Meandering with purpose
So, we are entering the home stretch with only a few weeks to go until our little girl makes her grand entrance. I have plans to do some major updating to keep everyone informed about the goings on, but I’ve made that pledge enough times to know itll have to be a “play it by ear” type of thing. We expect to be quite busy with her. Or so we hear. Maybe I’ll have tons of time. :)
That’s all.
Sorry for the slow updates and large amount of … well, lying I suppose. I really do intend using this as I say WHEN I say. But the wagon is slippery. You will notice a tweet-bar on the side now though. I hope that is something that can entertain a little between posts.
it’s a beautiful place and we’re having an awesome time. photos soon.
Was the BEST time! Experience 7 hours in 1 minute.
30 Thirty on the 30th time lapse
30 Thirty on the 30th for smaller screens
Add your comments and tell us which are your FAVORITE frames. I’ll send you any shot you like in delicious high-res for saving/printing.
THANKS GUYS!
well, we just came over the border into canada as landed immigrants. hot damn.
Happy, happy holidays everyone! We are back from our time in the snow, Andrew is back at work and I have another two glorious days off. It was a beautiful white Christmas, with sunny skies and freezing temperatures. As always with holidays and especially Christmas I really missed my family, but this being our third skiing Xmas it feels like we might be getting our own Christmas tradition going.
Something happened between my recent week in Whistler where I seriously contimplated selling my skis on Ebay to this time away in Sun Peaks. Something snapped into place in my brain and all of a sudden I could ski! Not that I couldn’t before, but it was much scarier and slower and unpredictable before. So I am pleased to report that I have now progressed to a “blue” skier and unlike all previous times, found the speed and incline fun, not terrifying. This was not a natural sport for me, as Andrew or Sal could tell you, so I am probably more pleased than I should be, but at least now I don’t look like I’m slowly scouring the snow in search of a lost contact lens that I’m sure is on the tip of my skis. In other skiing news, I am married to a black diamond snowboarder!
It was great to get away for a while, but it is really nice to be home too. Being in those freezing temperatures again after such a long time really reaffirmed why we live in Vancouver. I went for a run today, outside, and it’s nearly the end of December. We have massive windows, not tiny double glazed squares. My skin feels like there is room to move in it again, we don’t have to have internal heating that saps every drop of moisture from your body day and night. And one coat is really enough, and you can take gloves or leave them here, pockets will do. I get to go outside everyday of the year in Vancouver and I wouldn’t give that up for all the cheap land and big trucks of the interior.
Anyway, I have a writing assignment due and have spent all morning procrastinating by cleaning the house. Time to get on with it. I’m sure Andrew will put up some photos later, I’m not taking my chances again.
Happy, happy twenty-ten to you all.
So this is what happens when I am left to do this kind of thing by myself. I wanted to put up some photos of a recent 100km relay I did with some people from work. So what happens is that you only get three photos. Two of them have a mysterious watermark on them which says “tadpole” or something??? I didn’t put it on. And the finish is the one that looks like the finish, not the one of a lady next to a van, that’s Nadine. Anyway, enough of this it’s making me crazy!
A wonderful man passed on today. He will be sorely missed. Our deepest sympathies go out to Rich and Pips. We love you guys.
Hello all. I thought I would write this down while I remember it, before it fades into a smeared painting of glory and joy that covers up the pain, so that I could read it and remember before I enter my next marathon. The next marathon is inevitable as this running addiction has crept up on and taken hold of me. I didn’t notice at first and perhaps it was slow to develop, but recently since I have been running at 5.30am in the pouring rain and autumn darkness, since I’ve come home and put my shoes on a pile of identical shoes that are all mine, and since I’ve started to feel “not quite myself” on days that I don’t run, I’ve had to admit it has me. Maybe addiction is too strong of a word as it implies I have no control and paints a picture of a crazed, bug eyed, short haired super fast mad woman. Perhaps I should go with the gentler word, dependence. I need it now and am not sure how I coped without it. Anyway musing about my need for running is for another time. The Marathon.
We spent the day before the race feeling the twinges in our muscles, eating, resting and pondering what life would be like the next day. Strangely I wasn’t nervous for the marathon, I felt a sort of resignation to the fact that I would do it. Unlike the halves I’ve done I didn’t have a finishing time in mind or any particular goal other than finishing. Recently running has become therapy for me and changed from exercise into an enjoyable activity where I relax my mind, occasionally listen to music and feel the joy of being alive and healthy in my legs and lungs. (oops, I even made myself vomit there, but it’s true, working with dying kids will make you say crazy hippy things sometimes). So all in all I was looking forward to it.
