I’m wearing flannel, for god’s sake. Can we get summer over here already??
Weekend roundup: long run with Lizzie and Erica in a fun downpour, a parade and berry picking. Truly Canadian, eh?
Happy Canada Day!
Author: Christine Cogger
I am not a writer. I like my kids, coffee, running around and reading about you. I live in the most incredible part of the world and am lucky enough to live some pretty great adventures.
What makes you an Athlete?
It’s kind of baffling to me that I ever got into triathlon or endurance sports at all.
As a child, I was obsessed with ponies.
I absolutely HATED swimming lessons (my mother still has the scars to prove it) and I distinctly remember swimming so crookedly in one lake meet that I hit the dock we were meant to be swimming parallel to head-on.
Cycling was something I did to get to my summer job and subsequently something I took up when I sold my first love, an Arabian pony named Macgyver.
I had a boyfriend who was passionate about biking so I think I took it up just to be cool. I sucked, but I was stubborn and did it anyway. Although I thought nothing of piloting a 1000-pound, fairly disobedient animal over immovable obstacles (but let’s face it, I was 17. I didn’t think much about anything), riding down a mountain side (or up one, for that matter) usually had me in tears of frustration and/or fear. The second time I took my road bike for a spin, my front wheel came off while riding over some train tracks and my face absorbed the impact. Beauty.
Running was just as foreign to me. The first time I went for a run was in university and it lasted 5 minutes. I think I was too haunted by those Canada Fitness Awards ParticipACTION badges we had to strive for in elementary school. I never did get the gold one, dammit.
Today, it would be hard to imagine life without the release of endurance sports (although I still harbour a fantasy that one day I’ll win the lottery, buy a million dollar steed and represent my country as an Olympic equestrian, by I digress). Despite this, in no way, shape or form do I consider myself an elite athlete. In fact, I struggle with the term “athlete” in general. What makes you an athlete? Are you an athlete because you do a sport every day? Are you an athlete because it’s your career? What if you are just doing something for fun? What does that make you? I used to consider myself a “recreational triathlete” – but I haven’t been on my tri bike in an embarrassing number of months and the last time I was in a pool I was in a hotel in a bikini and I think I’d just had a beer. Does that make me a retired triathlete?
I love reading how triathletes and other elite athletes got their start in their sport of choice. So many of them were high school track stars, NCAA All-Americans, Olympic hopefuls, etc. It’s always so interesting to follow their trajectory to where they are now. So how about you? How’d you get your start? What do you consider yourself? Pro? Weekend Warrior? Gamer? All of the above?
‘Fino.
I’m ‘back on the grid’ after 4 days in lovely, rainy Tofino (or ‘Fino, as it’s known to the kids). It was a long haul to get there and home but, in my and the kids’ opinions, worth every minute. It was cold and rainy (except, of course, for the morning we had to leave) and it didn’t matter. It made the place even more beautiful.
Highlights for me include watching Anja collect every bit of shell, crab, seaweed, stick or stone she could stuff in her ‘yadybug’ coat pocket; betting Will $5 he wouldn’t jump in the ocean; losing that bet; watching the kids eat fresh crab for the first time; Anja eating (and enjoying) an oyster; a short run on the beach; being away from the internet/news/phone for 3 entire days.
The quote of the weekend came from Will:
Me: “Will! Be quiet or the neighbours will get mad at us!”
Will (to his siblings): “Guys! Be quiet or the neighbours will shoot us!”
I took over 350 pictures in 3 days. Kids and beaches are so easy. I can’t wait to go back.
Chicks in the Sticks
The idea for Chicks in the Sticks came about on one of our many runs together. We’ve been talking for years about all the runs around us that we’d like to do, but it always ends up being October by the time we realize we’ve once again run out of time and are staring down another winter. This summer, rather than scour the internet for races near and far, we decided that perhaps it was finally time to take advantage of what our own backyard has to offer – for free! Hence the creation of our own series: Chicks in the Sticks. The purpose is to run our favourite trails, to run new trails, to catch up with one another and to talk, talk, talk. There are no rules, you don’t even technically need to be a chick, so long as you can keep up your end of the conversation.
Have I mentioned how thankful I am to have friends to do these silly things with? Especially friends who will just as happily sit down and have a glass of wine as they will run up the side of a mountain on any given Sunday.
V1 of our series was the Mosquito Lake Trail run, a tradition of sorts in Pemberton that ends with popsicle-stick timing and homemade treats. Proof that we participated on what was a pretty miserable day, courtesy Dave Steers.
Internal dialogue:
Jen: “It’s pouring rain and I have to run home after we finish this silly run. What am I thinking?!
