 a lot, but mostly it's # 3. This is due to the fact that while I walk I am literally miles away. I walk a lot and don't often hear people calling my name the first few times. Okay ten times. Sometimes they have to chase me down, sometimes they are literally in front of me and I look stunned for a minute while my mind races back to the present space and time and I can say "oh hi!"
Generally as I walk I'm thinking about other things. I think about the time my sisters did that thing that one time that was so hilarious, or the guy 16 cars ago who gave me a funny look as he drove by and 'gee  I wonder why he did that, there must be something on my face' or how the bottom of my foot is so freaking itchy and I can't wait to get home to deal with it. Or that scene in Lost which didn't make any sense and why that show doesn't make any sense and 'gee I wonder why I still watch it at all'

If you see me on the street, and I don't immediately recognize you or jump up and down with enthusiasm for a minute just bear with me. I'm a little slow. I zone out while I walk and quite confidently walk across sections of traffic without paying attention, and make it to my front door without remembering a single moment of my trek home from work. Just keep yelling my name or sending smoke signals and eventually I will respond.

Oh ya. If you are on the receiving end of a wolf whistle and you look and it is indeed meant for you, then that is just fantastic. You and your wolf can whistle off into the sunshine and live happily ever after. Just look both ways before you cross the street.

Elevators, or Why I take the stairs

First an elevator joke: guy says to elevator repairman: how was your day? repairman says, oh it was up and down. bwahahahaha.
Elevators are the most awkward social experiment I have ever experienced. There is some unspoken agreement that people just go along with when it comes to elevators. If you are there first you get in first, of course after the previous occupants unload. Then you tell the person the floor you wish to disembark on and they have to press it. Even if your hands aren't occupied, they pressed the button first, they are now in charge of the panel of floors. It's their call. The person to first step up to or into the elevator has all the power and holds your life in their hands. Is that being a little too dramatic? I didn't think so. Also, if you enter first you are inevitably getting off first, which means you are stuck behind everyone that got on after you. That's just how these things, and Murphy's law, work.
Now that you are safely in the elevator, and you check to make sure you haven't randomly dropped your keys down the shaft, the awkwardness begins. For me at least. What do you do while shifting between floors? Stare up at the ceiling tiles, over to the side, god hopes there isn't a mirror in the elevator. What a cruel joke that was, putting mirrors in a small awkward elevator. Whose idea was that anyways? Do you slyly stare over to the other person hoping they don't notice to see if they secretly want to make some sort of contact? No? Quick look away! Maybe sigh a little bit. If the ride is longer than three floors, Jesus, I would rather walk. I really would.  Very rarely do you make friends on an elevator. What do you say to the person when you unload? See you have a nice life, enjoy your ride, it was great riding with you?
There is a large percentage of time that I have spent on elevators making small talk, babbling nervously as I get off on my floor. This is usually in front of an attractive male. There is a small percentage of time where I actually manage to pay attention and get off on my floor. I have a bad habit of zoning out and blindly following people off the elevator. I then realize my mistake, twirl around in confusion, and decide to take the stairs the rest of the way. I announce this decision to the person staring oddly at me, and yes, it is normally an attractive, nice smelling male.
Oh, and to those people that press the buttons more than once, it doesn't help. It doesn't make the elevator move faster, I'm sorry to say but you just don't have that much power in life.
So this is why I choose to suffer up 6 flights of stairs. Not for the exercise or the well being of my heart, but because I'm awkward and nervous and you generally don't run into attractive nice smelling males who think you are just a little bit wierd.

Favorite moments from the Olympics

Now that my post party depression has set in, here are some of my Olympic moments that I loved. In no particular order, they may be added to as I remember more amazingly awesome moments from some of the most exciting Games I can remember.

