October 23, 2011 § 1 Comment
Time: 40 minutes
Distance: 2.44 miles (run/walk)
Song that kept me going: Are You Gonna Be My Girl by Jet
Observation: Lose Yourself by Eminem makes you feel like you’re in some dramatic musical sequence in a movie, preferably in inclement weather or after dark
I remember hearing about “heel-toe” running from my dad years ago. I wasn’t a runner back then… Actually I’m still not really a runner am I? Let’s call me a borderline-runner. So this borderline-runner likes to do things properly. Alignment, or in non-yogic terms, form is key. I’d much rather know I’m running correctly than push myself to beat any records. Competition sucks. Why can’t we all just get along? Peace, love, and running. Cue “heel-toe.”
I tried it the other day while on the treadmill and the wind was knocked out of me. Turns out running in good form beats the shit out of you. And the worst? It made me WALK some of my distance. The HORROR! Suddenly things aren’t so hippie-love-like. The ego, my friends, she is a competitive stage mom. Your good form is met with a scoff at your new reduced ability to run. Never mind that your previous abilities will return. This is where I make my mistakes. I am my own competitive stage mom.
This was what happened today, I didn’t even hit 1K and couldn’t continue. I started walking and berating myself the whole time. After 3 blocks of stagemoming, I decided to attempt running again. I started out slowly, a slow that can be achieved only through concerted effort. Before long, I had reached my turn around point. I kept on running at a turtle’s pace, until my ankles starting to feel the strain. I did this cycle of run/walk one more time then saw the light: my condo building. Finally.
While this run was a little disappointing in terms of endurance and pace, it offered me lots of contemplation time. It’ll be hard to reign my inner competitive stage mom when she wants to run at a regular pace, but I’m going to have to start slower than I do. It’s the anti-”go big or go home.” I choose C) none of the above. For now anyway.
October 19, 2011 § Leave a Comment
For the last six years, I’ve made the same New Year’s resolution, and that is to run a 5K race. I’m not really fond of New Year’s resolutions, which is my official excuse as to why I haven’t run that 5K race yet. Excuses aside, the desire has been a prevalent topic of discussion in my life since 2006. So yeah, there was a time I used to run 5K three times a week, excellent, but enough with the anticlimactic ending at my front door! Begone STOP button on the treadmill! I want to cross a finish line!
Naturally, as people faced with a personal goal so often do, I’ve signed up. For a 5K? Heavens, no! For a 10K! In December! 4th to be exact! (Yes, this year.)
It’s ok, I thought it too. I done lost my mind! Done LOST it.
I found myself an 8-week training schedule and, renegade that I am, have decided to start from Week 2, because I only have 7 weeks to go. Day 1 was a rest day (I totally killed that), and Day 2 should have been my first 2 mile (3.2km) run, however I had a dodgeball game and thus excused myself. Renegades don’t follow schedules, don’t you know? I figured a one-day delay wouldn’t do much harm, and so I’ve just returned from the Day 2 training on this Day 3.
How did I feel? A little ashamed. The yogi within tells me I shouldn’t be, running (like other activities) is about keeping at it, and I fully intend to. (7am wake up call, CHECK!) But Treadmill, dude, do you know who I am? I used to OWN you 5K at a time back in the day, son! OWN. I hit 0.4 miles and felt the burn. Hwhat?! Freaking inactivity, why must you be so tempting! At around 0.9 miles I was wondering how I would renegade my way past the finish line when the temps are below zero. I made it through though, and that’s what counts. Now I get to feel the satisfaction of having completed the 3.2K.
Tomorrow morning, I hit the pavement. This is going to be interesting.
April 7, 2011 § 1 Comment
Continuing with the theme of ghosts, I’ve been having phantom butterflies lately. You know the feeling I’m talking about, when you revisit the sensation you had during an amazing kiss, or some other delectable physical act. More often than not, it’s something that occurred in the recent past, a memory unfaded by time. I love those sensations, the aftershocks of intimacy.
I can summon those feelings pretty easily after an occurrence, rewinding the tape in my head, and pressing play when I know the butterflies first started fluttering. However, the more time separates me from the occurrence, the more difficult it is to reprise that tingling feeling. It might start with missing snippets, and eventually degrade into a simple memory, a knowledge of such a thing having taken place. That’s usually when another one of those occurrences needs to step in to keep the momentum going.
