here comes that sun again

Every once in awhile I let my total fear of success consume me and I stay paralyzed in my comfortable, naive state.

And other times I kick my fear in its proverbial balls and dive headfirst into something that I really haven't thought about adequately.

I haven't decided which is a better way to live. Yet. Maybe I'll learn the hard way.

I bit the bullet and earned a spot on the ConU track & cross-country running team.

Me. A varsity athlete. It's weird to think about it.

I was pretty psyched about it earlier today when I heard back from the coach, but the more I thought about it all day, the more I became consumed with the thought of oh god, what have I done?

I know I can run. I know I can run for long distances. But despite this, I do not consider myself a runner nor any form of athlete.

And the more I contemplate it, the more I am overhwlemed with the feeling of dread that accompanies a person who is now in way over their head.

I am not a fast runner. And now I'm going to be running races. After thoroughly breaking down my current running workout with the coach, he reassured me that I was at the perfect fitness level to start training with the team, and that they'd help me build my speed up.

But still. Pace and intervals and exhausting timed runs Mondays and Wednesdays. 15km jogs through downtown Tuesdays and Thursdays. What if the jog is too fast? What if I can't keep up?

Then again, that's the whole point. The reason I joined the team was to challenge myself in the realm of running. Running was becoming monotonous, boring, and it never felt like I was working very hard.

I fully expect to be kneeled over, barely conscious, hurling into a grabage bin at the end of every workout with the team next week. And I'm a rare breed, because that thought appeals to me.

People are afraid to push their limits anymore. You're always hearing "go easy" or "don't push yourself." Why not? If you push your body, it will respond. What's the worst that can happen? You push so hard that you're physically sick at the end of the race? Okay, there's a garbage bin and a bottle of soothing Gatorade waiting for you. The pain will last a maximum of ten minutes. You run so hard that you collapse and pass out at the end? Okay--your coach will get you to come 'round again.

People are just afraid of pain, and in a way, afraid of their own success.

So I'm going to give it a shot. And a week from now, maybe I'll decide I suck and hang up my running shoes forever.

Or maybe I'll discover another small piece of myself.

it's so hard to do and so easy to say

It figures that as soon as I adopt a love-and-learn outlook, an issue with a boy would arise that has me thinking I'm crazy for believing boys are anything but dumb scumbags. The whole lot of them. Not a one seems to be any different from the dirtbag beside him.

It will pass.

Running over 100 miles a week is as gruelling as it sounds, but I'm trying to listen to my body more. I'm really making an effort.

I'm all for pushing yourself and your limits, defying boundaries and self-imposed limitations. Be better than yourself. Push your body, don't be afraid of pain--the human body is an evolving device. If you push it, it will respond.

But today, one kilometre into my run and my legs felt heavy like cement. My brain said "Yeah, we're done for today" and for once, I listened to it. I stopped and walked back home.

I'm trying not to beat myself up over it. The insane amount of guilt I feel over an incompleted run is something that needs to stop. The world will not end if I only ran one kilometre instead of 20 today. If I'm going to be brutally honest, the world still won't end if I only ran 3 out of 7 days next week. But putting the doomsday tag on the daunting task I complete everyday makes it seem more vital to my existence than optional.

Because if it was optional, I probably wouldn't do it.

Plans tonight include a Dairy Queen drive thru by the water with friends. And I'm not going to beat myself up over that, either.

The world isn't going to end if I indulge every once in awhile.

i want to wake up where you are

I am going to make a conscious effort to not take life so seriously. That's such a weakness of mine because I tend to get so caught up in the whirlwind that I completely forget to take a step back once in awhile and remind myself that it doesn't matter nearly as much as I think it does.

I'm too serious. Too regimented and concerned with the facts and truth in life that I feel like I've lost a lot of the little kid in me. That zest for life and carefree attitude--I need more of that.

Everything is so structured with my training regimen that I feel like I'm a clock sometimes. Eat this an hour before my run, drink this amount of fluid 30 minutes before, run, eat this many grams of carbohydrates after. Food isn't food but it's now fuel for the machine.

That really sucks.

I want to eat a massive piece of cheesecake. And I want to eat just because I want to eat it. I want to indulge more.