1. Having the games at home, and broadcast at times that don't require me to stay up till one am to watch an event live. This was of course negated by the fact that I stayed up late to watch replays, highlights, and interviews anyway.
2. My father getting a 'shout-out' during the ladies super combined downhill. This guy had worked tooth and nail and plates in his leg to make this course, and on a beautiful sunny bluebird sky day the woman were attacking the course. Brian Stemmle was commentating and taking the viewers, people from around the world, through the course. As they passed over Rod's Route, Brian said 'this course was named after Rod MacLeod, a guy who put his heart and soul into this course'. Quite possibly the proudest moment of my life.
3. The spontaneous renditions of Oh Canada heard throughout Canada. I was privy to this outburst of pride on the bus from Squamish to Whistler. There are no words for moments like that in life.
4. Watching friends, neighbours, skating buddies, and people I went to school with compete at home in the Olympic Winter Games. So very cool to watch, so emotional to witness, and very surreal to know that I shared bath water with some of these people and changed their diapers. Makes you feel a little lazy and less accomplished!
5. Alex Bilodeau and his family. The first gold medal meant nothing compared to his story and relationship with his brother. If you didn't cry watching Frederics' reaction of his brothers gold medal run than you don't have a heart.
6. Long track speed skating: It's way too stressful for me to watch. And after all the training they have put in these elite athletes are still laid flat out on the ice after a strenuous 10,000 metre race. So exciting, and I loved how the Richmond Olympic Oval simply became the ROO.
7. Short track speed skating: it's way too stressful for me to watch. Seriously!! So much drama unfolded and intense exchanges and crashes and disqualifactions. The team relays were mesmerizing and 45 laps of a rink went by in a blink.
8.Britt Janyk's recovery during the Super G. This woman flew over Frog Bank and was headed to a spectacular fall. You have to see it to appreciate it but she has some serious core muscles to be able to get back on both skis. She should win a medal just for that.
9. Jennifer Heil. After a stupid question from a reporter about how it felt to lose gold she responded with 'I didn't lose the gold, I won the silver'. And she donated $25,000 to Right to Play, a move followed by many other Canadian athletes after her. Classy, dignified, and downright ballsy.
10. Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir. If you weren't a fan of ice dancing before you were after they skated. It seemed like they knew they were going to win as they skated. And you felt like you were at their wedding as they stood at the top of the podium. Now just hurry up and fall in love already so we can all sleep soundly at night.
11. Charles Hamelin and Marianne St-Gelais. These two are not afraid of showing how they feel. They love each other, they support each other, they get ridiculously excited when watching each other compete. Their leap over the boards to embrace after Charles win was the cutest thing since Virtue and Moir.
12. Crosby's Golden Goal. The country had written the ending to this story already, now we left it up to Crosby to direct it. And boy did he. It was always going to come down to Crosby. It had to be Crosby, that's how fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it works.
13. Jon Montgomery. His run, his reaction to winning, his stroll through Whistler Village, his reaction to the pitcher of beer. Most athletes would have ignored that gesture- he embraced it and drank it like it was his last day on Earth. Well it wasn't- it was his best day, and we loved him for being human (and a beer drinker.)
14. Joannie Rochette. The strongest woman I know, except I don't know her. I don't know where she found the strength. She skated, she fought through every minute of her long program with sheer will. She finally broke down and let us witness her grief. She won the bronze but it didn't matter. She skated for her mom, and a country cried for her.
15. The Canadian athletes that did medal, every single one of them 'shared it with Canada.' Typical selfless polite Canadians, they thanked the crew workers at the venues, the volunteers, and everyone that had helped them get to where they were. You're welcome.

How many days till London 2012???

Whistler

We're a week in and Canada has 8 medals, 4 of them gold. It's been high drama, moments of pure joy, emotion and plain and simple- awesomeness. My sister used to ski race with Maelle Ricker, my Dad is getting shout outs from Brian Stemmle for putting his 'heart and soul' into the alpine courses, friends I used to figure skate with are coming in 6th in half-pipe, next door neighbours I used to babysit have yet to compete. This is all going on in my old backyard, and I miss it and I'm sorry I'm not there but I'm so stoked!! The most recent highlight was Jon Montgomery winning gold in the skeleton- he wandered through the village on the way to talk to CTV about his win- the patios were packed, the street was flowing and screaming, Jon was surrounded by well wishers and teammates and coaches. And then someone handed him a pitcher of beer!! He grabbed it and drank straight out of it as he walked towards the stage. Passed it around to his family, drank it on stage. Ridiculous. And classic Whistler! If anyone knows how to party it's Whistler- they have been doing it for years in my parents generation, and they are doing it now. I feel like I've passed a baton or something- Whistler is showing off right now!! The weather has been gorgeous. 80 cm of powder in the last week. Blue skies and sunshine, a thousand O Canada's and we have another week to go! Wahoo!!!

Second verse, same as the first.

