I dragged myself off the couch today and went for a run. I pulled so hard even Emile joined me – I waved him on ahead while I stretched. It was overcast and humid. It was miserable. Tired, Hungry, Distracted, and Stressed. There was nothing left in the tank.
I promised myself that I would keep going until I saw Emile coming back. I ran, I hiked, I walked, I crawled. And still I didn’t see him.
August 11th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Emile’s goal to catch-up from a runless week with a 10k did not fit into my plans. I ended up with 7.6 myself. Curse him.
For some reason as soon as I got home from our travels, I stopped running. I am not sure why. I just didn’t feel like it. Perhaps it is the anxiety that I wrote about on August 9th, 2012 or perhaps it is something else.
All during my vacation I ran every 2nd day as a minimum, and I felt pretty good about that. My diet was pretty good but there were significantly more carbohydrates than I usually eat, more diet root beer and definitely more desserts. But I didn’t weigh myself for the time I was away. I didn’t really want to know because I assumed it just creeping up every day.
So I kept running, but reaching for second desserts. So, with trepidation I stepped on our scale when I got home:
2 pounds? That’s nothing – it’s like a good pee!
Hmmm. Running does work. Running kept me in check. Tomorrow I will begin running again before I completely fall out of the habit of it. Then I can keep eating the world’s most delicious grilled cheese sandwiches ever made with 4-year-old Wisconsin cheddar (thanks Emile!)
Complete 180 degree for you here. I would like to talk about things I don’t “get”. For example, on Star Trek, I thought the Away Team was actually “A-weigh team” and wondered why they named it such. Perhaps a naval term. Or the word “puny”. I read it and thought it to be pronounced “pun-y” (like rhyming with money), and thought it meant thin and colt like (like wiry) based on the context. I didn’t know “puny” (pronounced p-u-nee spoken out loud) was the same word. It was only a couple of years ago I learned this. I wondered where AC/DC (the band) got their name, I thought it was a strange random group of letters.
August 10th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: On vacation, I was asked if I wanted to “sup”. Huh? Oh, paddleboarding. That’s a weird name. . . Hmmm. Okay, if that’s what it is called by the cool kids. 3 weeks later (today) it came to me out of the blue. Stand-Up Paddleboarding! Aha!
There is an inherent feeling of danger that comes from men who are bikers. If I said fill in the blank: “Biker ______”, you’d probably say “Gang”. I suspect that the truth is more like society at large – people on the entire spectrum of evil and frightening scales. Sure, in a group of bikers, there surely is a chance of meeting a mean person as there is an encounter with a weekend warrior lawyer in the throes of a midlife crisis. Nonetheless, put me in a large group of bikers, and my intellectual understanding of stereotypes is somewhat drowned out by yeas of bias training in movies, headlines and books.
So, while driving the streets of Sturgis (Like we didn’t stop to drive through town! Do you not know us at all??) during the 2012 Motorcycle Rally, I felt conspicuous. Never mind we were in the 5% of the traffic in an automobile, but we were also driving a tinted-window, sport packaged, purple (ahem, “Blackberry”) Honda Fit with Ontario plates and a photographer hanging out the window trying get close-ups of nipple tassels.
And while I am on the subject of nipple tassels, I ponder this. Why is it that many of the women who live in this club or culture or whatever you want to call it, are overt and confident in their sexuality? I mean, there are some who in regular life we would encourage not to wear a tube top, to please put on a bra and certainly get longer shorts. But here, everything is hanging out in its glory. Now perhaps this is in the vein of the blatant sexuality at Pride celebrations that is used to boldly claim this as their right, their place, and to make a stir to provoke thoughts. But Sturgis? I don’t think it is political – I think it is just men and woman enjoying each other, and to hell with the concern of extra rolls, or saggy boobs, or ripplely thighs. Shouldn’t we all take a little lesson from this?
Oil Changes and Bikinis. Stugis.
