Around the Bay

And what a race it was!

Friday Night

State of mind? Excited!

I blew out of work to pick up my race kit complete with race chip and super swish technical shirt (sorry, Toque, I know you're still hiding out in the bitter barn because I got the shirt...) Bib number 3444... Decent. I got myself a couple of new headbands at the health expo and searched high and low for a good fuel belt, but with no luck.

I headed home to forge a second race bib for Toque who would be illegally trading places with me at the 15km relay point (long story short: I missed the relay registration by a day so we registered as one person with plans of tagging out at the half way point. I took the first half, and Toque, being the more profesh runner complete with running coach, pace timing watch larger than my face, and some super funky stretching techniques, planned to run the last half = much hillier than the first.) It's amazing what you can fashion with a scanner and some t-shirt transfers. Should I ever decide to leave the library business, I'm sure I could make a healthy living on the seedy underbelly world of t-shirt forgery.

Saturday

State of mind? Delusional.

Toque arrived around 2:00 and after some serious discussion and a few hundred glasses of water, we waddled out to the car to drive the course with Beef and Lil C'. It was clear from the get go where our various challenges were to lie: while Touque's portion of the course was much hillier, it was also in a much swankier part of town. I, on the other hand, was blessed with a relatively flat track, yet risked getting shived.

Being Palm Sunday and us good little Catholics, we dutifully attended church and prayed to the sweet JC to bring us on home. Dinner was homemade lasagna and yummy buns, and after a little TV we went our separate ways, Toque to sleep and me to lie aimlessly in bed plink-plink-plinking awake. Why is it when you can't sleep, it's always the night before an event you need sleep for? And why is it when you can't sleep you notice how loud your cat breaths, how bright the street light outside is, and how bizarre a noise the radiator makes when it burbs? When I did eventually fall asleep I had panicked dreams I left my iPod in the car pre-race... Not a good scene.

Sunday

State of mind? Nervous wreck.

Up at dawn's crack, showered, and dressed in my super swish gear, primed with my coffee, oatmeal, and banana before 7:30 am. Toque isn't far behind, heating his calves with the magic bag (*snickers*). Fingers picked us up at 8:00 and I was dropped in front of Copps by 8:15, way too early, but with road closures we weren't taking any chances. Being that we weren't registered for the actual relay, neither of us was eligible to take the shuttle so blessed Fingers drove us from depot to depot, cheering us on, complete with lawn chairs, heating pads, and blankets. Yay Fingers!

I busied myself around the stadium and then decided to take the detour walk up and around the stadium, positioning myself in the starting gate around 8:50. With 40 minutes 'till race time there was some serious people watching to be had. I'm convinced I saw Ralph Fiennes warming up in front of me. There's not talking me out of it, regardless of how irrational it may be...

By 9:15 I realize I've made a colossal mistake: I have to pee. But there are now nearly 10,000 people crowded in around me and I can see from my starting spot there are 60+ people in line for the 3 port-a-potties. Even if I was blind and nose-less you couldn't have convinced me to use them. I decide to take my chances with the race. Worse comes to worse, I wet my pants. Yea, I said it. Wet. My. Pants. Touque has already warned me the first 2km would be full of pushing and shoving to gain position, so wet pants are only going to give me a wider berth. It's a strategy to my advantage.

Bang! Gun shot goes and I'm... walking. I walked for about 2 minutes before actually crossing the starting line and picking up pace... 5km, 7km, 9km and I'm hustling, pacing myself against a little person in front of me wearing a pink hat. Around the 10km mark I lose her, either because her tiny legs have gotten their second wind or because my @ss is starting to drag. There are THRONGS of people all around me... We're a wall of people, a sea of legs as far as the eye can see. People are cheering from street corners, clanging their cowbells, and slamming spoons against pots and pans. I'm overdressed, hot from the get-go, peeling off my mitts, wishing I had gone with my gut and left my running coat in the car.

About 56 minutes in I can see the skyway bridge, which mentally tells me I'm almost done my leg of the race. With the 2:45 pace bunny within eyes reach, I turn on my power song ("Single Ladies") and mentally pat myself on the back for a race well run... Only to see the 12km marker. WTF?! But I've already played my power song?! What am I supposed to do now? Head down, I plod on through determined to reach Toque by my goal of 1:30.

Bam! 1:22 I role in to our rendezvous point (behind the canoes on Beach Boulevard) and quickly switch time chips with Toque, giving him a hug and a "you go girl" before he charges off in to the crowd. Being that we registered under my name, I yell a reminder for him to smile big and look feminine when crossing the finish line (for the celebratory 8x10 glossies you can purchase post race.)