Routine.
I despise my night time routine. I rush through it so I can get it done, and let's be honest, flossing is not something that should be rushed.
Side note: I do love flossing. I find it extremely productive and satisfying. Sometimes in the summer, I eat corn on the cob, just so I can floss after. And afterwards I smile at myself in the mirror to make sure I haven't left anything behind. And let's face it, smiling at yourself is kind of nice.
Anyways, I have my morning and night routines. It's boring, repetitive, predictable and I despise it. And yet I cannot deviate from it. I'm so organized in the morning that I can shower, feed the fur child, make my tuna sandwich(it's always tuna) boil water for my oatmeal(it's always oatmeal) all in a half hour. I have ten minutes to eat then I'll start on my hair, get dressed and I am out the door. The day takes me where it takes me and then I am home to eat dinner and start the night routine.
I live alone so I have to do my dishes. No one else is gonna do em! But it takes me about an hour and a half to work up to it and takes me 5 minutes to get them done. The beauty of procrastination. Then, to cut down time in the morning I set out my apple, banana, and granola bar, program the coffee maker to start at 6am and set aside scrubs for work and whatever clothing items I may need.
Then it's bedtime. Contacts out, eye drops in, brush hair, floss teeth, brush teeth, wash face, moisturize and off to my favorite part of every day- back into bed. It's the same ritual I've had for 29 yrs, I execute it with military precision and I have kind of started to resent it. It's like a relationship that's gone on too long but neither of you are going to say anything about it.

hellohowareyougoodbye

I spent 3 weeks in East Africa last June and July. Specifically Uganda and Kenya. I'm not sure why those countries, but when I was planning my trip I looked at a couple of different areas of Africa and those are the ones that spoke to me.

When people hear of Uganda, they immediately think 'Idi Amin' and think terrible things, why would you possibly want to go there? Granted, I had heard bad things as well, but upon arriving at the airport in Entebbe I fell in love with the place. The city of Kampala was a bit overwhelming for me-this was my first trip ever ever ever, on my own. And I chose Africa. Yup, go big or stay home I say!

The main point of my trip was to go on 'safari'. I don't particularly like that word as I think it generalizes your experience a bit. But that's essentially what I wanted: drive around, see some animals in real wildlife, and experience something that not everybody gets to in their lifetime. I got to see 4 of the Big 5: cape buffalo, elephants, lions, and a baby rhino in the Sheldrick Animal Orphanage in Nairobi.

We tried to ahem, spot a leopard (sorry, that one was for Dad) but had no such luck.

So yes, I saw the beasties, but it's the kids that really stuck with me. Everywhere our group went we were quietly followed by little boys and girls, who were just as curious as we were. We stopped for lunch in the middle of the jungle and one kid popped out of the bushes, then another, then one called for their friends, and pretty soon we were surrounded by school kids in their pink shirts, laughing and pointing at us.

As we drove through village after village, we'd be chased after by kids of all ages. They would drop whatever they were doing and run after our bus yelling 'mzungu, mzungu' (white man, white man!) They'd use up what I presume was most of their grasp of the English language when they yelled 'hellohowareyougoodbye' all in one quick breath. We'd stick our hands out the window and wave at all the kids and they'd wave back. I did this for 15 hours straight one day. It never got old, and the only reason I felt tired was because I had a smile plastered on my face all day long. I also got to spend a day Soft Powered Education, which is a group working with communities in Uganda to improve quality of life through education. We drove to an orphanage in the middle of the jungle and were instantly surrounded by little boys and girls the instant we stepped out of the car. They grabbed my hands and dragged me all over the school yard, showing me their soccer ball collection. They even know which button to press on digital cameras when they want to see the photo of themselves. They sang our group a little song, and welcomed us. Each person in my group bought a Soft Power t-shirt, which buys the kids a shirt as well.

The thing that struck me most was that these kids had nothing. In a world where kids have their own cellphones, credit cards, x boxes and ipods, these kids have nothing and are so so happy.     If they were bored they would find a stick and draw in the sand and be perfectly content. Or roll a tire tube around for hours. They don't ask for much and don't expect much in return.

They are happy with just smiling and laughing and giving a wave. It was an interesting and refreshing  lesson, one I hope to remember and use.

This one's for Shannon

I have two older sisters, Shannon and Ashley. Ashley is a year and half older than me, and not online much, and she's missed all the more for it, even if she does live 3 blocks away from me ;)

Shannon is 4 years older than I am, lives in Squamish, and is headed to Costa Rica in a couple of days to embark upon something called The Coastal Challenge: Route of Fire. Now, I have always looked up to my sister but I'm not sure I'll ever follow in these particular footsteps:  http://www.thecoastalchallenge.com/

Shannon has being training for this particular 6 day stage race for seven months (her blog here: http://shannshann22.blogspot.com/ ) and she's had her fair share of adventure running already:

She's been attacked by an owl, met a few bears, ran by countless deer, and raccoons, and most likely been stalked by a stealth cougar that luckily she never had to know about.

