The Morgan Freeman Run

“I plan on having such an awesome run, Morgan Freeman should narrate it”. This was my last Facebook post before heading out for an evening run on one of the nicest days we’ve had in a long time.  And I meant it. I was pumped up, ready to go, ready to pound the pavement for 5 miles of awesomeness. 

First miles are always the worst. They almost never feel great and almost always make me question why I’m out running in the first place. But today was different. Maybe it was the sunshine, maybe it was the warm breeze, or maybe it was my lucky neon socks, but right out of the gate I felt like a well-oiled machine ready to motor through the next 5 miles of pavement bliss. 

Coming up on mile 3, the evening sun was hot and euphorically blinding and I was a gazelle effortlessly chasing butterflies in the vast African Savanna (or close enough). Mile 4, and I should be wearing a cape. I’m super-running-woman with springs in my shoes. My pace is spectacular, my form is tight, I’m looking straight ahead focused on where I’m going. I’m IN THE ZONE. 

Then it happened. Out of absolute nowhere my delirious runners-high came to a screeching halt as I was suddenly tumbling like a dry desert weed across the sidewalk. BAIL. And I was more confused than the rush-hour traffic who got the live action shot of this playing out. Then around my ankle, the culprit. A large wire ring from an adjacent construction site took me down. My perfect run is ruined, my pace is ruined! Then I thought about the hilarity that each person sitting in the bumper-bumper traffic just witnessed and like a champ I ninja-rolled out of the tumbleweed and was back on my feet as if it never happened. 

The last mile was epic. The bail didn’t break me, or my spirit. And I then thought about Morgan Freeman. Maybe my overconfidence with such a presumptuous Facebook post came back to hurt me (literally), but then again, when was the last time Morgan Freeman narrated the story of someone who just went for a run and then went back home. Like, never. Basically I just saved Morgan from a performance that no one writes home about. 

So, to Mr. Freeman, and all the people sitting in traffic who just got some spice added to their stagnant drive home to suburbia, you’re welcome.

The Break-up

Yesterday began like every other Sunday since the beginning of the year. I woke up and started the search for my gear to wear for my regular long run. I've never been much for organization, so after every run my stuff tends to explode inside every room in my house, never in the same place twice, making for an inefficient clothing hunt to mark the beginning of every weekend run.

Every year when the river freezes they plow a walking path, and zamboni a skating trail, making one of the most epic polar running adventures in the prairies. I'll admit, sometimes the lure of clear asphalt is often more appealing that running in loose beach-sand-like snow, but running on the river is an experience like none other. A foreign perspective of a familiar city, the intense heat of the frozen sun, and the solitude of a traffic-less path make for a run that you can't get anywhere else.

Getting prepared for a winter run is an adventure in itself. I probably spent more time getting dressed and undressed than actually out running. By the time I was ready to hit the snow, I looked like I was ready to rob a bank. Dressed head-to-toe in black gear with every inch covered except for two glossy white eyeballs, I was the true Canadian Ninja that every winter runner in the prairies can relate to.

Running in the winter is a bit of a lesson in modesty. There were no PR's. Trying to navigate gleaming patches of  mystery ice, running in snow that meets your mid-shins, and scrambling up and down slippery riverbanks makes for a less than desirable pace. But every moment is totally worth it. Even if your eyelashes are frozen shut.

Winter was going to end soon and the trail would  turn in a flowing stream of broken icebergs, melting in the spring equinox. And the truth was, that I wasn't sure that I was ready for this epic polar adventure to end. Like a new bestie that you meet a few days before the end of summer camp, or a summer fling with someone who will return to their regular life when the days get short and turn cold, you know whatever you had will never last but it doesn't make it any easier to accept. The fact was, I was in season changing denial.