Sadly, I’ve lost my momentum. Or so it seemed. The phantom butterflies came barging to the forefront of my consciousness despite the last occurrence being far enough in the past that it should have faded. For quite some time, it actually was a faded memory, and then inexplicably, out of nowhere, it reignited into a full-fledged case of phantom butterflies. Tried as I might I couldn’t find anything that might have triggered the last memory. Since that moment, I’ve been feeling one particular spot at the nape of my neck, POISED for an occurrence, a tremor in my hypodermis waiting, just waiting for that next chance to release the tingles down my neck straight to my back.
March 12, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Driving up to the condo, I had flashbacks of one of the last times I was in this area. Slamming my car door shut, huffing, puffing and stomping through the snow, gearing up to run my mouth with multiple opinions that were barely contained by my pursed lips. Back to the present, we parked the car. I looked out to see the mirror of the place that held many of my memories, fond and not so. I was weirded out, but amused. Two and a half years had passed over those memories after all. No biggie.
I opened the door and was struck by how identical it was to that old place. Literally. The only differences were the items inside, and the mirrored layout. I walked in, and another memory came rushing forward. Bittersweet, this time. I remembered that diagonal wall. I remembered the door I had trouble opening. I remembered the ceiling with its curious stucco patterns. Identical, just mirrored.
I remembered the first room, which in that old place was to your right, but this being the mirror of that place, it was to your left. I peered in and was struck by a bizzaro element. There was my bed, staring me in the face. My bed, that I have owned for the last 10 years. In this condo, identical to the old one, just mirrored. Were it a bed from IKEA, I wouldn’t be surprised, but it wasn’t. I had bought it from a store in Montreal, 500km away, 10 years ago. Though I guess most people wouldn’t be shocked at that, my bed isn’t the most unique thing in the world, but I had certainly never seen anything like it anywhere else when I was shopping for beds all those years ago. But anyway.
Where I remembered light blue walls, I was greeted with bright red. Where I remembered a black leather couch, I saw one printed with leopard spots. Where I remembered an extensive cd collection, rockabilly dolls had found their place. But you know, it was identical, just mirrored.
I didn’t want the unit, it was a tad too small for my taste, in front of train tracks and hydro lines. But it was funny taking that bizzaro walk through time. Damn condo developers.
February 26, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Cheese and charcuterie platters have been attracting me like bees to honey lately. I’ve been dying to go to a restaurant that serves this kind of combination, and so when a friend of mine informed me of a mutual friend’s visit to our fair (adopted) city, I heard opportunity knocking. I was given carte blanche for the choice of restaurant, and away I went, in search of the ideal, non-Asian (my visiting friend isn’t a fan), veggie-friendly (my other friend is a vegetarian) restaurant that had a cheese platter on the menu (I gotta look out for number one too right?). Given a particular area of town, the choice is usually easy. However, I was given the St Lawrence Market area. Beautifully charming, older part in East Toronto, busy but not obnoxiously loud, yet undoubtedly more pricey than the west.
I have a penchant for cardinal points. For some reason, south and west have always appealed to me, and I’ve harboured biases for those parts of most towns, regardless of the town or how correct my bias is. Since moving to Toronto, I am forced to concede that the eastern part of the city holds just as much charm as the west. Especially the St Lawrence Market.
After an exhaustive search of restaurants in the St Lawrence Market, just as I thought I’d have to look out for all but number one, I found a place that met all our needs and was not exorbitantly priced: Mercatto. Ignoring some of the reviews on Yelp and the like, I made reservations. We got there late, but had no problem getting seated. Wait staff was really courteous, lacking the snob factor that can be found a little too easily in a city of this size.
First order of business was the cheese platter. We had the choice of 3 from a list of roughly 10 different cheeses, most of which we’d never heard of. We decided to ask our waiter if he’d recommend anything, and instead of going through individual options, he asked what kind of cheese experience we’re looking for. You know you’re in the right place when you are asked what kind of space you’d like your cheese to transport you to. We settled on an eclectic, unique experience: one cow’s milk (Taleggio), one sheep’s milk (Manchego), and one goat’s milk (Pave du Barry). One mild and two strong cheeses, each with a unique note that I can’t really specify. I’m of the “I’ve never met a cheese I didn’t like” school, so I’m not sure if that makes my taste discerning (read: I’m pretty sure it doesn’t). Oh so yummy! Cheese platters aren’t ever really big, and though my eyes want way more at first, I’m quite grateful by the end of the experience. Especially with strong cheeses making an appearance.
