Life – Page 20 – Rant and Roll

She’s got legs, and she knows how to use them

Hey kids.

I am currently sitting in bed, eating pasta and drinking a glass of (not great, but not terrible) white wine.

SUCH IS THE LIFE.

It’s been a complete whirlwind of a weekend – family hangouts, work talks, friends a-plenty, and I even read two books!

Young adult books, mind you. But still – there really is nothing like a good story in which to disappear for a couple of hours on a Saturday morning.

Meanwhile, this (Sunday morning), I ran in the Vancouver Fall Classic 10k.

It was my third time running the race, and just like the two races past, I ran this one with a friend.

(Even if you’re not running the length of the course side by side, just knowing that you have someone there with you always, always makes the experience just that much more fun.)

I woke to my alarm at 6:30am. I had fallen asleep the night before around 11:00pm, and other than one slight interruption to get up and use the bathroom, my sleep was relatively restful, and much better than some of the absolutely brutal sleeps I have had in my racing past.

After cuddling with Marc for a couple of minutes, I tiptoed out of the bedroom and started about my pre-race morning routine.

I had already packed my bag and laid out all my clothing the night before (along with back-up choices, just in case the weather was different that previously predicted.)

It wasn’t – the thermometer read three degrees, and the pavement outside was slick with rain.

Espying these both, I wasn’t going to take any chances, and decided that my long running pants, long sleeved shirt, and t-shirt were my best option.

Then, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized, put in my contacts, and put my hair into a ponytail.

It’s so weird that these actions have such important meaning for me, but it totally throws me off if I don’t take care to do these things in a particular order.

The only fly in the ointment at this point, was that I had gone to bed the night before with a slight stomach ache, only to wake up with full-blown crampage.

Surprise! As much as I love getting my period (ZERO SARCASM HERE FOLKS), the sensation of my uterus falling out of my body is one that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

However, I’ve also never forgotten the time when my mum told me that the first Canadian woman who summited Mouth Everest did so whilst on her period, so I really feel like I really don’t much of a leg to stand on, complaint-wise.

(Seriously, I remember this SO WELL. I was twelve, and at a track meet, and was competing in high jump. I was feeling totally crappy, and she was all, “AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!”)

True story.

Any who, I then got dressed, went downstairs, made and drank coffee, ate two pieces of toast (one peanut butter, the other Nutella) and hung out with Nymeria, watching British panel shows on Youtube, until 7:50am.

Then I took out the trash, jumped in the car, and drove over to Greg and Daniela’s, where they too were preparing for the morning’s festivities (Greg to run, Daniela to cheer.)

I drove us up to UBC, and we marvelled at how awesome of a day it was turning out to be – not at all the minus four degrees and snowing as stated in the day’s original forecast.

Once we arrived on campus, we parked, grabbed our registration package (our numbers and some sweet new running tights), checked our bags, and then moseyed on over to the start line.

My stomach was still in agony, but I tried to keep it in check by moving about as much as possible.

Timeline-wise, we had calculated everything really well, and we only had about a fifteen minute wait-time, before Greg and I bade our last goodbyes to our wonderful friend (and he, to his wonderful wife) and lined up at the starting line.

These places are always just a terrific mix of nerves, posturing, egos, excitements, and camaraderie.

They truly are the best.

Before we knew it, the time was nigh – as the horn blared, we blasted out of the start gate and took off with the best of them.

The first two kilometers seemed to just whiz by – we were at Marine Drive before I even knew it, and descended to the old, lower road – a beautiful stretch of pavement, flanked on either side by towering, deciduous trees, and just hints of the ocean that stretches far and wide, just off to the right.

At this point there was only one other woman ahead of me that I knew of – a blindingly fast lady, known only to me as “pink shoes” for reasons, of course, I am confident you can deduce.

It was here that I was caught by two other lady speed demons, and, knowing I was unlikely to keep up, I tried to keep pace with a different fellow in a lime-green shirt, running about three meters ahead of me.

As we summited the hill leading back to Marine Drive, I felt pretty fatigued – my stomach was giving me quite a fright; I am always afraid when running with these sorts of cramps, that I am in fact mistaking them for some other horrible digestive ailment.

