The Toronto Women's 5KM Run

It's 9:27 am and I am somewhere I never thought I'd be. I'm at the starting line the of  Toronto Women's 5km Run. A couple of months ago, I would have told you that I don't run. Now I am surrounded by runners, at least 200 in front and countless others behind.   Thank God Marla is here.

She has manoeuvred us into what she explains is a strategic starting point. 

"You want to be behind a strong fast group. They will pull ahead of us, and the ones behind us will take some time to catch up. That way we get some space and are not running in a big clump of people."

I nod and follow.  I try not to show it, but it's an intense moment for me. The reality of being here almost has me in tears.

The announcer gives the one minute signal. People move up. I see some women on their own, looking for space. Once again I think how happy I am to not be alone. Our friend and running guru Scott is cheering us on from the side of the course. The energy is seriously intense.

"30 seconds," says the announcer. People start moving their feet. Running on the spot. The energy level is dialled up another notch.

The horn sounds. It takes us 20 seconds to get to the gate. I step on the mat. My time chip is activated.

It's a tough start, it's pouring rain and despite my best efforts, I am soaking wet. My body warms up quickly but my hands, feet and legs are cold.  It's a weird uncomfortable feeling.  I want to stop but we haven't even gone one kilometre.

As I am thinking the whole thing through,  I feel a tug on my sleeve.  It's Marla.

"Slowly...slowly...take it easy. Keep a steady pace. You want to get to the end." We run for 12 minutes--a stretch from my most recent ten minute accomplishment, and then walk for less than a minute.

As we start up again,  Marla says "we can walk again when we get to the place where the firefighters hand out the water."  It seems an eternity before we reach them. We pause only for a moment. Volunteers along the course cheer us on...it helps.

As the four kilometre marker comes into sight, I am starting to fade. I tell Marla that I am going to walk for a minute.  She stops too.  I know she can keep going, so I tell her to go on.

"I didn't train with you for ten weeks to leave you now," she says.

I start to run again.  With one kilometre left to go, my lungs feel like I am breathing razor blades and my legs are sore.  I concentrate on picking up my feet.   "Almost there," I  tell myself.   I come around the corner and I can hear people cheering.  As I look up and see the finish line, I am filled with emotion.   In my mind I hear the old taunts and feel the indignity of school yard bullying. I see the demon of being useless at running rise up like an image in front of me.  I laugh in it's face and this time it disappears--forever.  

Freer and lighter of heart, I summon that last bit of energy. I see Scott cheering me on. As I cross the finish line, I am running with everything I've got.  I hear the announcer say my name. I can barely take it all in.

Later that day I get my results.  Although I rank 215th out of an unknown number of runners, with a time of 34 minutes and 19 seconds, it's both a physical and mental victory.  It's an experience that has value beyond the activity of running and a moment I will push me forward in contests to come.







Never quit,

Mary

Coming up next.   Caribbean Adventures.

P.S.  A special note of thanks goes out to my friend and neighbour Marla.  Without her constant coaching and encouragement I wouldn't have made it.  Thanks also to Scott who stood in the rain and cold and cheered us on and took pictures.    You guys rock.

Crashing Down the Humber River

It's Sunday morning, I wake up with an angry rotator cuff. Not good. I do the stretches my chiropractor has given me. They don't help. Luckily, I still have full range of motion and It's a beautiful day. I have an appointment for a kayaking trip on the Humber River to look at the fall colours. This is only the second time I have been in a kayak and I am looking forward to a day on the water.

After a good lunch I arrive at Kingsmill Park. As I am waiting for the other 13 people in my group to show up, a young man walks up to me and introduces himself.

"Hi, I'm Jordan, I'll be your guide"

Jordan is about 5'11, medium build. He is tanned. Although it's the end of October, it's a fairly warm day. He is bare chested under his life jacket. He has black pants and black Blundstone boots. Both are covered in mud. He has close cropped curly black hair. I can see myself in the reflection of the aviator sunglasses he never takes off. He tells me all about the river, it's currents and it's local wildlife inhabitants.

As he speaks, I am thinking about how Jordan is like a sort of male version of a water nymph. I'm under his spell and floating in time until he says to me,

"You have your own life jacket. You must have paddled a bit.

My dream bubble bursts with a loud pop. I do what any good spokesperson does when they are on their back foot. I try and look confident and provide a general sort of non-answer.