I'm going to remember what it feels like to spend hours on a swingset. What it feels like to lick an ice cream cone only to have the big ball of delicious ice fall smack on your foot, and to laugh uncontrollably about it.

I want to prance around in flip flops and play tag and stop worrying so much about the evil, hidden intentions of boys, what they really meant when they said what they said, if they're trying to trick me, if they're really a douchebag disguised as a nice guy who will viciously break my heart.

I want to fall in the fun, kiddie type of love. Not caring about someone's intentions or hidden motives. Taking things at surface value---taking people at surface value--and trusting that what they're presenting is a true reflection of who they are. And if it's not, sour grapes. But why assume that right from the start?

I'm going to stop being so guarded and experience things for what they really are--an adventure. A learning lesson. A stepping stone.

An experience.

i remember each flash

There's something strangely glamorous about passing out in a friend's apartment in a giant armchair, fully clothed, with empty wine bottles strewn about. Waking up with the stale taste of red wine still in your mouth, your hair sticking on end, and the feeling that you'd give away a kidney for a glass of cold water.


Odd as it is, I love the feeling of being hungover in cases like that. Head htorbbing, sunglasses on, dry throat, raspy voice, and big circles under your eyes, it's living the dream. The summer dream at least.

Slowly crawling into consciousness while all you can do is groan and ooze off the chair is rewarding, it means it was a night well spent.

Spending the following day at work attempting to serve clients while desperately fighting a losing battle with nausea is not so fun, but equally rewarding.

Once the initial dizziness, fog, and general feeling of still being drunk wore off (it took a few coffees) in came the classic hangover stage that requires massive amounts of grease to settle an otherwise very uneasy stomach. The neat part about working in a restaurant is that if I want to be totally gross and satiate my need for grease by eating a grilled cheese sandwich with bacon in it, the guys in the kitchen happily oblige--allbeit it with a few weird looks, but I'm sure I still smelled like wine so it wasn't hard to figure out what was going on.

I messed up a ton of orders today at work, I had a pounding headache all day and no matter what I did, the taste of wine wouldn't leave my mouth.

The summer dream.

i feel like i'm drowning in the ocean

I've been struggling with change for the past month or so. Usually change is never something that I struggle with--unless it's not happening enough. I started to feel monotonous for awhile. I went away to Cuba and when I came back, I realized that my life has fit in a mould for the past year or so. I hate that. I looked at the wall in my room and realized that I have been more or less staring at the same wall for the past 6 years.

So I tore that wall apart. Stripped it, washed it, and I'm re-doing it now. I picked up a cool sign in Halifax that I hung close to the ceiling. I bought paint and stencils and I painted one of my favourite quotes from Once a Runner on my wall. I bought two cool picture frames to surround the quote, and I'm going to stick seashells on the wall from every beach that I've been to, just as the final touches.

It feels better. Feels like me.

this is easy as lovers go

So. Learning experiences. Things to abide by.

.+. Flats will always prevail over heels. I'd so much rather zip around efficiently and show off my 5'2 height than totter on 4 inch heels I can't walk properly in.

.+. Curly is the new straight. BELIEVE. I love my curls.

.+. Don't be afraid to be alone. You've been single for 3 weeks, 3 months, 3 years? Good. Stay alone for as long as it take to know yourself through and through. What you'll stand for, what you won't put up with, what is non-negotiable. There's a lot of you to figure out.

.+.T-Shirts win over short, skanky outfits every time. You can't climb a tree in a short, skanky dress.

.+. Girls are so much prettier when they don't wear make up.

.+. Classy and elegant is great but quirky and clumsy is fun.

.+. Any girl that trips over her own two feet and laughs about it is a girl that you want close to your heart, trust me.

.+.No matter what you say or what you do, people are always going to perceive you the way they want to perceive you. The good news is their opinions don't matter.

.+. People are different. The situations are different. No two people will hurt you in the same way, so stop being scared. Learn from it, but be wise enough to approach each situation for what it is--brand new.

.+. Eat the damn cheesecake.

.+.Brains over beauty.

.+. Be hurt. But don't be scarred.

.+. Be vulnerable, but make people earn the right to see you that way.

.+. Everybody you meet is fighting a battle that you don't know about. Be aware of that.

.+. The grass isn't always greener on the other side. Your lawn is more than green enough.