But I figured as long as I ran as fast I could, and just got to the finish line, I’d be okay.

Turning around at five kilometers, there was a dude in a giant gorilla costume, and I gave him a cracking high-five.

Running up at UBC is always wonderful, because not only is it beautiful, but the people (mostly students) who come out and line the course are always fun, funny, and incredibly supportive.

I passed Greg as he was running to the turn-around; the guy looked just great – relaxed, happy, and totally in control, and we too exchanged high-fives as we passed each other.

From there, I was just working to get to 8k, telling myself over, and over again how easy those last two kilometers were.

It also helped that as the race continued, the sun came out, and it turned into an almost blindingly beautiful morning.

At the 7km mark, one more lady passed me, and I really started to dig in and try to keep my pace, if not speed up. I didn’t think my dream of a sub-40 was going to come true, but either way there was no reason not to run my absolute hardest for the rest of the race.

Turning into kilometer eight, the wind hit me full blast. I didn’t know if it was a nice respite from the growing warmth of the day, or a pain in the butt just slowing me down.

I decided it wasn’t that important, either way.

Nine kilometers was in sight, and as soon as we turned around to the last straightaway I could feel my legs getting looser, my strides longer, and breathing easier.

I passed two men with whom I had been playing tag with all race, and just ran as hard as I could to the finish.

Daniela was there to cheer me on, and a lovely volunteer handed me a medal.

I immediately joined my friend, and we waiting only a couple minutes longer for Greg to come charging down to the finishing gate.

It was pretty epic to behold.

In the end, he finished in 45:30 (amazing for his first time running a 10k race!), 11^th in his age category, and 51^st overall.

With a time of 42:15, I finished 4^th in my age group (5^th woman overall), and placed 30^th in total.

Not shabby!

They we showered-up, gorged ourselves on comfort food (see below) and spent the next few hours playing board games, and laughing ourselves silly.

Because what else, besides running, friends, food, and fun, is life all about?

If there is anything better, I want to know.

The pen is mightier than the sword

Hey kids!

Now, before we get down to business, you’ll all be happy to learn that I’ve redone my nails, and that they now look only look fifteen per cent terrible. (As opposed to their usual ninety-five percent.)

I really must learn how to take my time and not do dishes when the polish is still drying…

But either way, progress!

It has been a terrific last few days here in Halifax, filled with great food, lots of family, some great runs, and tons of face time with my mum’s kitty cats.

Simon has really been practicing his best sun-god impression

What a cutie!

Yesterday afternoon my cousin Bridget came over and coloured, cut, and styled my hair.

Talk about superior service!

It was a brilliant way to spend a couple of hours and I absolutely love the end look.

The chestnut look is in folks.

SO IN.

If any of you live in the HRM, hit me up and I can give you her deets.

NO CREEPERS PLEASE.

Anyways, what got me thinking when she was blow-drying my hair, was how growing up, my mum would always tell my sisters and I to never go outside, nor go to sleep with wet hair lest we wish to catch a head cold and likely succumb to a tragic, early death.

(My mother in-law actually told me the exact same thing last weekend, horrified as she was to feel that the ends of my ponytail were still damp from my earlier shower.)

I’m pretty sure this was a thing that many mums have told their kids (as I’m sure their mums told them, and theirs, and theirs) and I started to think about all the other old wives tales I grew up with, and how they’ve shaped me to be the bonkers young woman that I am today.

For instance, every time I eat raw batter I am sure that I am going to contract worms.

I am also terrified that if I don’t eat a particular foodstuff that contains mayonnaise within one hour of preparation I will likely expire from botulism.

(This is probably also why I don’t ever eat potato salad. That stuff will KILL you!)

But probably the nuttiest thing of all, is my irrational fear of ever getting pen on my skin.

(Don’t even THINK of writing your phone number on my wrist buddy-boy! That offense will land you in the nearest lake.)

Let me explain.

In 1995, the province of Quebec held a referendum asking its residents whether or not they wanted to legally separate from Canada and form their own nation.

It was a crazy-close race, with the federalist supporters narrowly squeaking out a win (51.1% to 49.9%).

As a young gal desperate to see Quebec stay, I was more than relieved and exuberantly happy with these results.