Truth is, I bought the life jacket that morning at Canadian Tire because it was on sale for $22 and I thought it might be a good investment in my aquatic future.

When it's time to take our kayaks down to the river, Jordan helps me with mine. I get launched.

We head downstream. Because it has been such a dry summer the water level is low and the current is quite strong in places, we are quickly pulled forward. I start to paddle. I quickly find it's not like paddling on Moonstone lake. The current pulls me to the side. I can't track straight.

As we get further downstream and I get a bit of a rhythm going. Jordan paddles beside me and gives me some tips. "It shouldn't be about your chest and shoulders," he says, "it's in your biceps. Also, try and control the boat with your hips" He does a demonstration for me.

As we turn back upstream, I give myself a bit of a talking to and start to really concentrate on my stroke. I don't even bother looking at the leaves. I am vaguely aware of their beauty, but I have other issues. This is tour of novices, and even though I am starting to get it, other people are really not. Over the next hour, I am cut off constantly by other kayakers, hit three times by the same family of first time canoers and side-swiped by other canoes in our group who can't manage the current.

As we get up to the final bend in the river the current is so strong that people are being cast back down sideways. It's a log jamb of kayaks all bumping up against the bank and into each other. Some people make it through. I simply don't have the strength. I am too tired. I am forced to portage over a gravel spit. Jordan gets out of his boat and helps me.

When it's finally over I pull myself out of the kayak and drag it up over the embankment. I am covered in mud and I ache all over. My rotator cuff is on fire.

As I am getting on my dry shoes I see Jordan. He says to me "You paddled well." I cast my mind back to the moment I rammed into the dock at the Toronto Yacht club and I laugh a little on the inside.

It's been a frustrating day, but I have learnt a lot. As I walk towards the subway I am already planning the future. I can't wait to find a place where I can get a little more coaching and get back on the water in the spring of next year.

Never quit,

Mary

Coming up: Toronto Women's 5km Run and some Caribbean Adventures.

Back in the Saddle After 32 Years

We roll down a driveway and towards a large beige ranch style gate. As it opens automatically I feel a shiver of excitement. "Wow, it's just like Southfork."

Nobody but me can appreciate how wonderful it is to be inside my head right now.

After more than 30 years, I am returning to horseback riding and I cannot wait.

1980

My brain is going a mile a minute. I remember everything;  how, when I was a a kid, my father agreed to give me horseback riding lessons because he never wanted me to be at a disadvantage if I found myself amongst the privileged; how I fell off a horse cantering with no stirrups and was afraid to canter after that; how I had a grumpy instructor who made a painfully insecure 11 year old feel even worse; how ultimately these factors combined in my poor adolescent head and my awkwardness and fear overcame my love for horses.

But today, I get a second chance, a chance to start it all again. I am absolutely giddy.

The horse I get to ride is called Sky. He is gentle and sweet and for me it's love at first sight. Sky is perhaps less sure, but after fixing me in his big brown eyes and then sniffing my hands and coat sleeve, he lets me groom him. Sky belongs to Mr. Barolo's nephew O2.

O2 is also kind, gentle and generous of heart. He surrenders his horse to me for the afternoon.

While still grooming Sky, I meet O2's Grandmother, Anne. She is a highly accomplished equestrian. Over the course of the afternoon she she becomes the instructor I wish I had encountered over 30 years ago.

She reads me immediately and as we are walking out to the ring she says to me quietly,

"This horse can be a bit spooky. If you are nervous he will sense it and react. Take a deep breath and relax."

Once in the ring, I focus on her voice while I try and remember back to what I learned when I was a kid. I get on the horse. I take the reins and Sky and I walk around the ring. Anne speaks to me gently the entire time.

"Bring your heels down, place the balls of your feet on the irons and angle your toes out." I remember this was hard for me to maintain when I was a kid. It still is.

Sky and I walk around the ring.

"Now bring him to a trot. Do you remember how to post?"

I sort of do. In English style riding, when a horse trots, a rider lifts oneself up and down in the saddle. It's proper form to raise yourself when the outside foreleg comes forward.  First, we work on just the trot itself and then she says to me "you are doing well. Let's see if you can get the diagonal."  The fact that she says I am doing well makes me want to weep for joy.   I don't manage to synchronize my movements with the horse's outside foreleg right away, but eventually it comes. I ride for over an hour.  Sky and I get along just fine. I don't canter this time.  But I will.  I take the horse back to the barn with the resolve that I one day I will jump.

