Recap – Rant and Roll

I wrote you everyday for a year

Hello blogger friends!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I very much apologize for my absence.

AND!

I very much apologize even more, if said absence lead any of your to believe that some kind of tragedy had befallen either myself or my loved ones.

The truth of the matter is – life happened.

And it happened a lot.

This summer has been one of intense happenings – change, growth, learning, happiness; sadness, athletics, adventure, beauty, love, and, of course, fun.

All the fun has been had.

But I am also at this point where I feel the need to pack a bag, head to YVR, grab Marc’s hand, and buy a pair of the farthest away one-way plane tickets we can afford.

We’ll fly off into the wide-blue yonder with nothing but a change of undies, our running shoes, and a bag of peanut butter M&M’s (purchased from Hudson News. It’s a tradition.)

POOF.

We’ll be gone.

It’s weird.

I often forget about the aging process.

I think much of this has to do with the fact that Marc and I have now been together now for ten years. (August 16 marked this milestone in our relationship.)

I was eighteen when we first got together, and there is a strange little part of me that still thinks that we are still those same people: that I am still that silly and starry-eyed first year undergraduate student, and he is the suave, and self-sufficient third-year classics major.

And sure, there is some truth to that – those people still very much make up a part of our characters, our souls.

But any way you slice, it – we’ve changed.

We are changing.

We are maturing – both inside and out.

And it’s something that is happening every single day of our lives.

And I don’t begrudge this happening.

In fact, I love it.

I like life a heck of a lot more now than I did as that undergraduate student.

It’s just that I don’t ever really reflect on these changes unless I am confronted by this fact – maybe I’ll see someone I haven’t seen in quite a long time; or I’ll start to realize that I am outgrowing older friendships.

Outside of my immediate self, I notice this most when I see the other loves of my life also changing, and adapting.

I see it when people have babies.

When people get sick.

When people get married, and when they get divorced.

When they buy property, when they move away, when they stop eating meat, when they start reading Kant –

And it’s good.

Because without this movement, this incessant striving, this going forward – we just die. We become stagnant and morose; we stop asking questions, we stop engaging in dialogue, we stop progress.

We can’t properly appreciate life.

The only trick of the matter is – how to find a balance between this constant striving and the ability to sit back and enjoy the aging process?

How do I keep moving but not to the extent where I feel the need to run away because life has reached a new level of overwhelming activity?

This is, of course, a topic I’ve written about quite a bit here at Rant and Roll, but seeing as though I have yet to answer this question, it will most likely be something that I keep revisiting as we head into the Autumn months (and no doubt beyond.)

There are so many good things to look forward to: Powell River in the Fall, running the Fall Classic 10k, Nova Scotia in November, playing soccer with Marc, fireside nights with a good book and our beauty cat.

But before we get too ahead of ourselves, I want to make sure that I take the time to appreciate everything this summer had to offer.

And so I present to you –

July and August, by the numbers.

4 Weddings

3 Bridesmaid dresses

1 pair of killer heels

1 half marathon

250 kilometers ran soley for the love of running

1 1000 kilometer drive (in one night)

3 Hikes

5 Inches of hair cut off

10 Amazing books

10 Stand-up Shows

1 New job

2 Radio shows

Countless tears shed

Countless laughs laughed

All the lessons learned.

All the lessons left to be learned.

…

I’m back WordPress.

Thanks for letting me take some time off.

I’m looking forward to it.

I’m moving.

I’m moving forward.

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.

The nostalgia is strong with this one

Happy Friday you fab chaps!

Okay, first things first.

Can we all agree on the absolute awesomeness of this song?

I actually cannot stop listening to it. All this writing about my teenage years must have flipped a switch somewhere deep inside of me, because I have been rocking out to all the sweet tunes from yesteryear ALL THE LIVE-LONG DAY.

Now, if someone could just pass me my flared jeans and mini backpack, I’ll be off to get us some brown lipstick and giant silver hair clips.

OH BABY.

Secondly, look what I purchased last night:

I cannot even remember the last time I had Popsicle sticks! I will be making these delicious, frozen noms all summer long.

I don’t know about you all, but I am much more a fan of the yogurt pop, than the traditional juice based treat, but I’m open to any tasty suggestions you might have when it comes to the art of the Popsicle.

HIT ME UP YO!

Finally, things are just racing by, I’m having a hard time catching my breath or keeping my balance.

I went for a short run today after work, the first since my race this past weekend.

I felt great – my legs felt strong and my cardio easy. The only tiredness I experienced was just every-day, normal, “I woke up at six and worked all day before strapping on my runners” fatigue.

Speaking of flipped switches, the weather these past few days has been so unbelievably beautiful. I can smell spring in the air, and feeling the warmth of the sun on my winter-kissed limbs is a joy of which I will never, ever tire.