The morning was cool, but clear, the predicted rain was late by a day. Throughout the run there was a great vibe, and lots of supporters. One of the nicest things was the route, straight out, straight back. We started an hour after the half marathon which ran the first half of the same route, so we could watch them all on their way home. The highlight was watching the amazing Kenyan elastic bands of humanity rocket past before I was even half way. The distraction of people on the side and other runners was most welcome. From 21 to 23 km I was waiting for the turn around point and that felt quite long, but I got to see Andrew soon after that as the path doubled back on itself, he fooled me by looking strong and happy, so I thought he was fine. Then at 26km my left achilles started to hurt and from there things got a little harder. I had to stop every few kilometres to stretch that stupid tendon but everything else held up well. My fastest 10km on the course was 20 to 30km. There was a glorious moment through a section of suburban shops where I was running between groups and the spectators must have been bored for a few minutes because as I rounded the corner I had my own little group cheering for me. It really makes a difference to have total strangers say you’re looking good, or to hear your name. I will go and cheer on the sidelines of the next local marathon I don’t run. Promise.
The last two kilometres were the worst for me. I felt like the run wasn’t ending and that I was taking too long and couldn’t run as fast as I wanted to. Fortunately/unfortunately the previous week had been filled with very sick teenagers at work and I just kept thinking about how they would never be able to run, or walk, or see the ocean or feel an Autumn breeze in their hair ever again and corny as it sounds I ran for them and even managed a moderate sprint across the finish line. Well, there was the thought of the children as well as the music of Rhianna that I eventually started singing out loud as I ran/walked/hobbled. Best of all was a group of the cutest grannies ever with their silver windmills and glittery skirts dancing on the side of the road near the 40km marker.
So after 267 minutes it was over. It felt so amazing and so sore that I cried a little in my confusion. My body took a few days to make up the sleep and water it needed to recover and I feel back to normal again.
Tick. I can turn 30 in peace.
This last weekend was huge. It was the culmination of several months of effort on both mine and claires part to get ready for a marathon.
Now, idealy one doesn’t want to start a marathon with an injury. Unfortunately, the seasons here mean that you can’t always do what is ideal since winter can kill off months of training. So I decided to just go for it. I was under the mistaken impression, before we started, that the cutoff was at 6hrs. I’d calculated that that was about enough time for me to hobble home if my knee started hurting badly, but only just. So you can imagine a little how I felt when the day before, I learned it was 5hours. Add to that the fact that my knee started REALLY hurting 10km before my calculated “earliest” point. At 6km. Out of 42.
By 12 I’d basically decided that going on would be foolish and the excruciating pain in my one knee wasn’t worth it. I’d already been walking on and off for 2km, stopping to stretch every half km hoping it’d delay the pain.
It was around that point, hobbling along like a cripple, that a girl whose name I later learned was ‘leigh’ asked if I was in pain. Turns out that she was too and looking for someone to share it with. I happily shared it with her and on discovering she is a doctor and planning on going to baragwanath in a few months, the conversation quickly ate up the miles and pain.
Gritting through the pain became easier as it plateaued and we made it to he turn around point. I thanked the marathon gods for placing this about 2km AFTER the halfway point. Psychologically enormous.
Unfortunately for Leigh, her knee got too much for her to run on just at the point that mine eased up slightly. I wished her luck and forged on, now on two sore knees. I was certain I’d see her later that day. Probably from a ditch where I’d be lying in a heap with my broken body parts.
At this point I think I should just make it clear that somehow this was all pretty great actually. I know it sounds like it was bad, but when it’s all taking place with stunning views and cheering people and other runners etc etc it is a wonderful feeling. I’ve been training for the pain. And every stride I could have walked that I actually ran, made me feel tough.
So things slowly tapered from about this point to the end. By 39km my tendon informed me that any more running strides I considered would be met with blinding pain, even with a fully locked knee. Hobbling then saw me all the way to 41.9km.
With the finish line in sight, my pride and ego overtook all else and I ran. Okay so it was barely faster than a walk and my clenched teeth probably made me look like I was in a bad way, but I ran across the line. Predictably, the announcer mispronounced my name, but I didn’t care.
I had done it. I’d prepared my excuses many times while out on the course. I wouldn’t need any of them. I limped with pride.
I know people run faster. I know they run further. They also probably overcome more pain. But it doesn’t matter to me. I’m happy. But, like a lot.
