Rant and Roll

I love to hear you speak

What are we talking about again?

Oh yes, of course. I remember now.

My heart is broken and full.

I am split.

I am whole.

Yourself, electric.

We turn up a song, and dance around the kitchen on the tips of our toes.

You grab my waist with one hand, and twirl my twisting torso, round and around.

Each time you make a face, I laugh.

Each time you laugh, I laugh harder.

My hair reflecting the soft light of the dying sun; the new night air drifting slowly through our windowpanes.

We breathe deep.

You hold me.

As we dance.

On the tips of our toes.

…

What are we talking about again?

Oh yes, of course. I remember now.

Putin in single.

He’s been flirting with China’s first lady.

His libidinous and hyper-heterosexual machismo manifesting itself in tan shawls and gallant gestures.

At least he wasn’t bare chested and riding a horse.

I always wonder about the nomenclature we affix to the husbands of women who lead countries.

First man?

Mr. Mom?

Ugh.

Probably not.

I don’t think Joachim Sauer ever worries about these things.

Luckily, being a quantum chemist and full professor at the Humboldt University of Berlin, he can likely depend on a solid “Doctor Sauer” anytime he needs be introduced.

Even better – he’ll probably never have to fend off unwanted advances from the likes of Park Geun-hye or Simonetta Sommaruga.

Meanwhile, poor Angela Merkel has had to put up with George W. Bush and his ridiculous compulsion for ill-timed and completely inappropriate shoulder rubs, amongst I am sure, many other forms of completely sexist garbage.

Speaking of which, I keep laughing because the media has been telling me that we’re currently experiencing a watershed moment here in Canada in terms of the physical and sexual abuse of women.

As if this is a thing that we didn’t know existed.

Or that is supported.

Or that is propagated.

Or that is reinforced on and by all levels of society, from individuals, to the organizations that create our rules and enforce our laws.

I know I shouldn’t have been, but I was genuinely shocked to learn that there are people who didn’t know that sexual impropriety and abuse are rife amongst the affairs of our parliament.

I just (wrongly) assumed, that much like steroids in professional sports, these practices are an integral and important element to the running of our national political organization, and all the safeguards and policing practices geared towards finding and stopping this abuse are outdated, inadequate and completely impotent.

They are run and overseen by the abusers.

What good could they possibly do?

…

What are we talking about again?

Oh yes, of course. I remember now.

Beautiful, beautiful Nova Scotia.

Say yes, and then make it all up

Last Friday, Marc and I co-lead our first high school improv club meeting.

One of his students had approached him at the beginning of October to tell him that he was interested in starting the club, but in order to do so he would need a teacher sponsor.

Marc is amazingly involved at his school – he coaches soccer and rugby, and also leads the games and homework club – and he was more than happy to get involved, especially with how enthusiastic this young man was to get a group together to work on their improvisational skills.

Knowing that I did a ton of improv in high school and university and that I absolutely love to work with young people on all things theatre, he asked me if I was interested in helping him out.

It was all I could do not to jump up and down with my excitement.

(Okay, there may have been quite a bit of jumping up and down.)

These kind of opportunities are just so important for teenagers in terms of self-confidence and teamwork. My best friends in high school were my improv teammates, and we were all theatre kids who loved to perform and make ourselves out to be as silly as possible.

It would be my wish that every young person who is interested in trying out the performing arts to have this chance.

So if I can help make it happen, I will help make it happen.

I arrived at the school a little after the final bell had run for the day.

Man, you definitely forget how crazy high school is once you’ve been outside of those hallowed corridors for over eleven years!

The buzz of excitement, of nerves, of vulnerability, and silliness, of drama, and anticipation – the place just seems like an ever-seasoning soup, cooking in the craziest of cauldrons!

I went to the office to check-in and grab my visitor’s pass, before sitting down to wait for Marc to come and get me.

While I sat there, I marvelled at the seemingly unending stream of students that filtered in and out, either chattering to each other, or texting on their cellphones. Most of them were decked out in their Halloween finery, and many were munching on the mini chocolate bars being passed out by the student council in the main atrium.

Marc then came and got me and we walked to the auditorium.

There, seated on or around the stage, was a group of about twelve students, ranging from grade eight to grade twelve. Some of them were chatting away, while others looked a little nervous or shy about their decision to show up.

I asked them all to join me in a circle and we spent the first ten minutes learning each other’s name, by ascribing an adjective to ourselves that had to begin with the first letter of our first name, and then acting out the adjective. The next person would act out the previous person’s name, before doing the same for themselves.

The majority of the session was then spent getting the kids to become comfortable with saying “YES!” and supporting their fellow improvisers.

Improv is all about going with suggestions – whether they be from the actors with whom you are performing, or the ideas you get from the audience. A scene will go nowhere if someone says, “Ah, isn’t this an amazing day at the beach!” and their co-improviser counters with, “We’re not at the beach.”

Talk about killing the energy on the stage!