The logistics/planner person in me was fascinated by the preparation of Sturgis and surrounded areas for such a huge influx of bikers. All of the intersections in Sturgis were changed from lights to four-way stops and every square foot of space was either parking, booths or gathering places. It was fascinating – and made me want to meet the person in charge of this project – because this isn’t anarchy, people somewhere are planning this and planning it well.
Anyways, imagine driving the short distance from the South Dakota I-90 to Mount Rushmore with 50% of the traffic being cruising bikes. We were in a group of about 15 bikes and us. It felt like being in a poor country’s presidential motorcade.
Our Escorts
Mount Rushmore charged $11 to “park” indeed not for entrance to the monument. Even at Mount Rushmore, there was a Sturgis Gift Shop set-up and 2 specially designated motorcycle lanes. Mount Rushmore was interesting, but the image is so iconic, it was difficult to really understand that I was actually there. It seemed smaller than I expected, and I found it more fascinating to look at the uncarved “needles” in the Black Hills.
The “Other View” at Mount Rushmore
The nearest town, Keystone, was almost a replica of Niagara Falls, Canada – with bold SHOUTING billboards and bizarre twisted history (ie, Sitting Bull’s Crystal Caves. Really?)
We travelled through South Dakota stopping at strange places. Pioneer Auto is home of THE General Lee (um, wasn’t there like 40 or something?) and Elvis’s motorcycle, but we were too cheap to pay to the $10 admission, so we’ll never know how cool it was. Alas. Wall Drug has brilliant marketing campaign with 40+ billboards in the 50 miles leading up to Wall – they advertised free doughnut and coffee for honeymooners. We were going to try to scam them, but we don’t like coffee and didn’t feel like doughnuts. But the worst was the “Corn Palace” in Mitchell who is a victim of “setting expectations”. We expected a building made of corn, but instead it was an arena/stadium thing that was covered in corn. I suppose that is impressive in itself, but it seemed lacking when we thought corn was used instead of concrete. People, under promise, over deliver!
Our journey through Minnesota was almost entirely during dusk and we were treated to a slowly darkening cloudless sky with fields of corn and wind turbines. We drove on to make up for our short day yesterday, and arrived at a Days Hotel that only wanted $60 for the night. Clean and cheap. Love it.
Beautiful Evening.
August 5th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: A run in Wyoming at 7:30 am, through a field, down a bike path, around a lake. It made me feel like I am “that” person. Yep. Her.
After 3 weeks of vacation, you tend to get lazy and lacking of sleep. You are never in your own bed, and you pack your days with visiting and activities. I awoke early this morning for some reason – still tired. Kinda hungry. The previous evening we had visited my aunt’s new condo in Burnaby with my Grandma and Grandpa. All five of us squeezed into the Fit with canes and walkers and headed out.
It was a later evening than usual, and this led to another night without a full night of sleep. When I awoke –urgently needing to go to the washroom – I listened to my husband’s steady breathing. Despite wanting to get Olympic highlights, I refrained from turning on the TV and waking him up.
I needed to leave the room so he could get some of the sleep he needed to. I pondered my options. Too early to see my grandpa, too early to eat. But not too early for running. That’s a bad idea. I don’t want to run. I’m tired. My ass jingles a little bit more after this vacation.
But with a lack of any other choice, I quietly and reluctantly laced my shoes and headed out. I walked for a bit to warm up. Well, actually that is not true – I walked for a bit because I didn’t want to start.
But start I did finally and I ran 3.6 kms this morning. Shorter than usual, but at least I got out there. As I rounded the last corner, my mom was standing outside drinking a coffee and smoking a cigarette. She gave me a wave. Two different approaches to the start of the day.
August 2nd, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: No stopping for 3.6 km. Yes, NO STOPPING for 3.6 kms!
So as I write this, I am eating some Hersey’s Kisses that I stole from the freezer in the common room at the retirement home. I mean, seriously, I am stealing chocolate from seniors. In walkers. This is an example of the things that I do when I go home. I eat more, I do less, I apparently steal, and I generally regress. However, in my defense, I probably would steal chocolate from seniors while at home.
