Moments like this.

It's Warm In The Woods

It's that melancholy time of year again, where the sun goes down before 8:00, meaning I'm in trouble if I can't get my bike out of the woods by then. So much for riding after work - the season's almost over. But I noticed something inspiring last night, barreling out of the woods at 7:30 after watching the sun go down from the edge of the escarpment. Follow me. The dew sets in within minutes of the sun sinking below the horizon, which feels like all of the humidity in the air condenses and falls to the ground. Simple enough so far. All of the heat in the air just disappears, and I swear I felt the moment it got cold last night, and it seems reasonable to assume that it's cold because the sun is no longer out. And that's wrong, and here's where it gets tricky: this only seems to happen in open areas.
As I ride through both fields and forests on this trail interchangeably, I saw it. Or rather felt it. At that time of night, the woods are dark, and it takes a huge amount of focus to keep me eyes from playing tricks on me on the trail. In turn, the residual light in the fields is blinding. At that very moment, cool air hits my skin like a sack of oranges. It seems intuitive that this would be ideal, but the cold air is a huge contrast to the heat in the woods. The woods stay warm and humid! I don't know why this happens. Maybe it's the lack of grass on the forest floor, or maybe it's the trees, but one thought becomes very dominant: the forest itself is very much alive, and I'm so thankful that life offers me these kinds of opportunities to experience such beautiful phenomena.

These train rides seem longer by the day

Ever have one of those days where all you can do is chant a mantra of 'please don't be poison ivy, please don't be poison ivy, please don't be poison ivy'?
I call those days Monday. And I know it's supposed to be bad to focus on negatives, but I really don't see a fully positive way of hoping for not-poison-ivy.

This One's For You

So tomorrow's the Warrior Dash, or, Nat's next reckless step to becoming a walking bruise.
It's strange. The day before the Spartan Race last month, I was a nervous, terrified wreck. I'd never done anything like it before, hadn't prepared much at all, and felt really isolated knowing that I was doing this alone. It was a day of self-talk and ice cream, the only thing differentiating it from a day before a major exam being the ice cream. It's difficult to describe, but it was not a happy place. It was rather one of self-doubt and overall negative vibes, and I spent the whole day trying to pull myself out of the rut. I even knew at the time that it was silly to take it so heavily, because from the start there was nothing to prove. My final resolve was to take the race exactly like I would an exam, and I did, and just before the race something made me smile and it was all downhill from there. Or rather, uphill. Most of the running is uphill.
This race is hitting me differently. I woke up this morning pumped with more energy than I've had in weeks. I didn't even realize how busy my day was until it was over, and I could have eaten a 5K for breakfast. My coworkers would attest that with that kind of energy it's a relief I don't spike my morning coffee. I can't wait to run tomorrow. If I wake up in the morning feeling half as good as I did today, I'll fly through it with ease. So what's so different?
I've cornered my husband into running with me. I've also learned in the last while that one of my coworkers is running it, too, and the trashtalk around the office has been fantastic. Today I found out an old colleague is running as well. I'm not alone this time.
No man is an island.  I've watched and learned over the years that as much as solitude is sometimes the only gateway to solace, people need each other. We count on each other for the smallest, stupidest things, and so much as a smile, a second opinion, or a vote of confidence can make the greatest difference in our lives.
What made me smile at the last race? In the hour before the race I paced around, nervous and resenting that my husband couldn't be there. Then I went into "exam" mode and stretched and warmed up - it no longer mattered what I thought about doing this alone. Two minutes before the race started, they had us line up, asking slower people to hug the back. I lined up in the back. And waited. Then there was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned around to find a friend of mine who had been mountain biking in the area and rode down to see what this was all about. He wished he could try it, said it looked easy enough. And that was all I needed. A smile, a second opinion and a vote of confidence. I can't describe the relief I felt in that moment. It's well-known in my circles that I try a lot of arguably reckless activities, and I have yet to regret a single one of them, but at the heart of each one lies an element of hesitation and fear, challenges to overcome and, in some cases, battle scars proudly worn for days after. I'm proud of who I am and the things I do, but we are social creatures. We would accomplish so much less without the support and confidence of those who know us best. 
Tammy, (because I know you're reading this), thank you so much for being in my corner. There are no words for how much it means to me. If the last one was just for me, this one's for you.

