Life – Page 26 – Rant and Roll

Gather round, and I shall tell you a tale

Dudes!

I’m back.

First, I would like to apologize for being completely MIA for the past little while. But let’s be honest here – blogging and any semblance of a writing schedule must be completely thrown by the wayside when visiting the coolest city on earth, to celebrate the marriage of two people you love like mad, right?

I mean, let’s not beat around the bush here.

NEW YORK IS THE BEST.

And that’s coming from a pretty seasoned traveller here. I’m been to London, and Paris, and Athens, and St. Petersburg, and a whack of other amazing and tantalizing places, but none of them quite feel the same as the Big Apple.

There is just something to the city that I absolutely love.

I love the complete lack of insecurity and judgement. I love how everyone is just doing their own thing, and owning it – whatever “it” happens to be.

I love the activity, the buzz. The electricity that seems to run throughout your veins, and itches your fingertips.

I love the crazy humidity, and freak thunder showers.

I love seeing how far Marc and I can walk in the rain without stopping to buy an umbrella.

I love the museums, and the fashion, and the men and women scampering about in business suits, and the other men and woman scampering about in little (to nothing!) at all.

I love the food.

I love Central Park, and the city’s clever, (and never wasted) use of green space.

I love the theatre.

I love the firemen who yell at me when I run past, letting them know they are looking for fit, strong women to join the force.

I love Brooklyn and its beautiful brownstones, and bustling young families.

I love getting dressed every morning, picking out the perfect outfit in which to walk the miles, and miles, and miles of sidewalk.

I love meeting up with other fabulous, funny, and completely endearing blogger friends.

I love riding the subway.

I love the friendliness of New Yorkers.

I love that my sister has found the love of her life, and that they make their home in a place where we can all gather, and congregate, and have the times of our lives.

It’s just like the t-shirt says:

I HEART NY.

Day 1.

Lots of napping upon arrival (red eyes will knacker you but good!)

Then it was time for some exploration, the Brooklyn flea market, and an absolutely delicious sushi dinner.

The night capped off with wine and stories with good family friends, and the most mind-blowingly delicious biscotti I have ever eaten.

Day 2.

RUN IT BABY!

Next, time for a little NY City Pride!

Then, more adventuring about Soho. Marc bought some snaztastic shorts, and we refreshed ourselves with some tapas and Prosecco.

Then, more window shopping and WEDDING PLANNING.

Day 3.

Brooklyn Bridge walking extravaganza!

Only of course to be met by a literal wall of water upon our arrival on the other side. Good thing we had the wonderful Ms. Java of Ambling and Rambling to spend time with for the next two hours.

After which, it was off to Wall Street, the Museum of the Native American, then Times Square, Central Park, Fifth Avenue, Rockefeller Centre, NBC, CBS, and Radio City Music Hall!

Day 4.

Get lost out on a run (I should have taken that left turn at Albuquerque, er, Dekalb.)

Planning, planning, planning!

Then a trek to the East Village for walking, walking, walking, sushi eating and sake drinking, cannoli eating, and cannoli buying.

More wedding planning!

Then off to the bar to drink rose. (Too much rose.)

Day 5.

WEDDING!

We made sure the day went off without a hitch.

And it was perfect.

And this makes my little heart smile.

Day 6.

Solo trip downtown for Union Square, Empire State Building, and more Fifth Avenue.

Met Marc at MoMA, and then set off to Chelsea to watch the most amazing play I have ever seen.

I will be talking about Sleep No More for the end of my days.

Day 7.

Convene with the newlyweds, and then set out for Central Park with mum.

Walk all about, and then one final crack at Fifth Avenue.

Enjoy wonderful food, drinks, friends, and conversation at Habana Restaurant.

Hold back my tears saying goodbye to the most important people in my life.

Know that we will be together before too long.

Say goodbye to New York.

Know that we will be together before too long.

My little heart smiles

I came home from work tonight (at 10pm!) to find this waiting for me.

The card of course was addressed to:

O, my heart.

Are you running for women’s rights? The environment?

Howdy dudes!

Well, the Scotiabank Half-marathon went down yesterday, and overall?

NOT BAD.

I finished with a 1:33 and placed 7^th in my age group. Now while this is slower than I had initially hoped for, I think for the amount of time I actually put into my training, it is more than respectable.

Because, folks, that sub-1:30 time may have been a bit of a pipe dream.

Do you any of you other runner-peeps do stuff like that? Just assume that you should just be able to do something, without really thinking about what actually goes into achieving it?

I mean, thinking back to the Sunshine Coast half in April, I trained my butt off for that run, and it paid off – I ran a PB of 1:31.

And somehow, the outcome of that achievement was the (erroneous) expectation that come the next race I would just, well, run faster. Without putting in the proper work.

How silly can a gal be?

What it has made me come to realize is that while I can proclaim that “next time gadget, it WILL be mine!”