I have one of the best aps for my Android phone: CardioTrainer. Like many training aps available, it combines GPS, step counting, maps and my dimensions to calculate distance run and calories burned. It’s fantastic. It’s free.
On this trip I was determined to not regress too far. Sure, I’ll fight with my brother, but maybe I could do alright. I awake early each morning – thanks to time zone changes – and I have to make a decision each morning to exercise. And I’ve done pretty good I think.
July 25th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: According to CardioTrainer, I’ve run 42.2 kms since we left from Huntsville. I think that is 5% of my lifetime total.
Greetings from Winnipeg, Manitoba and the Sheraton Four Points!
Hours door to door: 13 hours (Wawa to Winnipeg)
kms travelled: 1212.9
Money Spent: 292.89
After training in the hills of Huntsville, running 4K through the flat streets of Wawa felt pretty easy. Well, for the first 2 kms, anyways. But I ran further than I ever had before without stopping. Yeah me!
We had a later departure after partaking in a leisurely breakfast at the Empire. The perfect small town diner replete with aging waitresses, casual service, and fried bologna. (Emile says it just tastes like hot dogs – I didn’t need the experience)
The views yesterday were lovely, but there were more of the same of the sun shining over Lake Superior. We stopped in Terrace Bay and listened to what I associate with the ocean – the tide. It took us nearly 10 hours to drive half of Lake Superior’s rim – a large lake for sure, but dwarfed when you think of the grandeur of own country – Canada.
Our cell phones both were out of range and it was a liberating feeling to feel so far from our lives in Huntsville.
We purchased the most expensive per litre gas in Marathon 142.9/liter. (we didn’t fill up – just a half a tank – we showed them!)
Emile and I were both embarrassed to lack details of Terry Fox’s Marathon of Hope. We couldn’t remember if he started on the East or West coast. Emile claimed to remember pictures of him running through the prairies, and I couldn’t tell him he was wrong.
We discussed him and Rick Hansen during our drive on the 100 km Terry Fox Courage Highway coming into Thunder Bay. We tried to think of others of any nationality that have made such a worldwide impact in bringing medical issues to front of mind – and couldn’t.
We stopped for an urgent pee break and to educate ourselves at the Terry Fox memorial near Thunder Bay where he had to end his run shortly before he died. In reading the plaque, it crystalized in my brain that he was running a marathon every day. And I barely able to scratch out 4 km with two good legs.
Driving through Kenora and into Manitoba, we were treated with my favorite scenic view – dark blue sky just after dusk with black silhouette landscape. Those skies were lit up with showy lightning, and we spent 10 minutes driving through an intense rainstorm reducing our speed to 30 km. It was exhilarating.
We tested our odometer just outside Winnipeg and discovered that for all practical purposes it is accurate. Seems like a strange government program to put signage up for. Well, a load off our minds.
Our arrogant Ontario-centric selves thought finding a room in Winnipeg would be easy – but the first four hotels were sold out. And we wondered if we should have brought the tent. No matter, we found a wonderful newly renovated place – more than we wanted to spend though – and crawled into a fluffy dream bed.
July 12, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Emile and I both being so moved at the Terry Fox Memorial that we needed to pause our conversation to get a hold of ourselves. (photo credit Emile)
Terry Fox statue near Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada
The first suit I ever purchased was in Victoria, BC in a beautiful cream colour, size 10. I bought it because I needed something for my MBA entrance interview at McMaster University. I purchased the suit (more than I could afford, but my BFF Lisa convinced me it was the way to go), broke up with my boyfriend (dodged a bullet there), flew to Ontario (thanks Mom), and convinced Mac I would be a good fit. I still have that suit actually, because despite it being 15 years ago, it’s classic. Not Jackie O. classic, but it wasn’t the 60s. Plus, at the time, I think it cost me 15% of my annual budget, so I can’t let go of it. And I got in, so it must be a lucky suit, anyways.