She would wake early enough to go for two hour runs before she had to go to work at the daycare. She spent late hours at the gym while her trusty crock pot simmered away at home. She procured a road bike on which she sustained her first crash when a fierce railroad track tripped her up. The real tragedy there was that no one stopped to help her as they drove by!!
She finally got some rollers so she could train on the bike in the comfort of her tiny living room.

Anyone who has ever collected bottles at the depot knows how little money you get for a lot of bottles. Shannon had her friends save their bottles and cans so she could collect the money. She went to the bottle depot every weekend since August and she saved $500 which I am astounded by because that's a lot of money, not to mention truckloads and truckloads of bottle trips to the depot!

She suffered injury setbacks, as all athletes do. A random neck sprain, a sprained ligament in her calf, and in a sport entirely unrelated to running she stubbed her toe rather badly while walking to the couch on Loggers Sports sister fun time weekend in Squamish :) 
And, even after a full day of snot nosed kids at daycare she made herself available to babysit most nights to make a little more money.

I wish I could go with her to Costa Rica to support her but I can't. So I will be following along online on Shannon's progress, updating her facebook and twitter status for her and waiting anxiously to hear all about her experience when she gets back!

Shan's theme song through all of this was "Break My Stride". For whatever reason this song stood out in her mind and helped her in her training when things looked a little bleak, or as the runs got longer.

"Ain't nothing gonna break my stride/Nobody gonna slow me down/oh no I got to keep on moving/ Ain't nothing gonna break my stride/I'm running in a one touch ground, oh no

I got to keep on moving. "

I'd post a link to the video but it's just too damned awful. Or hilarious. I haven't decided.

Anyways, to Shannon: You've worked SO hard for this and earned every kilometer you are about to run. This will be an amazing, life changing experience that you will never forget, and it will likely take you a couple of weeks afterwards to process what you just accomplished. I'm overflowing with pride and love and will be following along closely :) Don't let anything break your stride!! Now go kick some ass!

At the Dentist

I've worked in a dentist office for five years as an assistant. My job requires me to develop x-rays, file work done in charts, assist the doctor(obviously) and greet the patients as they enter the office and lead them to the operatory room. I've dealt with all types of bodily fluids, helped the elderly gentlemen pull their pants up and their shirts down, had kids bite me, parents scold me, old ladies pat me on the bum and old men(usually veterans of a/the war, which makes it okay)  hit on me. I am supposed to get them seated in the chair, bib them, and leave the room.

And this is where things get strange. For some reason when presented with the dental chair, people get really confused. It's as if they are trying to solve a sudoku puzzle. "Well, if this leg goes here and this arm is over there..."  I've seen patients sit in the chair with their legs hanging off either side, I've seen them crawl up from the footrest like they were scaling a mountain, seen them shuffle backwards on their bums from the furthest point of where I eventually want them to end up. Some ride the thing like they were riding a mechanical bull in a bar. Others hop on it like a carousel, and kids treat it like a roller coaster. And yes, I'll move the headrest up, and yes the arm rest moves, and I'll place it where it's supposed to be once you are settled.( FYI: You shouldn't be out of breath by the time you are) Some advice: pretend you're in Mexico and you're just sitting down for a beer by the pool. Actually pretend this anyways, even if you do know how to sit in a chair, it'll help with the nerves that overcome most folks when visiting the office.  Those lounge chairs never give you trouble do they?

The proper way to sit? Sit down perpendicular to the chair and swing your legs up and onto the chair. It's that easy.

And then I'll move the arm rest.

The Olympics

The Winter Olympics will be held in Vancouver/Whistler in a couple of weeks and you'll find a lot of people that, simply put, don't like this. I could explore that side of the argument more here but that isn't what this post is about.
The Olympics are coming- hell, they are already here- and I'm excited.

I grew up in Whistler, mecca of snow and skiing, a Vegas in the mountains. I am partial to the Winter Games but have been known to practice my gymnastics on a foamy on the deck when the Summer Games were on (when I was a kid of course). I wanted to be a figure skater so that was the sport I watched the most. Had I started my 'career' earlier and stuck with it I could have very well been competing in these Games. As it were, Whistler didn't get an arena until I was 11, Squamish was a fair drive away in the dead of Winter in an '85 Dodge Aries, and life got in the way.

