Vancouver – Page 2 – Rant and Roll

Just hold on tight – don’t let it in

Okay, some things.

1. Marc recently purchased Dark Souls II.

For those of you who are not versed in From Software’s latest release, this is a game famed for its incredible difficulty, infinitely unforgiving structure (you cannot ever pause gameplay), and relentless onslaught of terrifying and hard to kill monsters.

So of course my husband (and millions of other gamers the world wide over) love to drive themselves crazy engaging with this insanity.

Marc, in particular, really likes to set the right tone before picking up his player console, and as such, this is what our living room has been looking like for the past few nights:

I mean, I’m all for mood lighting, but I’m not sure if the candlelight is really fulfilling its intended function if he is still rage quitting every time he accidentally gets obliterated by a boss, or inadvertently walks off of a cliff.

This game, man.

It destroys lives.

(And souls)

2. Last Tuesday night I went to see the band Jungle in concert.

It was AMAZING.

Due to my slight crotichiness and very busy life schedule, it really takes a lot for me to stay out past my bedtime on a school night.

So to find me at a club downtown (on a Tuesday no less!), waiting for this band to storm the stage at the ungodly hour of 11pm, I was beginning to question whether or not my choice to come out and see them had been the correct decision.

My dance mate (my very good friend Chelsea, whom I had invited to accompany me as a “Holy crap you just published a book” gift) was equally as skeptical – she being of similar mind and crotichiness.

But sweet mother of pearl, I’ll tell ya. As soon as the first strains of their song “Platoon” propelled forth from the stage, I knew we were in for a treat.

This band is very, very good.

For the next hour we danced our little hearts out to the most epic of new soul-funk-rock tunes, dazzled by the most brilliant of accompanying light shows.

It’s not often you’ll go see a new band (they formed in 2013) that is so tight, and polished, and all around AMAZING.

They were playing at The Imperial, and I doubt they will be playing such a small venue the next time they roll around in Vancouver.

They will be selling out the Commodore in no time flat.

And I will be there.

And I won’t question that decision for a second.

Young Scamps

That’s me on the right and my big sister Kate on the left.

Ah love.

Would you look at us?

As ridiculous as it would seem – I remember that outfit so well. I was absolutely mesmerized by the plums!

I am also fairly certain that this photo was taken somewhere in the east coast of Canada, during one of our many summer sojourns in and around Nova Scotia – only I cannot for the life of me pinpoint the exact location.

I’ll probably bolt out of bed sometime around 3am tomorrow, having remembered the date and time, and also the fact that I forgot to pre-set the coffee and switch the laundry into the dryer.

The stuff of which my nightmares are made!

But until that time, I’ll just enjoy it for what it is.

Unbearable cuteness.

And joy.

…

So that’s a couple of things swinging about our corner of the jungle.

Vancouver has been having the most inconsistent and mind-boggling weather of late – one minute it’s raining so hard I keep expecting to see kayakers navigating their way along our roads and side streets, and the next it’s so hot, entire hordes of people find themselves simultaneously engaging in the terrifying practice of frantic and communal disrobing.

(It’ll be a trial sport in the next summer Olympics)

I am becoming a champion of layering all of my outfits, all of the time.

Halloween is also coming up, and I’m having a hard time getting into the spirit of things.

I think I may have done myself in on the creativity front last year – I don’t think I am ever going to top my Samara from The Ring.

However, should things change, I’ll keep you posted.

I hope all of you are warm and dry, wherever you find yourselves tonight.

And beware of dark souls (of any form).

So light a candle. Or two.

Good strong words that mean something

So there’s this scene in Little Women, when all four sisters are lying in bed together. It’s just after Amy has fallen through the frozen pond while ice skating (arguably almost dying, had it not been for the speedy response of Jo and Laurie), and she is apologizing to Jo for being just THE WORST© (seriously, Amy March has always been my least favourite March sister and I won’t even get into the fact that she is the one that ended up with Laurie, because WHAT THE EFF right?) because she had burned her sister’s book in anger over the fact that she was too young to attend the opera with her and Meg.

Too convoluted an opener? Then you must, MUST read the book!

Or at the very least watch the movie version with Winona Ryder and Susan Sarandon. It is really bloody great.