Tonight I am doing a show downtown, and then it is off to fete my brilliant friend Emily of Well Fed, Flat Broke on her spectacular thirty years on this great big ball of green and blue.

I am also hoping that Marc and I will have a chance to go see Jurassic Park this weekend, as well as have ample time to run about outside, like the two sun-starved children that we are.

Barbeques may also be included.

I cannot wait.

What is on all your agendas for the next two days?

I hope that whatever it is, the sweet spring sun will be shinning down on all of you.

For no particular reason, I decided to go for a little run

Hey dudes!

This weekend I competed in the BMO April Fool’s Half-Marathon on the Sunshine Coast of British Columbia.

Somehow I managed to pull out the best run of my career, finishing the course in 1:31:36, and coming 7^th out of all women (3^rd in my age group) and 29^th overall (out of 537 participants).

HOLY SMOKES.

To say that I am stoked would be a bit of an understatement, but I am very, very tired and as such, there is a bit of a competition between my exhaustion and my happiness.

So as I sit here in front of the fire, clad in nothing but an over-sized t-shirt and sweatpants, I am mostly just very comfortable, and very cozy.

And that’s pretty awesome.

Marc and I left for Gibsons on the last ferry on Friday night, eager as we were to avoid the Saturday ferry traffic, and just get comfortably ensconced in our race-weekend digs (the paradise on Earth hideaway I have so often written about) as soon as possible.

His parents were also up for the weekend, and were lovely enough to accommodate our late check-in. As such, we tried to be as quiet as possible when we arrived a little after eleven o’clock at night.

Despite our own knackerdness, the lateness of the hour had made us absolutely ravenous and we spent a good fifteen minutes loitering about the kitchen, stuffing our faces with the delicious sushi we had not been able to eat earlier.

If you haven’t had the chance to sample the Maple Roll from Okonomi Sushi, YOU HAVEN’T LIVED.

Then we went to bed and slept for nine and a half hours.

Saturday, in an effort to conserve as much energy as possible, I did pretty much zilch.

Highlights include: listening to a lot of good music, completing the NYT Saturday crossword, enjoying a beautiful jaunt about the harbour with my parents-in-law in their boat, and finding this record:

EPIC.

This is why I married a (half) Swiss man.

I mean, they are LITERALLY singing about ham.

I love it.

That night, after eating my fill of spinach and cheese ravioli, grilled veggies, salad, fruit, and rhubarb and strawberry cake, I read a little before falling into a rather (for lack of a more eloquent word) crap sleep.

My dreams I tell ya, they are CRACKED.

The next morning I woke up to my alarm at 6:15 and immediately checked the weather outside.

No rain.

Thank goodness.

Then I made coffee, and read the newspaper.

I’m pretty weird and slightly superstitious when it comes to my race-day preparations, so I like to do everything in the same order as I have in the past:

Drink water.
Drink coffee.
Drink more water.
Get ready
Eat a banana with peanut butter.
Leave.

We were out the door by 7:30, and although the day was cool and the wind was making its presence known, the skies were still clear.

This was a terrific sign, because I’ve never run a race without a pair of AWESOME and GIANT sunglasses, and I didn’t want to end this streak to end at this run.

To combat the cold, I wore my long lululemon running pants (I normally loathe ye olde cult of LULU but heck if they don’t make a cracking running pant), a long MEC running top (SO GOOD) and my ScotiaBank half-marathon shirt (for great memories).

The ride to Gibsons was about forty-five minutes, and to pass the time, Marc and I sang along to this sweet mixed CD I recently made. (Highlights included a raucous version of Sisters are Doing it for Themselves and Third Eye Blind’s Never Let You Go.)

Once we got to the community centre, I picked up my race package and then proceeded to go to the bathroom five times.

Phantom pre-run pee here people. LOOK IT UP.

Before I knew it, it was 9:15, and it was time to head to the start line with all the other competitors.

Marc, playing paparazzi, took a number of snaps of yours totally unaware.

Oh, and also this one:

(Of this I was aware.)

I like to start as close to the start line as possible, so I huddled up with all the other elite runners and counted down with the course marshal –

5…4…3…2…1…- and they’re off!

The first part of the race I felt that I was running really fast. I was a bit worried that perhaps I had gone out a little too quick and, believe it or not, I actually wondered perhaps if I should have peed one more time before setting off.

Sheesh.

At around the four kilometer mark I felt as though I settled into a good rhythm. As we maneuvered in and around one of the town’s residential neighbourhoods, I tried to focus on keeping my stride as long as possible.

Around the six kilometer mark we were back out on the highway, which if I’m honest, was pretty miserable, what with the wind blowing right into me, and the traffic creating even more of a head wind.

But soon enough we were back into beauty central, running down side-streets flanked by gorgeous arbutus, douglas fir, cedar, and alder trees.

It was also around this time that the terrain began to get really hilly.