.+.Women that can open their own jars, fix their own flat tires and understand the concept of most power tools are awesome.

.+. Girls that can spend a Friday night in sweatpants eating dodgy Chinese take out right from the carton are worth holding onto. The high maintenance beauty queen gets tiring after awhile--she'll leave you winded, frustrated and broke.

.+. Don't compromise yourself to make someone else look good. If he's that big of a man, then he's man enough to take you as you are--brains, intelligence, wit and all.

.+. Give it your all, every single time.

.+. A giggle is cute, but a big, boisterous gut laugh will make everyone feel good.

.+. Girls that need protection are overrated. Fight for a girl that can fight for herself--there will never be a boring moment.

So here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to be me, and nobody else. Just me. If I snort when I laugh, then I'm going to snort when I laugh. If I trip and flail over nothing, then I'm going to hope that somebody else finds it as hilarious as I do.

trial of miles, miles of trials

"Listen to my body? If I listened to my body I'd be at home right now eating a danish and reading the funnies. If I listened to my body, I'd be living off toffee pops and port wine. Don't tell me to listen to my body...it's trying to turn me into a blob."
-Roger Robinson, New Zealand masters runner


I broke up with running for three days, and then we made up again.

I mentioned before, but running has gotten tough for me lately. Everything hurt. My leg muscles, my back, my shoulders, everything. My heart hasn't been in it for a few weeks, and that made it hard. Hard to the point where for the past week, I seriously contemplating hanging my shoes up for good. That scared me. I was tired of missing dinner with my family, of saying no to coffee or movie plans. I was tired of working an 8 hour shift on my feet with no break, then coming home and pounding pavement for another 4 hours minimum. I was tired of being beaten down on by the sun, tired of reaking of sweat, just generally unhappy with a pastime that once made me free. I wanted to quit. For the first time in 6 years, I wanted to quit.

I agree with Robinson. If you listen to your body, it wants to do nothing except nap, eat, and rest. The body thinks you're crazy. You've gotta listen to the finely tuned machine that you've honed inside your chest for your entire running career--a horse's heart that says "thanks" everytime it beats forcefully.

That is what you need to listen to. Because it will always tell you to keep going. That it's okay to keep pushing.

Three days doesn't sound like much but I can't remember the last time I took three consecutive days off. I think I had started to forget the reasons why I run in the first place.

There's no denying that the driving force behind my running start was to lose weight--I think that was everybody's. Nobody wants to be a runner, it's way too difficult. But over six months, my reasons changed. I didn't run because I wanted to lose weight--I had lost all the weight I was going to lose. Actually, in retrospect, I don't even think I started to run to lose weight. People who run for that reason tend to give it up after a month or so, and choose something easier like the stationary bike. Running is way too painful, no matter how desperate you are to shed the pounds.

In my three day break, day one it was 9pm at night and I was lit with nervous energy. It was a crappy day at work and I was edgy and jumpy and ridden with anxiety from a fast-paced day. Day two, after a horrendous night's sleep, I spent the entire day with way too much energy and adrenaline and simply no way to expend it and tire myself out. Jumping jacks, sleepy tea, nothing worked. Day three, my skirt fit a little too snug. I felt heavy on my feet, my limbs felt like they were sagging and I felt out of breath all the time. I felt like my heart was drooping.

Day three, I rediscovered why I run.

It's not to be skinny. I'll never be skinny. It's to be fit-it's to have at least some mild say in what happens to my body in the end. It's about doing what I can, making changes that I can control, to avoid succumbing to diseases and illnesses that might otherwise plague me. High blood pressure runs rampant in my family. Mine is borderline high--but if I didn't run, I'd be on medication for it. That's how I get my say.

I run because of the feeling I get when I'm done. The feeling that I'm sweating, gross and absolutely crazy--but that I'm one small step up from the guy on his couch stuffing himself with Doritos. It might not even matter in the future--but for the right now, my heart thanks me for it. Every single time I get out there and torture my legs and lungs into running a 10, 20 or 30km, my heart thanks me for making it stronger. Better. Durable. For taking care of it, when my body yells at me to let it rot.

I run because I have more energy than I know what to do with, and running rids me of it completely. I run because not everybody can, but I've worked long and hard to be able to do it properly, and for extreme amounts of time. I run because I love being hit with that sudden wall of danger-level hunger and eating three times as much as the average person.