Anyways, Amy then asks her sister, “Do you love Laurie more than you love me?” and Jo responds aghast, “I could never love anyone as I love my sisters!”

MEEP. My heart hurts just thinking about this phrase.

You see, that folks – THAT is exactly how I feel about these gals:

My sisters are two of the most important people in my entire life, and it absolutely slays me that they live so gosh-darned far away, as this means that the majority of the time I see them is when they are looking back at me through their respective computer screens.

It also means that usually one (or both) of us is lying in bed, completely knackered after a day of racing about our respective cities, desperately trying to stay awake and concentrate on what the other one is saying.

When all I really want to be doing is sitting on a sofa with both them, drinking a glass of wine, and laughing about all the ridiculous things we do in our lives, whether together or separate.

For instance, always thinking we can recreate that scene from Little Women and sleep in the same bed together (often on Christmas eve), only to just destroy ourselves in the process of trying.

And in only one week’s time, this will be a reality!

(Hopefully sans shared bed, of course. Seriously, I also end up stuck in the middle.)

Holy crapola, I cannot wait.

I am especially excited because this Sunday I am headlining my very first comedy night, and Kate (my older sister) and her wife will be here to see it.

YEAH!

I have fifteen minutes to bring all the laughs that I possibly can.

Elsewhere on the docket, they are currently filming Supernatural pretty much right in my backyard:

I used to get super jazzed about television and movie filming in my city, (Kate and I actually used to steal those arrow film signs you see littered about Vancouver and we’d use them to decorate our respective bedrooms. And by we, I mean she did it first, and I, as the younger sister, copied her lead) but now I’m pretty blasé about the whole thing.

It has to be a show I really, really love for me to get all shirty over something like that. (However, I’m pretty sure I would live in a perpetual state of bonkerness if Marc and I were ever to move back to the UK and put down roots in London because I would just constantly be on the lookout for all my favourite panel show comedians. Good grief.)

Oh, a this also happened:

And finally, in but three days I will be on vacation until the 6^th of January.

During that time I will be doing nothing save running, eating, laughing, writing, reading, sleeping, and spending all of the time with all the beautiful, magical, brilliant loves of my life.

I so very much hope that all of you will be doing much of the same.

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.

Looking so darn foxy

I’m not sure how many of you out there are acquainted with the amazing hilarity that is “Ylvis”, but for those of you neophytes, I present to you, for your viewing enjoyment – “The Fox”

I first got to know Ylvis a couple of years ago, when my rad chum Adelle played me their music video for their song “Stonehenge.”

(They like to keep their titles short, and very much to the point.)

We were at work, eating lunch together. It was one of those nondescript Vancouver winter days where everything seems grim – the sky, sea, and city all somehow meld together into one grey, gargantuan mass, and everything just feels damp. We had made plans to go out for lunch, but due to an onslaught of thick fog-like rain, and the accompanying on-set of general mid-week malaise, we decided to forgo venturing outside and just ate in my office.

After we polished off our food, we puttered about online, showing each other the latest viral videos that were tickling our funny bones.

It was at this point that Adelle turned to me and asked, “Do you…do you know Ylvis?”

“EEL-VIS!?” I asked. “You meanlike Elvis!?”

Adelle burst out laughing.

She has this incredible way of going from completely expressionless to gut-busting laughter in under a second.

It really is amazing to behold.

“Yes…Ylvis…” She managed to squeak out in between laughs. “They’re a Norweigan group.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“Norwegian!? Like, Norway’s version of Elvis?!”I was trying desperately to figure out what that may both look and sound like.

Also, one thing you should all know about Adelle is that she really loves Michael Bublé, so I just assumed that whoever she was talking about was just the Scandinavian equivalent of Canada’s own lounge crooner extraordinaire.

“Not really,” she answered. “They’re more like Josh Groban. But funny.”

This I just had to see.

So together we watched Stonehenge.

And boy was she ever right.

These dudes can both carry and tune and bust a gut.

(Although I really need to specify for reasons silly enough that I’m really not that big of a fan of the J. Grobes. I think he’s a cool dude, and his Twitter feed is hilarious, but that music – phew. Not my bag AT ALL.)

Ylvis on the other hand – Ylvis I can enjoy.

Plus, now I really, really want to know: WHAT DOES THE FOX SAY?

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.