They say that clothes do not make the person, but I don’t know about that. I am woefully ignorant of fashion, do not read women’s magazines (they just try to make me feel inferior somehow, although I have considered a subscription to Chatelaine as of late), and am completely mentally handicapped in the application of makeup. But when I have made the effort to find good quality, well-fitting clothes that perfectly match the occasion, a sheen of confidence envelopes me. My 5’8″ stands tall, I walk confidently with my heels first and I want to shout “I belong here!” Wherever here may be.
Over the last three years, I have reduced from a size 14/16 (yes, I was occasionally a 16, nobody would ever believe me, and that is yet another advantage of being tall) to a size 12 (with an occasional 10). My closet is decimated. I can fit into all of my career clothes certainly, but they hang on my waist, they sag in the front, and generally go not look good. And no, a belt cannot fix ill fitting clothes. Please spread this around. I sorted through the closet a while back and created three categories: too big – donate, too big-put aside for altering, and wearable.
My professional closet – once a decent sized – now consists of 2 pairs of pants and 2 shirts suitable for interviews and three boxes of “for altering”. It just doesn’t make sense to purchase or alter clothes in potentially the wrong size. And spending the money when I don’t need to is folly. So, the alter boxes sit. So long in fact, I probably will have to re-sort them to check for fashionability again. Like I have any idea. Sigh. I am so hiring a consultant when I can afford to (Punch List addition).
But in this new life I am forging for myself, I have found confidence and a sense of power and ability to achieve more. And it flows when I put on running clothes. Often in the morning, I will rise and change immediately into workout clothes. This is two-fold – if I see someone they won’t think “Look at that unemployed bounder, she is still in her pajamas” and it is one less barrier to getting out the door for a run. It’s a public declaration of my intentions (for the cat I guess). One cannot take off work-out clothes, one must peel off sweaty work-out clothes.
And as I type this (not in my pajamas), I have in a racing back Lululemon purple top, a Running Room racing back sports bra, and Adidas Climalite black snug fitting shorts. And indeed I feel strong. And powerful. And like an athlete. And when nobody is looking, I will flex my bicep or admire the cut of muscle across my shoulder or sneak a peek at the curve of my waist to my hips. After a run or work-out, I want to stay in these stinky clothes for a while as a reminder of what I have achieved for that day.
Do clothes make the man? No, but the right ones match what you are feeling inside and help it come out.
June 28th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: I ran 4.0 km in 35 degrees Celsius (with the humidity). What potential will this racing back unleash today?
Okay. Something for you mothers out there. You know when you are off doing something on your own – say gardening, reading a book, watching a movie, cooking dinner, talking on the phone? And invariably you can hear the noise of those you share a house with? And then with a start you realize you can no longer hear the sound of your kids? Which of course leads you to the over used cliché of “it is too quiet” and you need to investigate?
That happened to me today. I was watching yet another episode of The West Wing in the bedroom, while Emile watched something loud and violent in the living room. With the door closed, I could only make out the bass of the crashes and booms, and the shouting voices. It wasn’t really bothering me – but I could hear it.
And somewhere in the middle of a CJ Cregg press conference, I realized that I couldn’t hear punches and blood splatter any longer. (An aside . .while I type this, I can hear these things now. It lends a sense of authenticity to my writing, don’t you think?) I paused and went out to see why my husband – who doesn’t do a lot of quiet things except fix computers – stopped making noise at 9:45 pm.
You have to understand – I spend much of my free time imagining the horrible things that could happen to him. Car accidents, electrocutions, bad cat scratch, hand caught in a car door, severe eye injury leading to eventual blindness, MS, cancer or constipation.
This invariably leads to me saying “Drive Slowly – precious cargo”, “Wear safety glasses”, “Is the power off?”, “Be Careful!” and handing out vitamins, acai berries and chia seeds with admonishments to Live Forever.
He was missing! Despite being in my pajamas, I wandered outside to check the garage. I looked in the basement, checked the backyard. Checked the other bathroom. Looked for his car (still there). Called his cell phone (here in the house). I was stymied. Where is he? Could someone break in here and take him without me knowing? And it’s not like he knows anything about off shore bank accounts. So why would they take him? This scenario seems unlikely. And if he wasn’t taken by force, why didn’t he tell me he was leaving? Maybe I missed a note! No.