Carlee: “Why did I let them talk me into this when I paid to get my hair done yesterday?”
Christine: “Yep. That 3rd glass of wine last night was a bad idea.”
We pretty much came last and I, for one, did not shut up the entire time. Someone passed us near the finish line and we all started to surge to pass her and then all consciously slowed down and let her go. This, for me anyway, was a new experience and really kind of fun!
V2 was kind of impromptu, a run on the new Sea-to-Sky trail from our homes to Nairn Falls and back. It was a gorgeous sunny day and not a single picture was taken.
I’m still recovering from V3. Carlee taught dance for 1203947 hours on Saturday so had to bow out but Jen and Lizzie joined the fun… and by fun I mean “let’s run to the paraglide launch at the top of that mountain!” fun. What goes up, must come down… Ow.
Stay tuned for V4. All are welcome to join… the more the merrier. That way, there’s more bait to distract the cougars and bears.
As an aside, can we talk about my terrible, do-I-or-don’t-I grow it out hair for a second? Help.
Kids and sport. Or, life in my house.
It feels like nearly every week read an article on how lazy today’s kids are, how the average kid spends XX hours a week in front of a screen or how kids these days have forgotten how to play.
I’m well aware that we live in an environment that fosters physical activity, overachievement in sport and general outdoorsiness (I just made that word up). On a typical day here, you’ll bump into an ultra-runner at the grocery store, cross paths with an X-Games athlete out walking her dog or drop your kid off at daycare alongside a former Olympian. Pemberton is not your average neighbourhood, that’s for sure.
Reading those articles, I am alternately thankful that I live somewhere that allows me to use the backyard as a defacto babysitter (with mixed results, I might add), smug that my kids don’t care all that much for digital distractions and sad for the kids who don’t get to experience the ‘joy’ of holding a handful of worms or ripping around a pump track in the rain after school.
There is no doubt that physical activity is a huge part of our daily lives and I often wonder, when observing these 3 very different little people play, how I’ll manage their strengths and weaknesses in the coming years.
We were having dinner a few nights ago and I ran out of 2% milk (“pink milk”) so I gave the kids skim (“blue milk”). This was cause for much concern in the under-6 camp: “Muuuu-uuuum! Kids drink pink, parents drink blue. Wait… Why don’t kids drink blue?”
I explained that kids need the fat in pink milk, which was now MORE cause for concern for the under-6 camp: “FATS?! Muuu-uuuum! We don’t want to be FAT!”
Who said anything about being fat?
And besides, YOU’RE 6, beanpole. And 3, stickboy. And 2, peanut. Who cares? Especially you, mouthy 2 year-old.
This shifted our dinner discussion to fitness, sport and being healthy. I’m the lucky minority in that my kids love salad (well, the boys love salad. Anja loves to suck balsamic dressing off the leaves). We had a long chat about how food makes you strong, exercise and sport is good for you but reading is also good for you and so is colouring, playing cars and building Lego. I digress…
Out of curiosity, I asked each of them what their favourite sport was.
Will: “I want to bike and ski super fast”. (hello – cardio king).
Rory: “I wanna do JUMPS!” (hello – mother’s heart attack)
Anja: “YES!!” (ok then.)
I am amazed that these 3 very distinct little personalities come from the same gene pool. That being said, they were bang on with their responses.
Will can easily bikes 20K, he ran a 5-K race when he had just turned 5, and has an engine that goes for hours. He’s FAST. Rory refused to run the Teddy-Bear trot despite being bribed with gummy bears but uses the pool at the skate park as his own private vertical slide and in constantly trying to wheelie anything. He’s FEARLESS. Anja… let’s just say she’s going to be a force to be reckoned with no matter which direction she chooses. In her little life, she’s bled more than her brothers combined, is louder and runs everywhere her little pigeon toes take her. My guess is she’s going to be fast AND fearless.
I’m starting to feel like each one of them pulls a little harder in their separate directions… I wonder how I’ll feel in 5 years. Do you think by then a cloning machine will have been devised so I can take each child to mountain bike/skateboard/basket weaving camp at the same time? Or do I put my foot down and put everyone in the same activity or no activity at all? I wonder if they’ll still be into sports, or if their passions and obsessions with take a 180 degree turn. I suppose only time will tell. First World problems, indeed.
In the meantime, I’ll just enjoy the chase.
Team Red… FTW!
Last night at dinner, the conversation turned to this morning’s race. I was explaining to the kids that as I had to be in Whistler super early, Uncle Pete was coming over to make pancakes and turn on cartoons. After a few seconds of pondering, Will says: “Mum, how come you never bring home any trophies from your races?”
Hmm.