And we all know how fun that is, don’t we?

Kilometer seventeen was a mixed bag, because I felt absolutely destroyed after cresting a massive hill, but overjoyed because Marc’s parents were there waiting to cheer my on.

And from there, believe me when I say that it really did seem to be over in a flash.

My right foot felt very hot, so I knew that I had a blister forming, and my knees were a little sore, but otherwise, I felt great as I put the pedal to the metal for the last four kilometers.

As I ran past the final aid station at kilometer nineteen, all these little girls yelled out. “WE LOVE YOUR SUNGLASSES!”

That was all I pretty much needed to get me through the homestretch.

As I rounded the very last corner, I caught sight of the race clock, and I couldn’t believe that it said 1:31.

I sprinted as hard I could across the finish line, totally incredulous that I had run so fast.

Then I met up with Marc and his parents and had the chance to take many funny photos.

After, it was time to chow down on some cookies and yogurt, and head back to town.

So in the end, it was a really brilliant day.

I must give a HUGE thank you to my lovely cheering squad (the amazing Mr. M and his parents) and the fab organizers of the race.

I’ll for sure be back.

You can count on it.

A real stand up kind of gal

Hey you crazy cats!

Phew.

Let me catch my breath here.

So much has been happening on this side of the cosmic kitchen that I am having a hard time keeping my head on straight.

I mean, where exactly has October gone?

This weekend was a blur of magic and marvel – my mother in-law’s birthday, dogsitting, a fashionista charity event, a Cory Doctorow reading, runs in the rain, hang outs with friends – I am exhausted and giddy, and wistful just thinking of it all.

Meanwhile, the outside world’s bonkerdom continues apace.

Seriously, the news these days is pretty much at crisis saturation point and so every time I read the newspaper or fire up ye ole’ internets, I start to feel much the same way.

It order to keep the information-based malaise at bay, and a smile firmly etched on my face, my mother has been phoning me regularly, regaling me with all the east coast gossip I so dearly miss whilst keeping hearth and home 6,000 kilometers away on the western seaboard.

Whilst she has me on the blower, she also updates me on Halifax’s on-going mayoral race, and the continued success of this year’s dark horse (erm, dark cat) candidate – one Tuxedo Stan.

With his recent endorsement by Ellen DeGeneres, Mr. Stan’s candidacy (catdidacy?) is looking strong indeed. I don’t want to say that he’s a shoe-in, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to pounce on a large percentage of the vote.

I mean, say what you want, but that cat doesn’t spin any yarns. He just plays with them.

(I promise I’m done.)

But T.S. certainly is a cutie pie. Plus he’s always, always dressed for the occasion.

Anywho, all of this activity of late – both on the phone, and off – has left me feeling pretty darn knackered.

No word of a lie, this morning when the alarm went off it took a heck of a long time for my brain shift gears from “ZZZZZZZ” to “ACHIEVER” and doubly long for my limbs to make their way out of the warm and cozy mess of blankets that M and I call a bed.

I always say that on mornings such as these, I feel as though I have to steam my eyelids open in the shower – as if the day is a secret message I was never meant to see.

Can you tell that I can get very poetic and philosophical whilst I wash my hair?

Side note: do you cats take the exact same shower every day?

I do.

Anytime my routine is mucked up it drives me absolutely batty.

As I’ve said before, showering is very, very important to me. I do some of my best thinking behind that curtain.

First – I wash my hair. Then I put in the conditioner, but don’t wash it out right away. While my hair is “conditioning” I scrub my dermis within an inch of its life.

Then I wash my face with my magical NO ACNE 4 U cleanser.

Once this is finished, I rinse the conditioner from my hair and skedaddle like a maniac. One towel for the bod, one for the head.

I like the Queen of Sheba look.

In short, I love quick, hot, organized showers.

NO MESSING AROUND ALLOWED.

Anywho, back to what I was saying before that insane sidebar – just looking into the next month, my ride on the barmy train will continue chugging along, as besides work, I have at least six more talks with the United Way, a radio gig, my regular big sisters work, a romantic cabin getaway, a visit from the pater familias, and I’m still trying to figure out if I’m going to run the Fall Classic 10k.

I’ve also been reading all of the Mordecai Richler.

I cannot stop. It’s just too good.

Oh, and the piece de resistance?

I signed up for stand-up comedy classes!

YES.

This is the most exciting thing ever.

I have wanted to try stand-up for pretty much the last bagillion or so years. Having done a ton of improv and acting in years past, I always thought of this – in the parlance of Picard and Kirk – the final frontier.

I am still too chicken to just sign-up for an amateur night cold turkey, so I figure if I take a few classes (which has a live show as our final project!) I will be much closer to racking up the required courage.

Wish me luck (or wish that I break my leg).

I will keep you posted as it goes.

But first sleep.

I have a pile of blankets with my name on it.