Fingers and I head back to the stadium in time to see Nina and Jeremy breeze through under 3 hours, and Toque at... 2:53! Just shy of the rain, and near spot on our total estimated time. My legs are like jelly, Gatorade has never tasted better, and I'd give my unborn for a cheeseburger but otherwise I'm super proud of us. All the nerves, pre-race panic, and doubt led up to one very cool event that I'm proud to say I was part of... Heck, it's older than Boston!

Although we left this year wondering how anyone could run the whole thing, I'm convinced, like child birth, I'll totally forget how crazy it felt and sign up to the run the entire 30km next year. You game, Toque?!

p.s. For those wondering how PSITW went? This picture says it all:

'Teased' doesn't begin to explain it

I got my hair cut at lunch, trying to squeeze as much into a workday as possible. But it would seem my stylist has forgotten I work in a library and not in a Junior Miss department or the corner of King and Sanford.

Great.

At least I completed my four hour desk shift this morning. I can hide my hooker hair in the workroom. I'd much rather receive the ribbing and jibbing of my coworkers over that of an elderly man looking to take home the next Annette Funicello.

Another one of life's learning lessons? Never try to be efficient on your lunch hour... You'll inevitably end up with buyers remorse over the bathing suit you thought you could pick up on the quick, or hair that resembles something out of Beach Blanket Bingo.

I have more rules about the types of books I won't read than the types of books I will read:

• I won't read anything with England, Ireland, or Scotland as the setting
• I don't like books about the 20's or the 30's
• I don't like books about World War I or World War II
• generally speaking I don't read anything recommended by Oprah, thus I don't read books that drag you into the depths of depression or those that chronicle real-life ordeals
• and usually (*cringe*) I don't read Canadian... with the odd exception...

I'm fairly open to genre, including historical, romance, futuristic, a bit of sci-fi, and I am perfectly happy with something from the children's, young adult, or adult collections. Oh, and I don't like pocket paperbacks, like the kind you'd buy in the 7-11. I don't like the way they feel.

But what I've started to notice is that most of the books I do read have one very noticeable theme: strong, female leads. Not in a "rising up out of the ashes", violence and misery kind of way, but women who end up dealing with life changing situations in exceptional ways. Recently, these titles have included:

• Remarkable Creatures, Tracy Chevalier
• Sacred Hearts, Sarah Dunant
• Physick Book of Deliverance Dane, by Katherine Howe
• Tender Morsels, Margo Lanagan
• Hunger Games (and Catching Fire), by Suzanne Collins
• Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro 

Funny how that happens, huh? It's not something I actively seek out, but even looking back at my Library Thing catalogue most of the titles are female centered.

Any suggestions for next reads?

Free range and Cobble Hills Farm Sanctuary

As you may or may not know, I am a firm champion behind the theory that eggs are the perfect meal. Go ahead... Try and argue me out of it. This is one fight you cannot win. Why? Because simply put, eggs are little ovoids of happiness securely wrapped in their hard, evasive shells of protein matrix ready to be fashioned into many different (and uniquely flavoured) forms, as you see fit: scrambled, fried, over easy, poached (my favorite), meringued, egg salad-ed, etc. And because I'll punch you in the stomach and run away shouting "Eggs! Eggs!" at the top of my lungs, it's best you just agree.

That said, I've recently (as of the last year) made the switch to free-range eggs. And I seriously can't tell you what a difference it makes. Not only in the way the eggs look--big, bright yellow, clear white, no little weird filmy/slippery bit clinging to the side of the yoke--or taste--fresh--but because of the inevitable betterment you're bringing your body, and because of how much better they are for the environment.

Listen up, folks. I am by no means David Suzuki. I'm sometimes too lazy to recycle my toilet paper rolls, and I don't carry my own mug to Second Cup. And I won't pretend I know what I'm talking about. But when I hear from someone who does know, and who I trust to give me the green light, I listen.

Chris was a friend of Beef's growing up. They road horses together or some such nonsense (while I played in the horse poo, but that's another story for another time...) Chris was always a champion of animal rights. Not in a militant, red-paint kind of way. But in a gentle, she-makes-me-want-to-be-a-better-person kind of way. She's one of the few people I know (besides maybe Nina and Jeremy) who has taken her ideas and her family 'all the way'. In 2006 they opened their dream sanctuary farm just outside Stratford, Ontario: Cobble Hills Farm Sanctuary. Together they rescue battery farm chickens and her video story from the Toronto Star changed me:



I could never go back to purchasing regular eggs after seeing these little chicky's in their wee sweaters. I trust what she says. And while I'm in no place to adopt my own hen, I can support the cause by no longer purchasing battery farm eggs. Voila! I'm a free-ranger. Taste, texture, and peace of mind = well worth the extra $2 a carton.

Side note: Chris also introduced me to The Smiths, Morrissey, and Spirit of the West all in one glorious mixed tape (thank you, Chris!)