Thought for the day

A handlebar to the gut is no fun and hurts way more the next day. I recommend it to no one.
On the other hand, this time I welcome being defaulted into a night off from... well, the million things I could be doing right now. Gives me a chance to sit around and indulge my travels in the love of wisdom.

Don't worry about me yet. You can start worrying when I take up golf.

Best definition I've come across since Diotima

"More than anything, love is the deep sense of being touched, moved, and inspired to heights beyond our normal limits. It is a connection with a deep, fundamental truth that runs through all of life and connects us together. Love makes the mundane sacred - so that it is cared for and protected."
-"Wheels of Life", Anodea Judith

Walking Wounded, Walking No Less

We last saw our hero signing up for an obstacle race in her playground of choice with four days left to not train and anticipating certain shame. After choosing an evening of mountain biking over a boxing class, sharing a bottle of wine during the Stanley Cup finals, skipping yoga in favour of making hazmat fish tacos and then hosting a Friday night fiesta during which I was taken aback by how much alcohol is in a pitcher of margaritas, and then spending Saturday recovering and perusing a Tibetan craft shop and eating ice cream, I must say I'm impressed with my performance at the race this morning.
I fully expected to get creamed by my own unreasonable expectations, if not by the clock and the barbed wire.
It wasn't easy, but I did not get creamed.
Here's a catalogue of things I found pleasantly curious:
1) I have no reservations about running through a field of prickly and thorny weeds, though shaving my legs will be a horrendous experience until the Ozonol kicks in.
2) Sliding down a steep, wet, grassy, slippery hill while carrying a tire is not entirely unlike skiing without planting poles... Meaning, it's totally do-able, but really burns when your shoes hit the accidental dry patch.
3) It's easier to swim than wade, even in running shoes. I remember hating that drill when I got my bronze medallion fourteen years ago, but have made a surprising amount of use of the skill in the last few years.
4) Short people who can jump must be anomalies. It just doesn't make sense!
5) It isn't difficult to run up steep hills, but the wisdom of the endeavor will show itself in my ankles tomorrow.
6) I could never climb ropes in school, and I can't climb ropes in my twenties. I've decided I'm almost okay with that.
7) Throwing a spear any distance is almost exactly like throwing a football any distance. Coming from a family where men by far outnumber women, I've never been more thankful to have learned early how to throw a football.
8) Climbing and crawling are fun. In a forest, to me, they're all too familiar.
9) We jumped over fires for Ivana Kupala when we were seven... The organizers could have gotten away with a bigger fire.
10) Barbed wire over a pit of ice cubes is cold.

Here's a much shorter catalogue of things I found considerably less pleasantly curious:
1) I need to put a little more work into breaking my falls. I made a stupid misstep on gravel near the end of the race. I would have taken the road rash, but caught myself on my hand instead of my shoulder. That was a mistake, and it'll take a day or two to survey the damage I did to my thumb. Regardless, I haven't felt pain like this in a long time. (Mom, my life would be so empty if I couldn't make you squirm!)
2) As someone who comes by clumsiness as honestly as I do, I keep (and use) a vast selection of first aid gear in my car. It's unsettling that I never have a simple tensor wrap when I need one. Damn.

And so, considering the mass of cuts and bruises on my legs, I sit here pondering the irony of wearing a dress and heels to work tomorrow.

Happy Father's Day!

Spartan Race for a Not-Quite Spartan

So here's the scoop, for the three people reading this blog...
My love to you all!

Because the Warrior Dash in July is just not enough punishment, I registered for a similar race in Milton this Sunday. I learned about it last Saturday and spent most of the week trying to talk myself out of it, and then signed up with four days to "train", the Stanley Cup finals and a margarita party falling in that time frame. What it adds up to is, I'm Toast. People actually prepare for these things, where I, in my vast wisdom, forewent running at the ski hill all week in favour of yoga, mountain biking, laundry and learning to stomach fish (on which note, that much seasoning can't be good for anyone - stay tuned for my upcoming ulcer). This race will hand me my posterior on a pewter tray. To witness this glorious disaster, call me for details.
Elsewhere in the news, the bike season is open and I intend to celebrate the solstice next week eith mud, sweat and DEET.  Anything yo expedite the process of turning clean clothes into dirty clothes.