Fast forward to the summer of 2008 where I was watching the Beijing Games unfold from my apartment in Victoria. People were muttering about Canada not doing well. Then a wrestler won gold, as well as the men's eight rowing team. Things were looking up. I watched all of this with pride. I love the games because it's people who work hard at what they love and will settle for nothing but the best. Their sport could be 30 secs long or 3 hours. It's exciting, dramatic, and emotional.

I sat down on my couch to watch the men's triathlon, a sport I'll admit to never having watched or paid much attention to. I knew the basics (swim/bike/run), and the only reason I was watching was to cheer on a local hero Simon Whitfield.
The swim and bike portions were done and things were looking okay for us. Again, I didn't know much about the tactics of the sport except that the Canadians were using one that a lot of people didn't agree with, but one that was working well for them.
The 10k run portion of the race was coming to a close and Whitfield was 'fading' as the commentator had put it and said that it didn't look like there was any way he could fight towards the 3 runners in front of him.

Cue the visor.

The guy took off. He caught up to the others in a way that seemed effortless. It was amazing. And then he passed them. And put space in between. It was so incredible to be able to witness this, and so exciting that I felt like I was running right along with him. An 88 yr old patient at work said the same thing to me the next day!

At this point I was screaming at my poor TV, Jan Frodeno caught up to take the gold and Whitfield was claiming his hard fought silver and he had recruited a new fan. I thought to myself 'I want to do that.'
The next day I registered for the next race available to me, the 8k road race in Victoria held during the RVM in October. I ran that 8k race, giving myself an hour to run it not knowing my pace or how long it would take me at all. As I ran passed the 2 km mark Simon was on his way back at the 6km mark already. That guy is fast. Wait a minute- I'm in the same race as an Olympic athlete? Cool!!
I came through the finish at 50.07 and I was hooked. A week later I registered for the half marathon clinic held at The Running Room, and the rest of that story is in the previous post, but my experience was everything I had hoped it to be: emotional, hard, and rewarding.
So my dream was to be a figure skater and I ended up running, because I was inspired by an Olympic athlete and that little stunt he pulled while doing something he loves. I still go for skates at the rink and try some jumps and spins and adore the time I get to spend doing something that I enjoy. I always look down at my feet when I skate thinking 'wait a minute, I can do this? Cool!'
While I know that I will never run as fast as Simon Whitfield I'll continue to train in Victoria and enter in races. I never run them expecting to win, but just to say that I did it and finished, and to do it and enjoy it. I'll be watching the Olympics in February with Canadian pride, cheering on our athletes in all the different sports.
I think this is an important thing to remember when it comes to the Olympics: it boils down to athletes doing something they love, trying their best and inspiring kids (and grown ups, if I can call myself one) to get out there and try it too. One day I'd like to race in a triathlon. I may never win an Olympic medal but I'll damn well earn my finishers medal and that means just as much.

My first half

Two half marathons in, two 8k races and countless solo and group training runs and I'm still not sure if I can call myself a runner. Do I qualify?
My oldest sister is a runner, in fact she is headed to Costa Rica in a couple of weeks to do a six day stage race with The Coastal Challenge. And my Dad used to head out for a 'jog' once in a while. So I wouldn't say running is in my genes or anything.
But it's an impulse. I love the motion and the idea of it. I may not love every run I complete but I do love when you receive the silent nod or acknowledgement from another runner you may cross paths with. And the looks you get from non runners is hilarious, especially on a day that may be less than ideal weather wise.

I ran my first half marathon in May 2009 in Vancouver. I had trained with The Running Room clinic in Victoria, and found it much easier to run with a group and to have a set schedule that I actually looked forward to. I took the ferry over from Victoria and met my sister who was running her first full marathon, so we were both nervous as we prepared for the next days adventure. We lay around in the hotel room and ate, and mused about how long our combined running distances was. 63.3 km is a long ways!
The next morning our Dad met us in the hotel lobby, and we walked down to the starting line together. My Dad and sister wished me well as the half distance runners started a half hour earlier. Standing alone amongst thousands and thousands of other runners was an odd moment for me. Not very often (okay, never) have I taken on a challenge such as that one, and I am prone to giving up halfway through a project or hobby because of boredom, or because I thought I would fail. There I was at the starting line, or somewhere near it anyways, with my water belt on, my chip secured to my shoe, and off I went.

