In it for the long run.

Oh hey y’all!

Long time, no write.

And I must express my sincere contrition.

Now, I know I sound like a broken record every time I return after a long wordless sojourn, full of the same old platitudes – “Life is so crazy!” “Time seems to be slipping away all the quicker every day!” “Why can’t I ever keep track of where I leave my hairdryer!?” – but, in my defence, these inanities are sincere.


And it’s not as though I don’t want to be engaged with the blogosphere. I am always very aware that I want to be writing, and get frustrated when I am not.

I miss feeling my fingers fly across my laptop’s keyboard, tap-tap-tapping out a tale or two about the banality of hair removal, or the injustice of fast fashion (and my inability to restrain myself from consuming, and therefore sustaining this industry) or the life-altering qualities of a really good lipstick..

I miss interacting with other writers, and kind commentators, and thinking about my next scheme, or post, or story.

Last night Marc and I cooked up a pasta feast and enjoyed a candlelit dinner, taking turns reading to each other from Catullus’ complete works of poetry.


In between my laughter, I continually croaked, “THIS – THIS IS NOT A POEM!”

Bawdy stuff there folks.


Afterwards, we watched a pretty mediocre movie on the 4 Deserts Ultra-Running Race Series (racers run through the Atacama, Gobi, Sahara, and Antarctic Deserts) which we thought would be awesome, but left us feeling pretty lukewarm at best.

(Unlike the weather conditions in any of those places.)

However, despite the film’s shortfalls, I was completely jazzed just watching each of the runners take on such insane distances (250 kilometers) in downright torturous conditions (unrelenting heat, windstorms, sharp drops in temperatures, freezing rain.)

And I wanted to something similar.

I wanted to push my body to do something it had never done before.

Even if I couldn’t wake up this morning and race across the Gobi Desert, I wanted to do something, anything so to feel a connection with these amazing, fearless racers.

So when I did wake up, I decided to run from my house in New Westminster, to the Broadway/Commercial Skytrain station in Vancouver.

Now, technically speaking, this run would take me across two cities and past eight skytrain stations -which seems like a really long way to run!

But in reality, it only clocks in at sixteen kilometers.

Which seems incredibly short!

(Yet such is truth, spoken by the infallible gospel of Google Map My Run.)

However, in the end, it was a pretty bonkers route, with almost 350 meters of elevation gain, a battery of rogue crosswalks and the odd sketch individual or two, where the only thing rushing through my mind was “don’t want to know what’s being decided upon in THAT interaction!” as I motored on past.

Also, before I left, Marc told me that it very cold outside (due to the amount of fog that was blanketing our house and its environs) so I made the tragic mistake of wearing a tight, long-sleeve fleece, over my wicked (also long-sleeved) running shirt.

Marc’s note: “It WAS cold! I went out running an hour and half before you!”


Thank goodness I forwent the toque.

By kilometer four I thought my head was going to blow right off of my body, leaving the remains of my cranium looking like modern day Vesuvius.

I feverishly tore the fleece from my body and immediately felt the cool relief of the morning’s breeze make its way across my steaming torso.

Then I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to run the remaining twelve kilometers with my shirt tied about my waist.

Now, I’m not sure exactly what it is that bothers me so much about clothing tied about my midsection, but since childhood it has driven me to distraction, and I especially hate it when exercising.

I guess I have always (erroneously) equated (or conflated it) with non-serious runners, and prided myself on knowing how much clothing to wear at any given time, on any given run.

However, this silly theory of mine was completely obliterated on my run today, as I went on to spend the majority of my time, waist cinched, simply flying through Burnaby and into East Vancouver.

So, I’ll be the first to say it – I’m still learning.

And I hope to heck that I never stop.

Just like those ultrarunners.

So hang tight. I’ve got but two hundred and thirty-four kilometers to go.

Published by

Vanessa Woznow

Writer, runner, ranter, reader. I write about all things.

8 thoughts on “In it for the long run.”

  1. Congrats on the first “leg” of your journey!

    On a related note, I, too, am driven to distraction by clothing tied around my mid-section. Worse, though, is seeing a man with a sweater knotted jauntily about his neck and shoulders. “You are NOT French. This is NOT France” (I know this because, surprisingly I know where I am and because you are NOT wearing the requisite BERET!) STOP doing this! Stop it NOW!”, I want to shout each and every time I see such nonsense!


    1. OMG YES!! You aren’t french and you aren’t in a 1980s teen-jock comedy starring AS a jock!! It squicks me out too.

      As always, I’m left wishing I could talk more about this with you in person! <3 <#

  2. So good to hear from you again; I do pray all is well! It’s true how time slips, though unintentionally, through the cracks.
    I have also watched that documentary about the four deserts and I myself yearned to accomplish such an endeavor. Though it’s hard with life’s responsibility, isn’t it?
    Hopefully you have found your footing, as it were, in pushing yourself to do incredible and stretching endeavors!

    1. Dear friend! It is SO good to hear from you too! Thank you so much for your ever kind words. :)

      Wouldn’t it be amazing to take on such an adventure? Talk about the ultimate blogger meet up in real life! My favourite part of the movie was when the two women were just running kilometer after kilometer holding hands. Such heartening stuff!

      Always working on keeping by balance, but you always need to strive for something to keep like interesting, right?

      Thank you for sticking by me, and checking in. It truly means the world. <3

  3. I notice all things in a picture, not just the subject. Sometimes I study it in detail. So I tend to notice things in a picture that may not have anything to do with the focus of it. Picture of candlelit dinner: pull-up/exercise bar in the doorway and Marc’s great shark shirt. Picture of you: even lovlier with no glasses.

    1. Lol! Oh my goodness, that pull-up bar is basically a work of art/actual piece of exercise. It’ll be there until the end of time, I’m sure of it.

      Isn’t Marc’s shirt awesome? Love that shark. And thank you so much! I blush. :)

  4. One more note: people in THAT “interaction”, obviously involving money for something I’ve no doubt, would, upon seeing me running as you were, would pay me to put all my clothes back on and to immediately stop running. My jiggly bits would send them running those additional 12 (or 350) km FAR, FAR away.

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