We ordered a bottle of wine, recommended by a Sommelier based on our cheese platter, and oh did that Sommelier hit the mark. We wanted a red, medium bodied, fruity yet ever so slightly dry wine, and that’s exactly what we got. Oh. So. Tasty! Best of all, the bottle was enough for each one of us to walk away with a fun buzz.
Wine and cheese aside, how was the food? Perfectly cooked, perfectly portioned, perfectly yummy. I can’t fathom why anyone would not enjoy their experience at Mercatto. Nice decor, knowledgeable and courteous service, excellent flavors, great price, what more do people want?! Trying something new be damned, I’d go back several times!
February 22, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Winter in Canada is quite the brutal affair, and even though Toronto isn’t as bad as others, it’s still worse than a human can sustain without resorting to specialized 700$ arctic winter gear. Back in the elementary school days, I used to make snow angels, have snowball fights, and generally traipse around the white stuff with the best of them, but as I grew older, and less prone to frolic around in the cold, I couldn’t handle the freezing temperature. The worst, least logical thing to do in such conditions, at least in my opinion, was running. I used to look at those crazy people running around in the slippery, icy, snowy conditions, armed with nothing other than running shoes, tight pants, a windbreaker, and a tuque and wonder what could possibly compel a human being to get out there and, not only battle the freezing temperatures, but also exert themselves while they’re at it! Clearly these people were insane.
You know how the saying goes right? Never say never. Well, I said never, and fast forward to today, never has arrived. Today, I ran away with the circus.
It started in November. I hadn’t jogged in over a month, and I was surprisingly craving it. The unfortunate reality was that I was facing a good 6 months of winter ahead of me, and I didn’t want to hit the treadmill anymore. My craving was bad enough that I started trolling the Sporting Life and Lululemon websites for the gear necessary to go hardcore on winter running. Nothing like a boost of pretty things to get you motivated! Acquiring these pretty things took a little longer than I would have liked but the winter is so definitely not over yet.
Having acquired all the gear I needed, I got home today, and set off before I had enough time to reconsider my venture into crazyville. I hit the pavement, tunes pumping, sun setting. Halfway down my block I felt a chill over my back and remembered the breathability of my base layer. Yeesh. I shook myself out of the reaction and continued. Turning the corner onto a bigger street, I suddenly felt self-conscious. I used to roll my eyes at runners in the winter, and here I was, bundled up with nothing but a thin layer of nylon-spandex guarding my bum from the elements, wondering what people were thinking of me. That’s the funny thing about growing up, you remember how you used to react to “older” people doing “crazy” things like run outside in the winter, or tell dirty jokes, or offer advice about dating, and though you’re on the other side, wiser and rolling your eyes right back at those teenagers who have much to learn, you suddenly gain consciousness of the shift. But let’s ignore that for now, that’s my crazy “30th birthday looming” self talking.
Warm up over, I started jogging. My expectation was that I would jog for a block and then my lungs would start to rip into shreds because of the lack of two things: oxygen, and practice. I kept those expectations at bay by checking the pavement ahead, expecting ice patches everywhere and a wipeout by yours truly to entertain the evening commuters. Surprisingly, my expectations were not met. I didn’t slip and fall, and managed to run much further than I was able to in the summer, prior to the familiar lungs-being-ripped-to-shreds feeling kicked in. And even then, it wasn’t that bad. Was it all that moksha yoga I had been doing since I stopped running? Was it the colder temperature? I don’t know WHAT it was, but I just had an awesome run.
Of course, around the end, I felt like there were icicles hanging off my butt, and that I could “cut glass” if you know what I’m saying. I’m still thawing as I write this but winter running, you have just been acquired as a hobby!
February 21, 2011 § Leave a Comment
Janelle Monae - Tightrope
Sean Kingston ft. Nicki Minaj - Letting Go
Scissor Sisters - Any Which Way
Duck Sauce - Barbara Streisand
Uffie ft. Pharrell Williams - ADD SUV
Marc Anthony - Lamento Borincano
NG2 - Ella Menea
Martin Solveig & Dragonette - Hello
Oasis - The Importance of Being Idle
Cake - Love You Madly
Nelly Furtado - Te Busque
Kings of Leon - Down South
Jamiroquai - White Knuckle Ride