Moments like this.

MUD RIDE!!!!

Moments like this...

Registered For The Warrior Dash In July!

Google it for more details. Stash is being a good sport and running it with me. Can't wait!!!
But... How does one train for something like that?

Cutest Shakers Ever!

Batteries & Beefaroni

I didn't feel like sitting around the court today. Surprising, I know. Neither did any of my coworkers. It seemed the general concensus was to walk around as close to comatose as we could manage and fill the void with more senseless chatter than usual as the clock ticked away too slowly. It was almost painful.
So we missed the rapture on May 21, and just as I was getting excited about my Apocalypse Party under the sea in what used to be California again I read a headline today that said the preacher who started all this hoopla was off by 5 months. Diarize the rapture for October 21. This preacher is from California, so I'll forgive him this one. Day by day I'm less surprised by California. I've become desensitized. I can only imagine that any money generated by this May 21 prediction made it worthwhile to try again in 5 months. Don't worry, October. I'll throw you a party, too.
I wonder how many people were actually afraid. I can't help it. Did you spend your long weekend building and stocking an underground bomb shelter in your backyard? Did anyone sleep over at the Church in hopes of demonstrating a final, if not first, leap of faith? Has anyone seen reports of battery and Beefaroni. sales skyrocketting on Friday night? I'm asking because I'm curious. Believe it or not, there isn't much I follow too closely.
Great. Now I'm craving Beefaroni.
What I know of the news I know mostly by chance. For example, I would not have known that the vice speaker of the house choked someone out in the Ukrainian parliament last week had it not been specifically mentioned to me. Thanks to Youtube I got to watch it. Oy. That's all I can say. Oy. I hope those politicians don't take themselves too seriously.
I'm sitting on the train right now. Someone is having a little gastric discomfort in my general vicinity. I can't wait to get home.

Mr. Northern Lights

Mr. Northern Lights, we're at the cottage having wine on the deck with your dad. Thinking of you, bro. Wish you were here!

Judgment Day is a Disappointment. Happy Birthday Dula

It's 5:30 pm on Judgment Day and we're still sipping wine on the deck here. We have yet to receive our judgments, and I'm somewhat disappointed that the worst I've seen today is the unfortunate demise of several bugs on my windshield. At least all of a sudden it's summer. It's also Dula's birthday today, so if the Apocalypse is coming it should probably hit before cake and coffee or I'll be pretty sore.
I wonder who actually made money on this Judgment Day stuff, anyway. I mean, besides the newspapers.
I'm spending this weekend relaxing and planning my next step. Next week will be a big one, and this summer will be busy. There's a big picture to worry about, and time just keeps running whether I move along or not. One foot in front of the other, and the only true reality right now is that I'm here and my legs are moving. I don't want to give too much away, but that holds more relevance right now than any othet analogy I could give.

This "tree house" was built for us kids a million years ago. I'm going to turn it into am outdoor gym this summer.

Judgment Day

Word on the street is that tomorrow, May 21, 2011, is Judgment Day.  My guess is that this will appease all those who just plain can't wait for the big 2010 Apocalypse Party under the ocean in what used to be California. Good thing, too. Why panic tomorrow if we could get all the mayhem rolling today?
In the meantime, it's a Friday before a long weekend and I file legal documents in the busiest "civil" court in the country, and every crooked lawyer in town thinks he's closing up shop early. Pandemonium at its finest, though no punches have been thrown yet. It's still early.
JUUUUUDGMENTS!!!!!  GEEETCHER JUDGMENTS!!!!!

Summer's Coming!!!

Here is my recipe for an awesome summer.