Riddle me this!

Why are there so many stairs at a ski resort?

It doesn't matter where you go--low classy Glen Eden or super swank Kicking Horse--you hit stairs. The bathrooms are inevitably in the basement, while the cafeterias are on the second floor, and don't get me started on the number of stairs you have to descend to get out onto the snow. Do you know how difficult it is to clomp around in ski boots? They aren't built for speed, you know. And they certainly aren't built to bend at the ankle, which is a necessary skill when one encounters a flight of stairs. While I can appreciate snowboarders don't have these problems, most resorts were built before the snowboard rush of the early 1990s, so one could assume these buildings were designed with skiers in mind.

For example:

1. Holiday Valley Yodler Chalet, Ellicottville.

2. Lake Louise, Alberta, Main Chalet.

3. Sunshine Village, Alberta, Main Chalet and Gondola.

Bizarre.

Windows 7 was my idea.

In other news, I love the smell of air at this time of year. After my run and a quick pop-in at mom's I walked the rest of the way home enjoying the smells and the sounds.

On one hand it has this super fresh scent, not like Febreeze, but like mud and tiny green grass buds poking up out of the dirt, and like being outside until the streetlights come on. People are pulling off their BBQ covers and firing up the grill, the tang of burgers and charcoal lingers faintly. Kids are clogging the sidewalks with scooters and chubby sidewalk chalk drawings, deliciously sick with the excitement of March Break. It's cold, but warm enough I want to take off my sweater and be in my t-shirt. It reminds me of Kirkendale--for those of us who lived the Kirkendale experience--when your parents sent you to play t-ball or soccer on the reservoir fields and by the time the game ends it's dark and cold and you run the last block back to the house to get warm.

On the other hand, you can feel winter lurking around the corner with no intention of riding into the sunset like we all hope it would. Mixed with the smell of BBQ and fresh grass is wood smoke from those of us cozied up next to our wood stoves. Unlike their humans, dogs still wear their wee jackets and lurking in the dark corners of the parks they run and play in are stubborn piles of snow.

My hands get cold as I turn the last corner and I jam them into my sweater pockets. I hunch my shoulders and pull my toque down but turn my face up to the last bit of warmth from the evening sun.

I love the spring.

A 50% discount would be nice, but so is my sanity...

I routinely get emails from the Running Room advertising upcoming races, sales, and seasonal clinics. More often than not, they're short on instructors and are asking for interest from past clinic participants. I've thought on occasion that leading a clinic could be kind of fun, not to mention the implied clothing and shoe discount which of course gives me a serious case of the "heck yeahs!" Pretty crazy coming from a girl who not 5 years ago in Edmonton was convinced the RR was a cult.

But what can I say? Spring weather makes me twitterpated, and I always find myself redonk busy, usually because on top of existing commitments I also want to spend as much time as I can outside in some way, shape, or form. While I am by no means the booty-shorts girl roller skating up and down Sterling Avenue just because it's light out past 5:00 pm, the time change and double digit temperatures gets me giddy.

So when I received the weekly RR email on Friday and heard the call for instructors I spontaneously put my name forward...

... Not so smart. And this is why I'm a librarian where spontaneity isn't necessarily a required skill.

Turns out they need an instructor for a class starting Wednesday which requires not one, but two weekly run commitments plus weekly emails to the group, curriculum and speaker arrangements, and support at the May goal race which takes place 45 minutes from here... Um. Yeah. Those details should have been shared initially. When I agreed to come into the store tonight to find out more about the position I certainly wasn't thinking I'd be handed an employee package and asked for a void cheque... I knew I was in trouble when I walked in and store manager-lady introduced me to some students as "the new 5 km instructor."

I managed to eek my way out the door 30 minutes later, running home with my package of goodies and a promise to follow up by 9:00 suggesting I'd need at least an hour to think about "the opportunity." Translation = I consulted with Beef. She hit me with a V8 can (bonk!), implied she might like to see me at some point in the next few months, and that outside of work and other things I already said I would do I might need time to sleep and/or eat. I hadn't thought of that.

Needless to say, however much I would appreciate the clothing allowance and shiny new kicks I am not the newest RR team member. I am, however, nervous to go back into the store to purchase my water belt for the upcoming Around the Bay... store manager-lady was crazy intimidating and the silence on the other end of the "it's not you it's me" email I sent is quickly becoming the elephant in the room...

5 things I ate today that start with the letter C:

1. Crunchy peanut butter on apple slices.
2. Crispy Minis, of the dill variety.
3. Chewy fruit and nut cookies with my coffee.
4. Cheddar cheese on my sandwich.
5. Chard boiled eggs.

Alright. You caught me. Chard isn't a word, but I was scrounging. Gawd, what are you, the food police?