I run because it kicks my ass. No matter how fit you are or how long you've been running--if you push your limits or extend your distance while training, you're going to feel like you want to die. Every single time, until that becomes your new "regular" distance. And when you extend it again--it's going to kick your ass again. I run because I can never win against it.

A reporter once asked Juma Ikangaa, a world-class marathon runner from Tanzania, on the major difference between one's commitment to marriage, and one's commitment to running. He deadpanned "With a marriage, you have a choice. And you can change your mind." I run because at this point, I can't stop.

I run because I feel like I belong to an elite club. When two runners pass on a path, you will always see them greet each other. It's a runner's salute. A small wave, a broad smile--sometimes a word or two of encouragement if the runner looks tired. And a word of encouragement is never, ever "pick it up!" or "come on!". Encouragement is always "good pace, good pace" or "don't stop".

I run because, ultimately...it makes me free.

what i chase won't set me free.

Travelling has always done weird things to me. While I've always loved being abroad and out of my usual habitat, only in the last few years have I noticed that I actually started to dread coming home.

Home is a strange, unwelcome concept to me that actually makes me feel guilty a lot more than it makes me feel comforted. My family is a tight knit one, we all get along great and we're really supportive of each other. I just have such a need for my own independence and march to my own drum that I often end up feeling smothered by constantly having them around.

That sounds pretty terrible, right? It makes me feel pretty terrible, but I can't help it. I am so much happier when the people I love are a phone call away instead of being right upstairs--it allows me the freedom I need to function, but I also have their support when I need it.

I don't like "home". I don't nest. I don't create emotional ties that everyone always talks about--ties to people, places, triggers. The longer I stay in a place, the more uncomfortable I become and I'm driven by the insatiable need to leave. Go some place new. Discover something all over again.

My dad has always been a bit of a wanderer. I suspect that before he married my mom and had us, he was in the exact same place that I am now. Anybody that spends a large part of their life as a travelling musician is nomadic at heart.

Driving the 14 hours to Nova Scotia by myself was one of the best things I could have ever done to get away from the feeling of restlessness that I struggled with before I left. But now that I'm back, the feeling has intensified. Intensified to the point where I tore down more than half of the things in my room, with plans to reconstruct the entire thing.

I need change. Some things need to change.

It feels like everything in my life kind of bushwacked me all at the same time, really. I just realized that I am going to be graduating in December, and while I do have a plan, I do not have a Plan B. My plan is to nail my dream job in the NHL right out of school.

That is not a good plan.

My running has taken a hit lately. It has taken me weeks to admit that. Running is--or it used to be--my one sanctuary, my one time and place where it didn't matter what the hell else was going on in my life, I didn't care. I was running.

But now it's all pain and sweat and fatigue. Running has become the few hours in my day that I dread, and I hate that it has come down to this. The problem began when I asked myself the dreaded question that signifies the beginning of a runner's demise: Why?

As soon as a runner asks themselves why they do this, it's over. It's over because there is no logical, rational explanation as to why you are out there every gruelling day, sweating, aching, missing family dinners, TV shows, coffee with friends. It is not sane. It is not desirable. And a runner realizes that when they ask themselves why.

I am tired of being in pain. It's not even just my knees anymore, although they're the worst. I'm worried that I am doing damage to my body that I (or my orthopedic surgeon)won't be able to repair. You can mould muscles, stretch ligaments, lubricate joints. But pound around asphalted Canada long enough and you're going to wear out something real. Something that surgery can't make better. It's connective tissue, in the end, that gets us all. No runner ever retires because they want to. They retire because one final piece of gristle went pop and presto, they're a pedestrian. The Achilles sheath. Fascias.

I'm tired of everything hurting. My back aches. My lungs feel like they're going to explode. My legs are tired, my hip hurts on impact and my feet are a complete mess of calluses and broken toenails. I'm tired of being in a constant state of pain brought on by this idiotic sport that I do. And before, the pain was tolerable because I loved running so much. Now, I don't even have that.

Maybe I'll take a break from it, breathe for a little while. It seems easy to say that, and yet after I locked my shoes in the trunk of my car today, I trudged out a half hour later, laced them up, and still went for a run.

Running and I might need to break up for a little while.