For yesterday's run I had planned a 7 miler that took me along roads and paths that lined the river. I had hesitantly come to terms with knowing the river trail was soon-to-be no longer, so maybe it would be easier if I just ran the streets instead. But as I rounded the corner at the end of my block I saw the river flooded with people, like an army of ants marching down the Canadian highway of winter fun. Before I knew it I found myself bumbling down the riverbank in a habitual fashion back to my winter comfort. I was going to run the WHOLE thing. Even if it amounted to more than 7 miles (which it did. 8.5 miles round-trip from my house, to be exact). This was my last kick at the can, my winter victory lap.

Earlier this morning, the news broke. Rivertrail: CLOSED for the season. I suddenly had an unanticipated sinking feeling. Like the kind you get when you realize your summer fling is just another stranger that you used to know, or when you realize that in a few years you won't even remember the name of your new bestie that you met at summer camp. Soon enough I'll be back to running on clear streets, wind in my hair and free of restricting layers of winter armour. 

Most people around here will call me crazy. Talk to pretty much anyone and no one is ever disappointed at the idea of an early spring. But when you spend every single Saturday and every single Sunday running on the open road of a frozen river, breaking up is hard to do.

The Race

Here I was, standing on the snowy river in Winter-land amidst a few dozen Olympic athletes about to start a triathlon. Well, they might not have been Olympic athletes for all I knew, but they definitely looked the part and I was pretty sure they would play it too. 

First leg: Snowshoe Run. Mere seconds after the horn sounded, I become astonishingly aware that this would be the greatest two kilometer lung-buster of my life. Two kilometers is nothing. Even at a fast running pace, I routinely run way farther than this on a regular basis, but suddenly I was hit with the realization of how terrible this might go.

In a snowshoe stampede my initial fear became reality for another racer. The Fall. You don't think about this much until you have two over-sized tennis racquets strapped to your feet and suddenly running becomes an entirely different sport. The trick is a wide stance. Actually, it's not a trick, it's not even just a piece of good advice, it's the only way that you can move forward without tasting an icy batch of riverbank snow during The Fall. 

Luckily, I never fell victim to The Fall. And the racer who did, well he was way past me so he was doing 'aight. The halfway point came up quicker than expected and while it certainly was no sightseeing adventure in the Great White North, the end was achievable. I stamped on.

Next up: Skate. I don't really have much to say here, skating is skating. And it IS like riding a bike. After a precarious maneuver over the snow bank to the ice course, I was off, gliding in the wind. Literally, the wind was with me the whole way there, which made the skate back a super enjoyable time. It didn't seem to slow down The Olympians and their fancy speed skates though.

Third leg: The Ski. I was actually looking forward to this part. I glide-y walked yesterday, so obviously I'm a pro here. It was snowing, the sky was really pretty and many times I had to remind myself that I wasn't out on a leisurely ski here. PICK UP THE PACE! Which is an interesting thing. I'm not entirely sure how to "pick up the pace" on cross country skis, probably because I in fact was not a pro. So I did the best I could, and made sure to enjoy the fleeting Winter around me.

In the end, almost everyone beat me. Which was fine, because I wasn't here to race a good time, I was here to have a good time. Which I did, with my BFF, Winter. 

One Thing Leads to Another

This year, I decided to become friends with Winter. People complain about how terrible it is but I think my new BFF is just misunderstood and can actually be as beautiful as summer. It just hurts a little sometimes.

So after my typical outdoor run, I headed back out on the river with my camera gear in tow ready to take some beauty portraits of Mother Nature in all its Winter glory. And glorious it was. I found interesting patterns in the ice and frosty sunshine beaming off the bellies of bridges seldom seen by those that are in Winter Denial. Tree-lined riverbanks resembled landscapes far away from the City Centre, and leaned up against the rustic doors of the local Rowing club, a collection of snowshoes was beginning to accumulate. I headed towards the club, a perfect photo opp.