Now, one of the leaders of the Parti Quebecois and chief separatist at the time was a man named Lucien Bouchard. I despised this man on principle, and was horrified to learn that he had lost a leg the year prior due to necrotizing fasciitis (or flesh-eating disease if you will.)

I remember asking my mum how someone could contract such a scary disease, and (in a likely effort to stop my sisters and I from drawing on ourselves) she told me that he was infected from getting pen on his skin.

CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT.

What a ballsy move.

Anywho, this put the absolute fear of god into me, terrified as I was to get anything close to resembling ink on my skin.

I liked my limbs, and I sure as heck was going to keep them.

Whenever anyone asks me to relay a time I felt true terror, one of the stories I share is the time in grade five when Marc Rutenschauser grabbed my right arm and drew a smiley face on my wrist.

The feeling of my blood running frigid is a sensation which I will likely never, ever forget.

I really did feel like that was game over for me, right then and there.

It’s probably also why I have a weird dislike of smiley faces, and have a really hard time whenever :) is changed to J when I write e-mails.

…

SERIOUSLY WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME?

Isn’t it crazy the things that shape us as human beings?

I tell ya.

So, what are some of the things that your parents told you as children that have stuck with you until this day?

Let me know, and I’ll read them when I get back from my walk.

And don’t worry – I took the pains to dry my hair. After all, I wouldn’t want to get sick, would I?

I’ll fly away, oh glory, I’ll fly away in the morning

Well folks, another day, another early morning hangout at Toronto Pearson Airport.

IMG_20131106_060226 — Early morning hot chocolate. Also, my nails really are the worst.

I am seriously starting to think that I know this place better than I do some of my friends.

I am seriously staring to think that I like this place better than I do some of my friends.

JUST KIDDING!

Although said friends don’t have a sweet twenty-four hours David’s Tea, nor do they have sexy fluorescent lighting that give myself, and all of my fellow travellers that all-too sought after “it may be consumption” pallor.

We should all be so lucky!

But back to what I was saying – AIRPORTS.

While I’m not the biggest fan of air flight (particularly takeoffs and landings – talk about hair-raising central!) I do have a perverse like for these giant atriums of travel.

They are the perfect mish-mash of random: Tim Horton’s restaurants (restaurants, hah!), nail salons, the obligatory Hudson Bay Store (we’re talking domestic Canadian airports here, otherwise, please substitute in Duty-Free and some fancy, chain, over-priced wine bar), sit-up massage chairs, totally random shoe shine stations, and store, after store chock-a-block of Tom Clancy and Mary Higgins Clark, magazines, expensive candy, and those head-rest pillows everyone (and yet no one?) seems to buy.

I am currently heading down to Halifax for a family visit, culminating in my cousin Andrew’s wedding taking place this Saturday.

I am the queen of carry-on, and managed to cram three dresses, two pairs of pants, two skirts, six shirts, three sweaters, two pairs of shoes, two winter running outfits, my pajamas, my computer, and all other manner of lady detritus in this here bag:

One day I’m going to get an award for this stuff!

Anyways, in completely different news, Canadian politics is totally nutters at the moment.

I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Toronto mayor Rob Ford finally admitted to smoking crack cocaine, and yet somehow still refuses to resign from his position.

The man plans on running again next year for re-election!

WHAT THE WHAT.

His exact words:

“Exactly. Yes, I have smoked crack cocaine. I’ve made mistakes… all I can do is apologize and move on.”

“But, no, do I? Am I an addict? No.”

“Have I tried it? Probably in one of my drunken stupors, probably approximately about a year ago.

How is this man even a real human being!?

I feel like we are living in bizarre world.

If I was a journalist in Toronto right now I’d go around telling everyone that I was “one heck of a crack reporter!”

(Too much, I apologize. But it had to be said.)

Meanwhile, our national political stage is riddled with just as much madness.

Our Prime Minister doesn’t seem to have any knowledge of what has been going on with his Conservative senators, and is likely fuming over the fact that no one gives two cares about his free trade agreement with the European Union, when all anyone wants to do is talk about Mike Duffy’s cheque requisition program.

I am just waiting for Nigel Wright to show up at Question Time and pull a full-fledged Banquo.