Keep the following items in the trunk of the car until Thanksgiving:
Football
Beach towel
Bike helmet
Devil sticks
Sunscreen & bugspray
Tilley hat
Scrabble
Tennis racket
4-man chess
Baseball glove
Shades
Clean underwear (hey, you never know)
Teva sandals

Yup, I'm anticipating an awesome summer. Over the next six months I plan to skydive, camp, cottage, play a lot of tennis and football, mountain bike in Gatineau, try my hand at whitewater kayaking, and run an insane race called the Warrior Dash. I'm most excited about the Warrior Dash, a 5K 'race' through an extreme obstacle course known for including things like running through fire, crawling through mud under barbed wire and running through woods that are laden with rope webbing. Oh the joys of shamelessly getting dirty! When I found this gem online it looked way too fun to pass up. So now I'm in the midst of getting into a no-joke training regimen. I can't wait.

It's comfortably humbling to know that there is always something more to learn.

Finding Scraps of Fight Within

Tried a new boxing studio last night. It's been over a month since I wrapped up, and man, those gloves felt good! 24 hours later I'm lying on the couch feeling every upper body muscle I have slowly atrophy. I may not be able to move tomorrow, but that's okay. I'd take this over hangover pain ANY DAY. It's well-earned. And tomorrow night, I'll try it again.

Courage

Hear Ye, Hear Ye!

People!  I can't take anymore big news!  Can everyone please take a break from doing the types of things that make our jaws drop?  Just for a week, maybe?  Please?

:)

Them Days Be Getting Longer Yet?

Mid-January, and the Seasonal Affective Disorder is kicking in something fierce.  I think it's because I managed to spend the major transition week, climate-wise, in Costa Rica where the temperatures were reminiscent of early August.  I usually get cabin-feverish this time of year, get a little rusty and tired, but this winter's been harsh.  I started taking multi-vitamins and vitamin D in the end of November, hoping to ward off this spectre.  It's interesting.  The vitamin D, in a double-dose, does just a little bit to help, by which I mean that when I'm taking it and proceeding to walk up the street to work (20 minute walk) in -5 centigrade weather with the snow falling, I am perfectly conscious of two things.  The first is that the weather is absolutely miserable.  The second is that I should be more upset about this.  I threw ginseng into my morning routine, making me feel like a borderline supplement junkie.  I can't say whether or not any of it is doing any good... I've already managed to get sick four times since September. 
I find particular joy, however, in walking back to the train after work.  In the mornings, this walk feels like a long hike uphill with eight hours to put in before I get any real reprieve.  At the end of the day, I walk southward, toward the lake.  In December, I walked to the train in darkness, in the light of streetlamps and headlights.  In January, I see the days getting longer, literally.  That carries with it some promise, that soon it will be March, and then May, and then I'll be able to pull my mountain bike out of my parents' garage and start feeling right again.  I try not to remember how many months away that is.  It's difficult when every fiber of my being is aching for catharsis.  A few years ago I took up mountain biking.  If I play my cards right, this year it'll be whitewater kayaking.  I'm aching to climb some rocks and trees and play in some rivers and swim in non-chlorinated water and jump off things and seek vengeance on the rollerblade trail that tore up my knee last summer, all at once.
Alas, it is mid-January.  My activity levels are limited to (are you ready?):  yoga, in my living room; yoga, in a yoga studio; running on a treadmill; lifting weights; any gym-friendly exercises; any living room friendly exercises; and when the money comes, I might get in a day of skiing this year.  I suppose if my masochistic side comes out and decides it craves a good chill to the bones, I may venture out skating.  I think I'm starting to understand peoples' compulsion toward New Year's Resolutions.  By the new year, people have been breathing the indoor air just long enough to be dissatisfied and are itching for change.  Any change.  If their promise coincides with the new calendar getting hung on the wall, they may even convince themselves that the next major holiday, Easter, is closer than it seems.
This post has no real point.  How self-indulgent of me to post something as silly as an idle musing about hating winter.  And how unoriginal!  Perhaps I can at least end this on a somewhat smile-provoking note.