I just need to make sure I go for, you know, more than six or so runs to ensure it happens.

Anyways, I don’t mean to be making excuses for myself, it’s just something that I was really thinking about during and after my run, and speaking of which – IT’S RECAP TIME!

Sunday morning broke beautiful. I woke to the sunny, blue sky, freckled with the odd cloud. At 5:15am I was feeling well rested and excited.

I put the coffee maker on, and then washed my face, put my hair up, and slathered on a good layer of sunscreen.

I read a bit while I ate my breakfast – banana with peanut butter, piece of plain toast, cup of coffee, and two large glasses of water – before going upstairs at 6:00 to wake up Marc.

I cannot seem to say it enough, but seriously, he is SUCH a good husband. For all of my runs, he’s up with me, driving me to the start gate, and meeting me at the finish line. I know he’s super happy to come out and cheer me on, but he told me today that my speediness on the courses definitely helps. This cracked me up.

I LOVE HIM, TRULY.

He dropped me off at the start line at UBC around 7:00. My immediate thought was to find a bathroom, for one last pee break. My one note for the organizers is that there were not NEARLY enough port-a-potties. The line-ups for the facilities were monstrous, even with a little subterfuge on my part, I barely made it out before the firing of the start gun.

Anxiety – it’ll get you going!

Because of the long bathroom waits, I didn’t get to start as close to the start line as I would have liked, which meant that for the first 2 – 2.5 km I was bobbing and weaving in and out of people like Cassius Clay. At kilometer three, my attention briefly switched from finding my spot amongst all the runners to the AMAZING tuba band playing at the side of the course.

They were playing My Sharona.

ON THE TUBA.

I cannot really begin to describe just how epically amazing this was.

All in all, over the first 5k I was feeling pretty good – my strides were long, and my breathing quiet.

Up until I reached the six kilometer mark, and encountered five young men, each holding up signs with Forrest Gump quotes. Normally when I am running, I don’t respond much to supporters on the sidelines. I mean, they really pump me up, but I try not to channel my energy away from concentrating on the mechanics of my run.

However, if you know me, you know that I love this movie, and can pretty much quote the entire film at length.

I couldn’t help myself. As I ran past a guy with a sign that said, “RUN FORREST RUN!” I turned and yelled at him, “I GOTTA FIND BUBBAAAAA!”

He burst out laughing, and yelled right back, “JENNNNNNNNAAAAYYYY!”

I was past him by then, but I raised my hand and gave him the peace sign.

NOW. While this was all well and good (and hilarious, and I loved it) yelling out that quote really winded me, and it look me probably 1.5 km to get my stuff – breathing, stride, etc. – back in order.

“No more funny stuff Vanessa,” I told myself.

Running down the hill to Jericho beach I felt like I was flying. My mood was boosted even further when to my surprise, we ran past a bagpipe band at one of the parking lots, just up the road from Spanish Banks.

My “no funny stuff” plan was going absolutely great until about kilometer 10, when, down at the beach, I ran past two course photographers and without really thinking, I just catapulted myself into the air, and made the craziest, happiest face I could possibly muster.

The two of them laughed and thanked me for a great shot.

Great shot maybe, but that second burst of energy only served to zap me all over again.

Then I saw the split times at 10.5 km.

41 minutes.

41 minutes!? Holy Dinah, I was moving, and most definitely too quick at that.

I told myself not to think about it, and just concentrate on moving as it felt comfortable. As soon as the pace started to hurt, I made sure to adjust accordingly.

Around kilometer thirteen, I zoned in on a few women who were running ahead of me, and made a point of trying to keep them in my sights.

I cannot lie, it was over the next three km that things really began to hurt. I could feel blisters forming on both of my feet, and overall, I just felt tired.

I tried to keep my strides as short and quick as I could, especially with every uphill (no matter how minor) I encountered.

At kilometre fifteen a young woman spectator yelled out, “I love Big Sisters too!” in response to my shirt. This definitely served to lift my spirits and put a bit of a spring back in my step.

Unfortunately, this pep was relatively short lived, and even just trying to grab water at the seventeen km station was difficult.

I felt like my arm was moving in molasses and I had to really slow down to make sure I even managed to grab the cup.

From there, all I could think about was getting over the bridge and getting to the finish line.

It’s strange. I love running. I LOVE it. But there are times, I tell you, when I cannot understand what the heck it was that compelled me to take part in this absolutely bonkers pastime, and everything in my being is shouting at me to just STOP.

STOP RUNNING.

Walk. Go lie down in that cool looking grass. Make this madness end.

But somehow, I just keep trucking.

I just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Amazingly, once I got to kilometre nineteen, things started to actually fall back into place. Nineteen to twenty flashed by, and that very last kilometer, although painful, was over before I knew it.

I wasn’t surprised when I saw the timer as I pulled into the finish line.