I am so proud to say that the group really bonded together and took this rule to heart. They were all super supportive of one another, and worked hard to make the scenes work, as well as make each other laugh.

And they even kept the inappropriate humour to a minimum!

(Although I am happy to report that the word “threesome” still absolutely destroys a group of teenagers. May this please, never, ever change!)

Honestly, it was just the best way to spend a Friday afternoon.

I cannot wait to go back and work with them again; I so badly want to ensure that these students have the opportunity to keep each other in stiches.

Because together, they’re sewing something great.

Knowing your boundaries – in running and life

Today I ran the Boundary Bay Half-Marathon.

Today I won the Boundary Bay Half-Marathon.

So that was a bit of a surprise!

I had originally signed-up for the marathon, but I quickly realized that giving myself two and a half months to train for 42.2 kilometers just wasn’t nearly enough time. I knew that if I was to attempt the full race, I would probably end up in a wheelchair for (at the very least) the first week post-event, what with my inability to not give it my all once the gun goes off.

So I emailed the race organizers and asked them if it was okay if I could switch.

And lucky for me, it was!

There’s something to be said for knowing your limits.

I had my last training run on Friday morning – just a simple, quick five kilometer pre-work zip about New Westminster’s boardwalk.

I have been having some difficulty with my right knee and left hip – gifts left over from a completely overzealous Thanksgiving weekend, where I ran forty kilometers over three days because everything in my brain was screaming at me that I was unstoppable – and this was giving me some trepidation.

Not to mention, that following this insane running weekend, I went to a concert where I danced my heart out in giant four inch heels.

While unbeknownst to me at the time, this one hundred per cent ensured that my legs were very, very overdone.

Luckily, I have a pretty good physiotherapist who, on Friday, stretched me out, and taped up my knee, so – whether psychosomatic or not – I didn’t have any problems on that front this morning.

On the hip front however – phew. That was a different story.

Everything was feeling so good, until approximately kilometer fifteen, and then I really started to feel the tightness.

But I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s rewind to the beginning, and I will fill you in on all things hip-wise once we get to that point of the story.

Last night I had the best pre-race sleep of my life. I had a pretty full day, driving out to Tsawassen to pick up my race package, buying birthday gifts, and being bowled over with surprise presents from my ridiculous, handsome, brilliant and too-generous husband, so I was knackered by the time nine thirty rolled around.

After setting the coffee, and laying out my race gear, I crawled into bed and was asleep by ten.

I woke to my alarm at six, and did all my superstitious morning-of puttering.

Washing my face.

Putting in my earrings.

Drinking my coffee.

Eating my banana.

It was all comforting and good.

I even had a chance to burn a CD for Marc and I to listen to as we drove out to Boundary Bay.

My weather app had told me that the morning would be overcast and rainy, but the droplets were not to be found as we pulled into the provincial park’s parking lot.

The wind on the other hand – there was A LOT of that to be found.

I would soon learn, that the howling winds of the start line concourse were but a fraction of what we would encounter on the course.

While waiting in line at the port-o-potties, Marc ran into a work colleague, and we chatted a bit about racing and the day.

Then it was time to snap a few silly photos (including one with the Hamburglar and Grimace!) and take part in the group warm up. This is when all of the runners gather about and participate in aerobic exercises lead by exquisitely enthusiastic and warm volunteers.

Before I knew it, I was taking one last photo with Marc’s dad and then lining up with all the other racers.

When the gun went off, I kept repeating to myself, “take it easy.”

I have a tendency to go out too fast, and I really didn’t want to burn myself out in the first ten kilometers.

Boundary Bay is a hauntingly beautiful stretch of beach and marshland. It is also an internationally recognized “Important Bird Area” as it is a critical rest stop for thousands of birds – including the Red Throated Loon and the Sooty Shearwater – using the Pacific Flyway migration route.

I saw three or four hard-core birders out today along the route, not to mention many, many groups of migrating birds and water fowl.

For the first ten kilometers I ran in the shadow of two older men, and one woman – all three of whom were running the full-marathon.

My legs were feeling so strong, that at kilometer nine I slowly started to make my move to overtake them.

When I got to the turn-around (all courses today were out and back) I was buoyed by all of the volunteers cheering me on, and shouting things like, “Yeah! First woman!”

I could immediately feel my strides lengthening and quickening.

Although I (mistakenly) thought this momentum would carry-on until the end of the race, it did last for at least the next six kilometers, seeing as though I ran past so many other runners who took a moment to cheer me on.

I even ran by my brilliant friend Katie who shouted, “VANESSA!?” which just left me with the biggest smile on my face.

The only thing tempering my joy was the brutal head winds we had to face all the way back to the finish line.

Being smack dab on the edge of the ocean leaves one incredibly vulnerable to the elements, and there were times that I felt as though I was running against a brick wall – especially as we climbed into the higher kilometers.

By eighteen clicks, I was feeling pretty tired and both of my hips were tight and sore.