As I walk down the street to my train after work, after the novelty of lengthening daylight fades (as does the daylight), I can always count on hearing two sounds:  sirens and car horns.  I'm almost jaded enough to tune them out like the rest of the urban population, but I'm not quite there yet.  I still look up when I hear a horn honking, and it's infuriating in Toronto because people will honk their horns for almost no reason at all.  Last week as my happy headspace got interrupted by an obnoxious car horn I looked up, and a thought crossed my mind.  The driver honking the horn was driving a super-expensive European SUV, and I thought "wow!  He must really be going places, owning a car like that.  Except that he's not going anywhere.  Because he's stuck in Toronto.  At rush hour."  I'd love for someone to write a haiku about that.  Good job, sir, you made my evening.

Christmas Nostalgia

So, it's Christmas Eve for those of us on the Julian calendar.  My husband and I spent the evening having dinner with my Mom and brothers.  It was a quiet evening.  There were perogies, and there was some wine.  It was nice, but awkward.
The last few years have been riddled with awkward Christmas Eves.  First my Grandfather went to live in the nursing home, and the evening found itself shortened a little, as family left early to drive him back home at the end of the night.  It was a sharp contrast to the days he used to drink a glass too many by the end of the night and need help back down "home" to the basement, where he had an apartment set up.  Then my Grandmother died.  That was a tough one to swallow for me, and six years later I still sit at that table remembering her sitting across from me, pleading with my cousin, Tammy, to at least eat a bite of everything, chastising my Grandfather for his politically incorrect comments at the table and just being her wonderful self.  Then my Aunt and Uncle moved to BC with our cousins.  We knew that one was coming, but it hit home for me when they weren't there for Christmas.  After they moved, nobody came to invade our home at 4 in the afternoon with every piece of kitchenware she could dream up, enlisting every able-bodied male in sight to carry it all into the house.  My Aunt Natalie and my Mom used to follow each other around our kitchen yelling at each other about everything and nothing until the meal was over.  To an unfamiliar ear it would sound like an uncomfortable territorial battle, but I think they both enjoyed it.  We'd be promised at 5 p.m. that dinner would be ready in 20 minutes, and we'd finally sit down to eat around 8 p.m., when dinner was ready.  Our cousins, Danylo and Anton, would hang out with us in front of the television while my Uncle, Phil, told us of his travels, or spoke to Dula about golf.  My Uncle Yaro would come for dinner, with our cousins, Andrei and Tammy, in tow (or any available variation thereof).  When Natalie, Phil, Danylo and Anton moved out West, the celebration grew quiet.
Last year Yaro broke his ankle in the beginning of December.  My Grandfather was no longer well enough to leave the nursing home for the evening.  We visited my Grandfather after a modest meal, nothing that resembled the feasts we used to have, and then my parents went to Church while I drove out several cities over, to visit with Yaro and my Aunt Billie.  Yaro was still couch-ridden with his injury, and after years of his trekking down to our home on Christmas Eve, making the trip was the least I could do. 
I'm a bit of a bowl of mush when it comes to this stuff.  For everything I love about growing up, a part of me will always try to hold onto what I can of the past.
So it's 2011, January 6 - Christmas Eve.  My cousins, Danylo and Anton, are in Calgary, where they work and go to school.  My Aunt Natalie and Uncle Phil are in BC, presumably spending the night 'in' at their home, a log cabin in the mountains.  My cousin Tammy is traveling in India right now, on a school-related matter that dropped an enviable opportunity in her lap.  Her brother, Andrei, is in Ottawa right now with my Uncle Yaro.  In the morning Andrei will be flying out to an unpronounceable town on the north shore of Baffin Island, where he will be starting a 2-year work contract.  I wonder what will have changed by the next time I see him - I'll miss him.  We've grown quite close.  Dad, on whom we rely to sing carols and pour wine, is in Singapore on business (another enviable opportunity).  We've been left with a small crowd, my brothers, my husband, my Mother and me.  As sad as it makes me to see what was once a massive feast in a crowded house dwindle to such a small group with a modest meal, I'll take it.  One of these years the family will start growing again, and then I'll work on the tradition again.  I'd love for my children to some day have their own fond memories of large, noisy, messy, trying-but-worth-it family holidays.