When we finally leave the farm I am at a loss for words;  there's Anne who has shown me such great  kindness, there's O2 for selflessly allowing me to ride his horse; there's Mrs. Barolo for driving my up to the farm; there's Mr. Barolo's sister and brother-in-law, the Glenfiddich's, who have made the arrangements for me to ride. This all has meant so much to me. All of these fabulous people have come together to give me a moment of redemption too complex to express with a simple "thank you."  Unfortunately those words are the only tools I have.   So I thank them for the day, knowing that this is also my way of thanking them for a new beginning.

Never quit,

Mary

Coming up next:  Kayaking , Toronto Women's 5km and a Caribbean Cruise

Three-day Weekend, Four Hikes and My 70 Year Old Mom

Spring Road, High Park

I am in a part of High Park I have never been to before, looking at a sign. All of a sudden I hear,

"Ouch, oh no"

I turn around to face my mother, who is saying, "that dog just hit me. It really hurts."

"What? A dog hit you?"

"Yes dear, that brown dog."

We walk on for a few minutes and then she says,"I think we should turn around." She pulls up her pant leg to reveal a bruise and bump the size and shape of a mango. It's the type of bruise that results when an 80 pound Weimaraner hunting dog running full tilt side swipes a thin 70 year old.

"O.K." I say. We turn around and head home. I am concerned about my Mom, but I am also a little sad. After dragging my family across 32km's of Toronto's parks and ravines, I have had the greatest Thanksgiving ever. I don't want it to end.

The Beltline

As we trudge home, I flash back to Thursday when I tell my her that I want to do four hikes this weekend. She initially looks a little nervous and asks if they are the types of hikes that one can drop out of, if necessary. "Sure," I say. A half truth. I'm not sure that they are and I am not sure that they aren't. When I suggest to my cousin, Jane, that we celebrate Thanksgiving by walking 13km across the city and then go to Chinatown for our Thanksgiving dinner, she doesn't even bat an eyelash. "Sounds good to me" she says.

So begins my Thanksgiving odyssey. After doing a bit of research, I have come up with 4 walks; a 5km warm-up on Friday night in High Park; a 13km Saturday walk, across the Beltline; on Sunday a 10km walk along the lower Humber River; and a final Monday morning 5km spin around High Park.

My mom and I complete the first walk on Friday evening in an hour. "See Mom," I say, "You just did 5km and you feel great. Tomorrow's 13km will be a piece of cake." She does not respond.

The Beltline

Saturday arrives and my Mom, Jane and I are out on the Beltline by 10:30 am. The pace is brisk and we talk. This is a hard time of year for each us. It feels good to reminisce about the past, tell stories from the old days and laugh as we check out a few of the more handsome runners we encounter along the path. Eventually our trail leads us to Mount Pleasant Cemetery. The three of us have spent a lot of time in cemeteries in the past few years, sometimes together, often alone. It's feels normal to be there.



As we walk, certain headstones stand out. We pass a runner who died at 29. At least 20 of the medals he received are hung on his tombstone. We go through a section which is specifically for children. Weather beaten teddy bears stand guard beside the small square plaques on the ground. I've had a lot on my mind lately and this part of the walk is a Thanksgiving style reminder of all that is right with my life...a reminder that there are types of grief I haven't felt and no time to waste on self pity.

From left to right: Me, Mom, Jane at the Brickworks

By lunch time we reach the Brickworks, an old factory that has been re-purposed into a craft, food and farmer's market and have lunch. As the vendors are packing up we head back onto the trail and carry on northward towards St. Clair Ave. As our walk ends I am left with a feeling of calm.

Sunday, my Mom and I set out again for trek up the Humber River. She says she is feeling a bit "squeaky," but after two hours and forty-five minutes we complete our 10 km walk.

When Monday arrives I admit that I am feeling a little "squeaky" myself. This time it's my mom who says to me, "are you ready to go back to High Park?"

"Are you?" I reply.

"Sure, why not? Let's give it one more try."