I’d better keep my hands occupied so I can stem the panic starting to gurgle up. I’ll unload the dishwasher while I consider the facts. He is not here. He has not taken his car. Hmmmm. Surely he hasn’t gone running. It’s almost dark – a car wouldn’t be able to see him! He could trip and twist his ankle and need help! If he is running, I don’t know when he is left, so I don’t know when he should be back! I don’t know which route he took! Oh My God! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?!
Door Slam.
“Oh, Hi Sooz, just running. What’s the matter with you? Didn’t you hear me getting ready for a run?”
Honestly, man. I need to lay down. . . .
June 21st, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Who needs exercise? Just have your spouse disappear to run late at night to get your heart rate up.
You should know I walked up that first hill. My adrenaline was pumping, my stomach was twisting, and I needed to try to calm down. So, I started out running, but walked the steepest part. I was passed by a man portaging a canoe, but I felt no shame. As I was being strategic – saving myself for the end. Watch out, Canoe Head. I’ll be coming for you.
At the top of the short but steep hill, I started running. I was able to run the next 1 km, but it was all generally uphill. At this point, I was questioning “Why do I do this?”. I could easily put $50 into something else. But if I could just make it to the 2.5 km mark, the race got easier from there. I stopped and walked briskly for 10 seconds. I started running again. I walked again. There was someone I knew at the corner, I started running again. Gave a high-five to the kid at the corner – made his day.
And that was a general summary of my race today – running quickly, walking quickly, running, walking. Running, Walking.
Emile and I did not start out at the same place on the race today – I didn’t want to be distracted by him or what he was doing. But, our racing styles are completely different – and completely reflect the way we face the world. Emile doesn’t worry or plan for all contingencies. He starts and keeps running until complete. No fuss. A solid and steady pace from beginning to end. I, however, plan, think, and strategize every step of the race. I concern myself with how I should handle everything. I need to have music and sunglasses. I get nervous, I fuss. But when I run, I run fast. Faster than Emile. But I also stop and walk because I can’t run 5 km at that speed.
I didn’t feel very good running this race – I felt slow, sticky, tired. But I kept going – but really what was the alternative? Was I just going to lay down on the road and await a medic? You just keep going despite your mind wondering why your lungs and legs hurt. When I crossed the finish line, I forgot to look at my timer, and forgot to look up at the race timer. I was just so glad to be finished. Why do I do this? Get me some water.
After minutes of recovery, I started wondering about my time. Here is the before and after Emile checking the chip times:
June 10th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Personal Best for both of us, wife of the 40-49 Male division Winner. I’ll never hear the end of this.
Emile Results:
Time: 25:26 (personal best, and -4:28 from target)
Overall Finish: 9th (OMG!!!)
Gender Finish: 5th (OMG!!)
Category Finish: 1st (with a medal and ceremony to prove it)
Susan Results:
Time: 30:39 (personal best and -3:46 from target)
Overall Finish: 33rd (!!)
Gender Finish: 22nd (!!)
Category Finish: 8th (OMG!!)
I get nervous about lots of things. I don’t like to make mistakes. Which is funny because if you asked anyone – most think I am bold and brave. I’m not really – it’s just bravado.
I couldn’t sleep last night worrying about our race the next day (Band On the Run – 5 km). What if I don’t get enough sleep? What if I can’t handle the hills? This is a much harder race than the Chocolate Race. (we burned 300 calories just walking the race route) What if I don’t hydrate enough? What if I hydrate too much? Should I run or walk up the hardest hill right at the beginning? What if I can’t handle it? What if it rains? So I lay in bed, counting down how many hours of sleep I might get if I go to sleep right now.
But here I am the morning of, up, hydrated, eaten, and listening to my husband update his FaceBook about his “wife going to do great”. Now he’s proclaimed it. I’d better do it.
June 9th, 2012 Extra-Ordinary: Being stupidly nervous about things that just get worse when you get nervous about them. Don’t you think I know that?
The Daily EO 