There was no way I was going to pull off a sub-1:30 with the pace I had held for the second half of the race.

But in the end, it didn’t matter.

Marc was there, cheering me on.

I received a lovely medal, and all the water, bananas, cookies, and yogurt that I could get my hands on.

And I raised $1,165.00 for Big Sisters, an organization that is near, and dear to my heart.

So while I chase the ever-elusive personal best, today I will sit on the couch, drink some chocolate soy milk, and enjoy.

These summer nights

I am seventeen years old.

My hair is very long, and its natural chestnut brown fights a never-ending battle against the bottle red I desperately want to be.

My sister is fifteen years old.

She also has long hair, much thicker than mine, into which the sun has burnt beautiful blond streaks, evenly, so that it reflects both a silver and gold shine under the street lamps, at night.

It is the last week of May, and the time of day is so late that it is now in fact early, and I am not sleeping. I haven’t slept properly is many weeks.

To keep the insomnia madness at bay, I am reading in bed, curled tightly around myself, like a croissant. My bedroom door slowly opens, and Jessi tiptoes into my room. She is wearing tight jeans and a man’s dress shirt, oversized on her tiny frame.

Tonight her hair sits tucked under a stained trucker hat that she insists on wearing, and indeed loving.

She looks stunning.

“Let’s go for a drive,” she says, as she crawls over my blankets to lie down next to me. I close my book and turn over, facing her.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask.

“I don’t care.” Jessi pauses as she snuggles down into one of my pillows. She rubs her face aggressively into it, like a cat. “How about the airport?”

“Sure,” I say. The airport is a good choice. It means highway speeds and the opportunity to gawk at the perverse grandeur of the wealthiest neighbourhood in Vancouver.

I sit up and put on my glasses; lean over and pick up the sweater lying on the floor next to the bed.

“What are you reading?” Jessi asks. She gets up and walks over to my closet, absentmindedly flipping through shirts and skirts.

“Dracula,” I respond. After I put on my sweater, I pick up the book and offer it to her. She shakes her head.

“Is it good?”

“Yes,” I tell her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say. Come on, let’s go get the spare set of keys.”

…

The warm, wet air whips around the car as we trace the lines of the Fraser River. Jessi has her feet pressed up against the glove box, her knees scrunched up under her chin. Tiffany blasts from the CD player and she and I sing as loud as we can, belting out the lyrics with a zealous, almost manic energy.

“OHHHHH, I THINK WE’RE ALONE NOW.”

I know the words much better than she. She mumbles her way through the bits she is unsure of, only to sing twice as loud during the chorus. I call that “pulling a Mr. Bean.”

“It’s not that I don’t know the lyrics,” she tells me as she shifts herself around in her seat, tilting her face up, so she can meet the rushing night winds and the rushing night, head on. “I just like mine better.”

She cracks herself up.

It is in these moments that I feel what can only be described as complete love for my sister. I want to wrap up my soul with hers and drive on, keep moving past the trees, mountains, water, and stars, until we might float up and away. Away from our earthly bodies, gravity-bound, held down.

Growing up, our mother would always tell us the story of how when we were small, she visited a psychic with a friend. The first thing the woman told her during her reading was that she had borne twin girls. When my mother told her no, the woman was confused. Instead of continuing with the reading, the woman reiterated her previous statement. In response, my mother stated that she had three girls. Her two younger daughters, born two years apart, almost two years to the day, who were birthed at the same hospital, on the same floor, in the same room, assisted by the same doctor. The psychic nodded and smiled. She now understood. These were her twins of which she had spoken.

We were her twins.

One of us had just waited a little longer to come out and play.

As we pull up to the international departures drop-off, I look over at my twin, a girl sewn up in a beauty intricate and rare, bronze skin, eyes of onyx, fingernails of jade, and all I want to do is tell her that I love her.

She looks at me, smiling, her voice feverish.

“I never want to go to school again,” she says. “I wish we could just do this forever.”

I put the car in first gear; slowly ease my right foot off of the clutch, while gently lowering my right onto the gas. I look at her and smile back.

“Where to next?”

…

You said it man

The story of my life.

…

My darlings, I am so sorry that I haven’t been writing much of late. All I can do is blame LIFE, because, alas, sometimes LIFE takes over. But please believe me when I say I will be back to business (or is black? to the future?!) in no time flat.

And so many things happened today!

Bob Rae is leaving Canadian politics after a 35-year run. James Gandolfini has sadly passed away at the much too early age of fifty-one. Parliament has wrapped up for the summer, as has the Charbonneau Commission (a public inquiry into potential corruption in the management of public construction contracts in Quebec. Montreal’s current mayor was arrested yesterday in possible connection to these proceedings.) Jurrasic Park 4 may finally (FINALLY!) be happening, and in a few short hours we just might have new NBA champions.

Thing be a brewin’ round these here parts…

Oh yes indeed.