The first ten km went by fairly easily. I saw some of the girls from my running group and we chatted for a bit, congratulating each other and eventually they dropped back, or went ahead on their own. I had to pee, of course, but the line ups for the toilets were long and slow so I thought I'd just wait.
The big hill was looming in Stanley Park. We had done a lot of hill training and I felt confident but not happy about a hill at this juncture in my run. But this turned out to be my strongest point as I passed a lot of people who decided to walk the hill, and once at the top there was a real bathroom there with no line up so I took a couple of minutes to forget about what I had done so far and focus on what was next. Running down the hill we only had about 6km left which I told myself was just like a quick training run. I saw my Dad with about 3 km left and that was just awesome. He said the finish line 'was just around the corner.' Sure Dad! Don't let anyone tell you that the .1 of the run isn't anything either! The final kilometers were tough, and I was struggling. This would be the longest I had run ever, and my so called form was getting sloppy. Then I ran by Willie Mitchell from the Vancouver Canucks as he tried to cross the street with his dog and his lady friend. The team had just lost the night before in a playoff game so he wasn't in a super good mood but I was just so shocked to look up and see him, so all I could think of to say was "Hey Willie!" and he responded with an automatic "Hey how you doing?" I said, 'oh you know, just out for a run' That humorous chat got me through the final stages of the run, and then I saw the white dome of BC Place, and the finish corral.

I did not expect it to be that emotional. I've never been happier to see a finish line really. I smiled hugely as I heard the crowd cheer everyone on and picked up the pace and I ran my little heart out straight across the finish line. 2:22!!! I burst into tears immediately. Couldn't see straight. I had finished something that I had worked so so so hard for, something I never thought was even in my reality, and I had seen it through. Someone put a finishers medal on me, someone else gave me a space blanket, and then I heard my Dad. I looked up to see him frantically trying to take pictures and hold on to two lab puppies who liked crowds a lot. I stumbled over, not worrying about stretching or recovery but just trying to see through my tears. He gave me a huge hug and asked me how it was and said congratulations and all I could blubber was "I saw Willie Mitchell!"
I made it home and was exhausted and happy and proud. I can name the emotions I had at the finish line as relief, as in 'gosh I'm glad that's over', pride in that I actually finished something, and a sense of empowerment. I can and did run a distance that most can't. Or won't. And I couldn't wait to do it again!
I ran the Oak Bay Half in Victoria exactly 3 weeks later, which is too soon for a beginner runner and just a little bit nuts actually. I finished 3 minutes faster, was just as emotional coming through the finish, but the run was much much harder.

Tonight my new half marathon clinic started, once again with the Running Room, and I saw a bunch of old friends that I had a chance to catch up with while we ran the first easy 6k run. It was great. I felt at home, even part of a community. So yes, I qualify as a runner, I'll allow myself to be labled as that.
So get out there. Even if it's just a run around the block, or for 10 or 20 minutes, you never know, you might actually enjoy yourself!

Jumping in

I've been toying with the idea of starting a blog for a while now. I certainly read enough of the ones floating around on the web already, so I thought I might contribute. Except I was never sure of what to say or what it would be about. I thought 'does the world need another blog?' Initially my answer was no, but 3 other questions popped into my head- 'does the world need another tree planted?' 'is it that important to recycle?' and finally 'did I really need to eat that last cookie?'

The answers to those questions respectively are yes, yes, and probably not but it was good while it lasted.

So last night as I lay in bed waiting for my eyelids to get heavy enough to stay closed, I came to my decision that yes indeed I would start a blog. Did this immediately put me at ease into a deep, untroubled sleep?

No it freaking didn't.

I immediately started coming up with the words you are reading now, a title for the blog, what the layout would look like, etc. I got so excited about it I almost jumped out of bed and fired up my computer.

See, I enjoy writing a lot. I am a huge advocate of getting thoughts out of your head and onto the page (or screen) as this will hopefully leave space for something more useful or productive. Also I remember things better if they are written down. I have a lot of ideas, ponders, and both shallow and deep thoughts bouncing around in my head. I find once they are written down, whatever they are, I just feel better.

I can't tell you what you can expect to find here because I'm not sure myself. But I can tell you that I was excited about a new project and that I was writing again and it felt fantastic.

I apologize for any errors, both in grammar and in judgement in the future. I was always better at spelling than I was grammar, and as for the judgement thing...I'll get back to you.