We head off and soon find ourselves amongst the the trees. This is where she and the dog collide and our final 5km is cut short, a kilometre early. In the end, the collision is not serious and with a bit of ice she is almost as good as new.

My mom goes home later that night. As I watch her get on the bus, I am struck by the fact that the more we change and develop new traditions, the more we value the people who help us do that. This weekend I have experienced good things while seeing new parts of the city and spending time with my family. This Thanksgiving I have been reminded just how lucky I am to have both my mom and Jane to walk with me not only through the ups and downs of city of trails, but also along the path of life.

Never quit,

Mary

Coming up: horseback riding, kayaking and the Toronto Women's 5km.

The Beltline

The Beltline

Thanksgiving Dinner

The Lower Humber River, Etienne Brulee Park

The Lower Humber River, Etienne Brulee Park

Grenadier Pond, High Park

My Chiropractor Tells Me To Stop Sitting Around

I went to see my chiropractor the other day and without a word of exaggeration, the conversation started something like this:

"So, how is your back, your shoulder, your calf, your knee and your foot?"

Happily, this time, he didn't say:

"Don't get old, there's no future in it."

At middle age I think it's important to have a sense of humour...something to help us appreciate the paradox of ageing. There are lots of things I like about being in the second part of my life. For instance, I don't wait for permission to do things and I have logged the miles that give me credibility in the workplace. But on the down-side, the passage of time has left its mark. Like those of us who have spent the last 20 years chained to a desk earning our stripes, I am now starting to realize my office job has contributed to my losing more than my natural hair colour.

I learned this the hard way when I started at the gym last winter. I quickly found that I was unable to do lunges, squats, stairs and other leg exercises due knee pain. I thought it was either arthritis or cartilage damage. I was referred by Matt, my trainer, to Dr. Bryan Porter, Chiropractor.

Because he treats a lot of people my age, it didn't take Dr. Porter long to figure our what ailed me. As it happened, it was not cartilage damage. Apparently my situation was not uncommon. After years of literally sitting around all day, my glutes weren't firing and my hips weren't working the way they were supposed to. Sitting had also contributed to a repetative strain injury in my lower back and with my rotator cuff. Over time, my movement patterns had become affected and this put undue strain on my knees when I tried to do certain exercises.

"Many people in their 40's have sedentary jobs" Dr. Porter said to me, "If you do enough sitting, the way your muscles function changes...things that used to work properly don't work that way anymore"

Dr. Bryan Porter

When I asked him how to fix the situation, so that I could carry on with my fitness objectives, he gave me some advice which is true for anyone starting a new fitness program.

"Get help from someone who knows what they are doing to develop a plan to help you meet your goals."

"Establish a baseline," he said, "of where you are and what you can do safely...Build up to your goal. Just going to the gym, lifting weights and running is not the only thing you have to consider..Educate yourself and do it the right way."

For me this meant lots of rehab exercises both at home and integrated into my training program to get things working again. It also meant establishing a strategy for
saving myself from the damage to the body that is intrinsic in a desk job.
When I asked Dr. Porter for his guidance in this area his answer was simple, "if there is one thing in general people should stop doing, it's sitting," he said, "Humans weren't meant to sit for long periods of time."

This is easier said than done. I struggle with this all the time. I get glued to my computer monitor and wrapped up in a deadline. One thing that has helped me greatly, though, is that I have replaced my chair with an exercise ball. I did this to alleviate back problems and it has worked very well. Using it means I have to sit up properly and I am in constant motion. I have also put on my social butterfly wings and tried to talk to people face to face instead of sending emails, where possible. When the weather is nice, I slip out for a quick walk around the block at lunch time.

In the end, there is no going back in time and fixing things. For me the only remedy is to keep moving at work and to do the rehab exercises that are part of my personal fitness plan. I do believe, however, that whether I had become active or not, the "postural aches and pains" of the having an office job would have caught up to me. While it seems that the inaction of my past made this path inevitable, I am glad about the way it worked out. I am glad that with another 20 years of working in an office ahead of me, I have the opportunity to make corrections to my daily habits. And most of all, I am very glad that I have had the opportunity to work with a professional like Dr. Porter who can make me laugh a myself at the same time as he helps me build up the strength I need to get on with the 43 Project and get on with life.


Never quit,
Mary

Coming up in future posts: Hiking, Horseback Riding and Kayaking on the Humber River