UPDATE: Because I know you're all sitting on the edge of your seat, I thought of another one... Crab. There was crab in my Japanese roll last night.

p.s. I had one of those dreams last night that wakes you up out of a dead sleep with a "woa... weird..." Uncomfortables doesn't begin to cover it.

p.p.s. A big shout out to Groovy Granny! Good luck in O-town today, sweetums. Virtual hugs:

[{{{{*}}}}]

Love you.

Sad as a little black raincloud...

Mama LL and I babysat Lil' C Saturday night, and somebody--I won't name names *cough*BEEF*cough--found it necessary to take her baby back.

Rude.

No one thought to ask if maybe we'd like to keep him a bit longer. Nobody thought to ask if maybe we were having fun and maybe we didn't want to share his stumpy little legs with anyone just then, hmm? I'm just saying... Next time you should probs ask before you come and take your baby home. But don't be surprised if you find the door double locked. And we'll be too busy jumping on the bed, log rolling, playing hide-and-seek-and-squealing, talking nonsense, putting things in other things, talking into the channel changer like it's a phone, getting up on the couch and then down and then up again and then down again and then up again (*repeat*), and cuddling to hear the doorbell or your incessant knocking.

I'm just saying... Next time I"m keeping him. It's only fair.

Why don't they make a McChicken Happy Meal?

It's free coffee time at McDonald's, and although I don't usually like supporting the golden arches I'm totally taking advantage of their perceived good will. I'm strictly there for the coffee, however. I prefer an Egg McMike to an Egg McMuffin (he even buys the round cheese...)

But I'll admit... There's something about the sweet tang of grease that calls to me from McDonald's, heckling me from across the Fo'tinos parking lot, drawing me in like the high-pitched Sooey! of a pig farm. Grocery shopping with Mama LL can be torturous on a Saturday, my mouth literally watering just thinking about the delicious hydrogenated corn oil and sodium levels waiting for me three stores down. Hot damn, the weight of a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in my hand feels so good, the cool touch of a Diet Coke, the crisp sizzle of a perfectly salted fry in a cold pool of ketchup...

...

...

S'kay, this just got weird.

But their coffee is good. So get it while it's free.

In other news, Bert is obsessed with Vanilla flavoured yogurt and can't wait in the morning for me to finish my breakfast so he can lick the bowl. I say "can't wait" because he climbs my robe trying to get closer to the spoon. And he's no light weight, so we're talking damage to my blue fuzzy robe, which leaves me running from room to room to avoid his claws, him trailing behind like a man possessed.

Cat's crazy bananas, man. Like mother like... cat?

I think I'm going to join...

SFLWSMoFo

You?

Please don't replay "just wait 'till it's your turn..."

Let's talk about the latest trend in parking lot annoyances: parking for pregnant ladies.

While I appreciate parking spots for 'those traveling with small children', as I have seen first hand how small children can quickly turn into a disability, pregnancy is hardly a handicap. Rather I'd argue pregnancy is a super power, and includes the ability to get what you when you want it ("I'd sleep on the floor if not for the obvious reason: I'm pregnant and I don't want to..."), the ability to eat what you want when you want it, and the ability to act like an irrational deranged person without penalty or persecution. These are abilities no regular human is afforded, and are hardly dibilitating. I can't wait for the day I can blame my gas, leathery tail, love handles, rage, wobbly bits, nap quota, and right to eat popcorn for dinner on the sweetness blooming inside of me. Babies are gifts on so many levels.

Pregnant ladies don't need prime parking spots in the Zellers parking lot. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doctors recommend regular exercise during those nine months, non? I saw the Sex and the City movie... Charlotte's doctor said it was okay for her to run. Charlotte's fake movie doctor couldn't possibly be wrong, right? Exactly. Just as I thought. Movie doctor's don't lie.

So.

*claps hands together*

I propose prime parking spots be put aside for, not pregnant ladies, but those suffering from Badayitis. You know, a bad case of AnnoyingCustomer or ChildrenAskTooManyQuestions or CanNothingGoRightToday. Trust, y'all, driving around a lot looking for someplace... anyplace... to park one's car does nothing to improve a raging case of Badayitis. And driving around a parking lot looking for someplace... anyplace... to park one's car when the first 17 spots in each lane are painted pink and blue and sit empty, reserved for those eating for two only inflames the condition.

I propose we not only reserve these spots for those with Badayitis, but we get the belly's to carry our bags to the car. This accomplishes two goals: one, it soothes the rage in those who can't get a break, and two, it presents the MTB (mommies to be) the cardio they need while building their soon-to-be-required baby lifting biceps. Perfect non?

Those in favor, spin around, stop, double take three times (one, two three), then pelvic thrust (whooooooo, whooooooo), stop on your right foot (don't forget it!) and bring it around town...

Or just reply "Aye!"