I found myself in a conversation with the snowshoe delivery man who told me the snowshoes were for a Winter triathlon he was coordinating the next morning. Snowshoe-run, skate, and ski. How cool! (no pun intended). All of a sudden I found myself falsely confessing "I wish I knew about this event earlier!" (as if knowing about it previously would have made any sort of a difference). Taking my unintentional cue, he offered to sign me up for the race even though registration was closed. I obviously said no.

What did I know about Triathlons, besides that they just sounded long. Plus, I didn't have skis, I didn't have skates, nor had I actually skied before or skated in over 10 years. I thanked him for the offer and went on my way up the riverbank to my car.

Then, I suddenly began to think---why did I say no? Come on. I can run 8 miles in -40 degree Celsius weather when the rest of the world is scared to leave their house to get groceries in fear of the all-mighty wind chill. I'M TOUGH. I can figure out this skiing thing, and skating is "just like riding a bike" right? A quick phone call later, and I had secured a pair of borrowed skis. Before I could even figure out the rest, I found myself barreling back down the snowy riverbank, mildly naive and overzealous at the thought that I was about to score the greatest date with winter that I could imagine. And that was it. I was signed up for a Winter triathlon. Race date: less than 24 hours away.

After picking up the skis I borrowed, I still needed skates so I headed to the nearest used skate shop I knew of. Thirty dollars later and a car full of winter fun, I was feeling like a pretty good representative of the most loathed season in my neck of the woods. But I still had a minor problem. I didn't know if I could ski.

While out on my run earlier in the day I had noticed the nicely groomed ski trails on the river, so I trucked my gear back to the riverbank to give it a shot. What did I have to lose? (besides the race the next day). After a quick YouTube video I was feeling pretty confident (yes, the embarrassing search history of "how to cross country ski" is in full existence on my phone). With my skis on, poles in hand, I head out and started what I can only describe as "glide-y walking". I was skiing. Triathlon, I GOT THIS.

Before I knew it, the morning had arrived and I was back on the river holding a set of skis, a pair of skates, and a pair of snowshoes that resembled a plastic cast version of the sinew-y ones from grade school. Hello Winter, we meet again.

What a simple day I had planned when I ventured out on my photographic mission to prove Winters grace. Who knew that one thing would lead to another and before I'd know it, I'd be standing on the start line of a sub-zero triathlon.

Hi, I'm new here.

For as long as I've been around, I've had something to say. Anyone who knows me (even briefly) knows this. I am that person who has a passionate opinion on almost everything, and I'm never afraid to speak my mind, stick up for myself, or stick up for someone else. I am that person that you ask simple advice from, and you end up with an entire novel of ideas and options, and a road map to get there.

I like to run. But more than that, I want everyone to run, especially the people who don't think they can run, or think they'll hate it. Because I'm certain that running changes people, and it changes lives.

In my everyday life, I encounter people who have a general negative outlook on health, wellness and exercise. And who can blame them? It's basically our culture. We are taught that fat makes you fat. We are taught that if you eat some magic food everyday that you can see astonishing weight loss in a week. We are given poor choices dining out, and there's a huge misconception about the role exercise plays in weight loss. We are lured in by "quick" weight-loss miracles, pills, corset type wraps that make you skinny, and we are taught that health, wellness and exercise has a start date and an end date (think 10-day weight loss cleanse).

I've heard people say they are "too fat" to exercise, or that their bodies can't physically handle healthy food ("lettuce makes me weak" ----as if lettuce is all that healthy people eat). I've heard countless people say they are too busy to eat healthy or to hit the gym, that they don't have enough money to lose weight, and that only skinny people run. While there are always medical exceptions, more often than not these are just excuses from people who aren't empowered, educated, or confident enough in themselves to realize they have the ability to do whatever they set their minds on. These are often the same people who think they can't run, or think running is torture.  I'm set on changing these people's minds and give people that lightbulb moment where they finally realize that the effort is worth it, you can eat real food and still lose weight, and that running is not torture.