IS THIS A DAGGER I SEE BEFORE ME?

I am mixing my Shakespeare all over the place, but I CANNOT HELP IT.

These situations mix me up!

And here in BC (or I suppose I should say “back in BC”, what with this being written in Toronto, or “The Big Smoke” if you will….there is another crack joke there, I’m sure) our premier Christy Clark has reneged on her promise not to go forward with plans to construct an oil pipeline from Alberta, and has instead met with Alison Redford (Alberta’s premier) and put together a set of points on how to go forward.

This decision just kills me.

We are going to be swimming in environmental damage, just you wait.

What drives me crazy here is that Clark keeps talking about how when she was re-elected, the electorate backed her plans to expand BC’s natural resource sector, when 1.) No one wanted this expansion to include a pipeline, and 2.) This woman wasn’t even re-elected in our last election! She lost her riding! She had to re-run in a jurisdiction where she was guaranteed to win, after the MLA-elect gave up his seat!

(Meanwhile, it’s just been revealed that he has been giving a plush position as an economic ambassador to BC’s Asian trading markets. But of course he has!)

But seriously folks, how are we supposed to have any faith in the democratic process, when so many of those involved display the utmost contempt for the entire system?

It drives me batty.

Marc has a theory that politicians should be paid very little money, in an effort to keep out those who are not invested in making the country/province/city a better place, and attract those who don’t care about bilking their travel expense claims for all that their worth.

I’m not sure what the answer is, but I do know that whatever we have going on right now, it really isn’t working.

Much like Mike Duffy, Patrick Brazeau, and Pamela Wallin.

ZING!

(See what I did there?)

And now I’m off to find some overpriced food to eat with my four dollar water bottle.

I hope you all have an amazing morning.

Wherever in the world you happen to be.

Game over man! GAME OVER!

Hey kids!

I have a confession to make.

But first –

WHAT THE CRAP IS THIS:

Argh!

Foot-less tights!? WHY?

I mean, it’s totally my fault that I purchased them without realizing that they are, in fact, footless.

But at the same time, I just assumed that anytime I bought something marketing themselves as “tights” that they would, you know, cover my feet.

HENCE THEM BEING TIGHTS.

And why in the ever-loving heck would I buy fleece-lined tights, if not for the sweet, sweet heat they would bring to my frozen tootsies throughout the long, and frigid Canadian winters?

Certainly not for the slimming factor!

These things bring a bulk to my calves previously known only to competitive stair runners and long-distance cyclists.

But I digress.

I will suffer through this fashion injustice.

If only for potential blog hits.

NEXT!

Back to the original purpose of this entry – my confession.

This past Saturday, Marc and I woke up late and decided to go see Ender’s Game. It is one of his favourite books of all time, and for many moons I have been extolling the virtues of Mr. Scott Card’s literary genius to all those who asked if I too had read the book.

Only, I had, you know, never actually cracked it open.

I AM A GIANT FRAUD!

I’m not exactly sure why I pretended that I had in fact read the book. I think a lot of it has to do with protecting my nerd cred – I have read and loved so much science fiction, that I figured by admitting that I had omitted such an important novel, people might take me less seriously.

(Even though the more I think about it, people would probably be more likely to forgive this literary transgression, than you know, LYING TO THEIR FACES LIKE A BALD-FACED SCOUNDRAL.)

Even Marc had assumed that I had read it – and was shocked to hear on our exit from the theatre that I had no knowledge of the written words in which to compare the film.

(SPOILER: I thought that movie was pretty grim, and Marc just downright hated it.)

In preparation of watching the film, I read a really fabulous article on Grantland this past Friday by Rany Jazayerli.

It looks at the controversy that’s surrounded Card and his career for the past decade – his rabid homophobia, and xenophobia to be precise – and how these views stand in such sharp contrast to the messages of love and tolerance that permeate so much of his writing (and in particular Endger’s Game and its sequels.)

It made me think of how it is we are able to separate an artist from their art – and who we are willing to make exceptions for, and why?

For instance, I have never understood Hollywood’s enduring love affair with Roman Polanski. To me, the man is nothing more than a rapist who refused to face the consequences of his actions, and I couldn’t give two cares about his movies or his talent for storytelling.