All I kept telling myself was, “you love to do this. You love to do this.”

Because I do! I really, really love running. And as I repeated this mantra, my muscles would slightly unclench, and my legs would loosen.

As I rounded the last corner, with approximately five hundred meters left, I encountered my amazing parent’s in-law (my consummate cheerleaders!)

Eric eagerly let me know that I was the first woman, and Cheryl was just cheering her heart out.

As much as I wanted to show them how much their presence meant to me, I had no energy left to do anything but propel myself to the finish line.

I’m not going to lie, I was a little disappointed that I didn’t break 1:30 but for a tremendously windy and cold course, I’ll take it. I mean, the first man finished in 1:18, which really speaks to the ferocity of the elements.

Plus I came first.

First!

How crazy is that?

For my efforts, I received a gold medal, a hug from Grimace, and a free pair of Sketchers.

Which is totally worth some tight hips.

I mean, I’ll just dance the soreness away.

Times, they are, a-changin’

Never underestimate how a bottle of hair dye can transform your outlook on life!

A tale to haunt your days and nights

Tomorrow is Halloween, and I am going to be dressed as Tinkerbell.

Seeing as though last year I was the girl from The Ring (demon-spawn Samara herself), I figured this year it would be nice to bring a touch of levity to the holiday.

My decision was also supported by the fact that I must fulfill both an obligation to dress up at the office, as well as attend a number of business meetings throughout the day (in an appropriate, non-Tinkerbell specific outfit.)

My costume lends itself to these disparate requirements tremendously well. You see, I get to wear one of my favourite work dresses (please see below), and with just the simple addition of some wings and a wand I will be fairy dust ready!

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

This year Marc and I aren’t doing anything specific to celebrate this spooky day.

October has been such a gongshow of a month (I recently calculated that there hasn’t been one post-work evening in which I haven’t had either a work or social function to attend), and I am running the Boundary Bay half-marathon on Sunday, so we both just want to stay inside and hand out candy to all the little masked munchkins running about the neighbourhood.

Yesterday night we carved our pumpkins, and sticking to true Marc and Vanessa fashion, here are the results:

I don’t think I will ever be able to carve a non-happy pumpkin, and each year Marc’s just keep getting scarier and scarier.

Speaking of all things frightening, and to remain firmly entrenched in the spirit of Halloween, I would like to share with you a story that Marc made up this summer.

We were camping with a bunch of friends and we decided to all share spooky stories.

He came up with this doozy:

Once upon a time, there lived a poor farming family that lived in a small isolated hamlet. Their land fell within the boundaries of a large, and very rich duchy, but they rarely met with anyone in their day to day lives.

The wife bore a set of twins – a boy and a girl. The boy was born blue eyed and fair haired, while the girl had olive skin and hair as black as a raven’s wings.

They came together into the world, one right after the next. He first, and she right behind him, clutching his ankle tightly in her newborn fist.

They named him Day, and her Night.

Each day following, the two were inseparable. Time spent roaming the vast expanse of the farm, and the nearby forest was filled with laughter and mirth.

But when the sun settled, and a deep darkness spread over the land, Night would bid goodbye to her brother, and climb out of their bedroom window, into the black.

Every time she’d leave, she’d remind him to keep the window open and unlocked, so that she could return.

Every night, Day would watch her slink out beyond the frame, ensure the latch remained undone, and then crawl back into his bed.

He would wake to the sound of a soft tap at the window, and he would get up and open the window and help her back into the room.

One day, the two were out in the orchard picking apples, when they heard the heavy clomps from the hooves of a fast approaching horse.

Night ran out from the shade of the tree to see who it was, while Day scrambled to keep up.

It was the Duke, riding one of his hunting steeds, with a party of other noblemen.

Startled by the small child, his horse reared, and struck Night in the head.

“Dirty peasants!” shouted the Duke, as he continued on his way.

Day ran to his sister, who lay so still and pale on the ground. Besides a small trickle of blood that ran from her temple to her eye, it looked just as though she was asleep.

He and her parents buried her the following afternoon.

That night, as Day struggled to fall asleep, he heard a soft taping at the window.

Convinced he was hearing things, he ignored the sound and eventually fell asleep.

The next night he once again heard the noise, only this time it was louder. Still convinced he was making it up, he put his pillow over his head and tried again to fall asleep. Eventually, he fell into a restless slumber.

On the third night the sound was no longer a tap, but an urgent knock.

Day could no longer pretend it was inside of his head.

He slowly got out of bed and walked towards the window. The pane rattled slightly with each thump.

He quickly reached out and undid the latch. The window swung open, and the cool night air rushed into the bedroom.

Cool night air, and nothing else.

Day paused a moment, before making his way back to his bed.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

As he did, he felt a small hand wrap its fingers around his ankle.

And in the morning, when his parents came to wake him, he was gone.

…

THE END!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the tale.

Happy Halloween you boils and ghouls.

Lock up those windows tight.