I also don’t care if John Galliano ever designs another dress, and I certainly don’t care if [insert name of professional athlete convicted of doping/sexual assault/animal abuse] ever plays another game for the rest of their lives.

And yet, despite this hard-held views, I will always, always give the latest Woody Allen film a try.

I definitely don’t feel good about this choice, but it’s something that I do, and that I accept.

My love for Annie Hall is just so strong that it propels me to seek out what this man – this quirky, strange, totally perverse man – might next deliver to the big screen.

It’s an off-putting balancing act: while I definitely do not support his life-choices (in fact, I find them downright disturbing), I do really like many of his films.

And I like that I am at least conscious enough to identify this push-pull binary that lives inside of me, despite the fact that it’s an on-going struggle to figure out where this leaves me standing – especially if we’re talking moral, and not literal ground.

But alas, such is life. I’ll just have to keep working on it.

And in the meantime, I’m going to crack open Ender’s Game and finally see what all the fuss is about.

Because if I know one thing that’s going to help both my morality and nerd cred, it will be to finally stop lying about having read the book, and to just read it.

Finally.

Wait, what is she talking about?

Watching my cat bathe herself after her evening meal is ridiculously hypnotic in the extreme.

It makes me wish that I had something similar in my life, in which I might partake after finishing a truly delectable dinner.

(As long as it didn’t actually entail cleaning the entirety of my body using only my mouth and tongue.)

Because I don’t think I would enjoy that very much.

Not very much at all.

Folks.

Tonight I am feeling pretty knackered.

I arrived home from work a little late, because not only did I need to pick up toothpaste and soap from the Shopper’s Drug Mart at the Skytrain station, but because I walked up the (incredibly steep) hill to my home much slower than usual.

This was due to the fact that, along with my purchases, I was also carrying a pumpkin and two massive pieces of corning ware (leftover from the food I had made for my staff meeting earlier this morning.)

I was, in all senses of the term, THE BAG LADY.

The slow, tired Bag Lady.

It’s at a time like this that I fantasize about how awesome it would be to have a tram line that ran directly from my front door, to the station’s entrance.

Within thirty seconds or so after entering the house, I fell onto the couch.

There I sat for the next forty odd minutes, completing a couple of crosswords and eating Nutella with a spoon.

I haven’t done that in a long, long time.

After my “dinner” (HAH!) I threw on some shorts and a t-shirt, and ran my usual 4.5km route.

As the days are getting darker so much earlier, I’ve started playing silly games in my head like “As Long As There Is Still Some Orange In the Sky By The Time You Arrive Back Home, The Zombies Won’t Have Eaten You!”

So far, so good. I’ve managed to stay alive.

For serious though, these funny mind games are great motivators to keep moving as quickly as possible, because once the sun sets, I really do start to get the heebie jeebies when I’m out there alone.

Say what you want about thinking positive – I’m not entirely convinced that I won’t be attacked, dismembered, and sent to the Conservative party headquarters, if I start to take up night-time running on the regular.

GRIM TIMES FOLKS.

Grim times.

Anywho, after I got back from my run, I tried to do some upper body strength exercises, but mostly I just chatted on the phone with my mum, cooked a pizza, and got ready for a stand-up comedy show.

Marc was awesome enough to come with me, and we drove in Vancouver together.

The show went awesomely – the crowd was on the small side, but everyone was really into the show. I got a number of really big laughs, especially off of some of my new material, which is always a great bonus.

It’s good to know when stuff is working!

Now I am sitting here, having just eaten a cupcake that I bought for fifty per cent off (thank you Safeway closing deals!) drinking some tea, and enjoying my new bathrobe.

This, like eating Nutella straight from the jar, is something that I have been missing in my life for far too long.

Debonair in my robe! (Or something like that.)

Because bathrobes – they matter.

Now folks, I realized this post really has no connecting moral, no story, or punch line.

(And for this, I apologize!)

But I can confidently bet, that there are many of you out there, who too feel a little ruddy and strained from a long day of work and play, and I just want you to know that I so completely understand.

I am here for you.

So just let me know what you need.

And I’ll do my best to make sure you get it.

Let me first just walk down this hill.