“Well, it’s because I don’t win, sweets.”
(…)
To which he and Rory concur that “Mum, all you have to do is run faster, ‘kay?”
Thanks, mini-coaches. I’ll bear that in mind next time I enter a half-marathon with little to no real training. Moving on!
The goals for this weekend’s race were simple:
- Make it to the start line.
- If I accomplish “1”, make it to the finish line.
- Enjoy wearing matching shirts. People were so stoked to cheer for Team Red!
- Keep pace with Yenny and Lizzie.
Mission accomplished, and I got to drink chocolate milk at the finish.
Did I set a PR? No. Did I feel good? Not particularly. Did I get a blister? Yes. Did I enjoy it and smile and did it go by fast? Yes, yes and yes.
So thankful to have good girlfriends to do this with. It wouldn’t be the same without you ladies!
And of course, a big thank you to Pete and Kevin for handling the breakfast rush…
I’m here… I’m here.
This time last year, I was here:
Today (and lately), I’m here:
Tomorrow, I’m supposed to be here:
Kind of wondering how it’s all going to work out…
Ski days these days…
After an adventurous day on the mountains last Sunday, I got to thinking about how much skiing has changed for me over the years. Growing up, my brothers and I were turned loose every weekend from roughly late-November to early-April at a tiny little mountain in the Eastern Townships. Regardless of the weather, we’d get dropped off around 8:30am and picked up at 4:00pm.
What we did with the hours in between was up to us… Or so we thought. Our parents’ network of spies kept us relatively in line… That being said, no one ever got seriously hurt, lost or damaged and we learned some pretty awesome skills on that mountain. When we moved out and headed to CEGEP, University, work, etc. our skiing shifted to a mix of night skiing, racing, weekend days, week-long trips away. We started skiing shorter days and enjoying longer après ski times!
Fast forward SEVERAL years and I’d say that 85% of my skiing is done with our kids. Our kids are lucky enough to go skiing 2-3 times a week and be part of an incredible ski school program that has welcomed them since the age of 3. I’ve done the math… by the time Anja outgrows the Valley kids program, I will have done 7 years of ski school drop offs and pick-ups. But based on the skills they’ve learned, I’d say it’s worth it!
In the past, a typical ski day went something like this: Get up whenever. Eat. Ski a few runs. Go home.
Here’s what last Sunday looked like.
6:49am Rory’s up. Wanders in to our room. Mumbles: “I wanna snug dith you”. Move aside, let him in, in the hopes he’s going to let us sleep a little longer.
6:57am Will’s up. Wanders in to our room. Mumbles: “Can I come in, too?” So much for extra sleep.
7:00am. Give up and stumbles downstairs. Time to prep breakfast, make coffee, turn on cartoons and get ready for the day. Jay makes pancakes (or, as Anja lovingly refers to them, MANCAKES!) and I pack a lunch for the day on the mountain that could feed an entire elementary school class.
The rest of the morning prior to departure consists of getting everyone dressed, organized and in 1 place at the same time. Getting dogs out. Making sure we have the gear we need and packing the truck.
Departure!
First stop: 400m from home because Anja wants her coat off and her “tummy hurts”. Basically, she wants attention.
Internal dialogue on the way to Whistler: “Did I remember ski socks for myself? I dunno. I guess ankle socks will have to do if I forgot them. Ski pass? (Give self pat down, find in 3 layers away). I’m hungry. Oh right! I forgot to feed myself. At least it’s sunny. Did I remember sunscreen? I need to pee.”
External dialogue from Rory: “When are we gonna be there”?
External dialogue from Will: None. He has his head in his hands in the backseat. Not sure why, but he’s quiet so why disturb the peace?
Arrival at drop #1: Anja goes to Blackcomb daycare for the morning. Pouts but gets over it quickly.
Arrival at drop #2: Unload gear, kids, selves. Dress everyone: miraculously, we didn’t forget anything.
Begin ski day. First run down, Will takes off (I assume he knows where he’s going…) and Rory heads straight for the trees. Apparently, kids don’t believe in “warm up runs”. End up on Peak to Peak to go meet friends on Whistler. So far, so good (insert ominous foreshadowing music here).
Ski ½ of a run with no issues and 1 photo opp stop. Promptly lose 3 of 4 children in the trees on 2nd half of run. Dispatch parents in various directions, try to keep a lid on panic (speaking for myself, here). 13 minutes later, all 3 kids safely reunited with parents, courtesy of a very nice ski instructor. Exhale. Decide now would be a good time for that warm up run and maybe some lunch?
The rest of the ski day passes relatively uneventfully. Rory does not stay on the trail – ever. Will skis as fast as he possibly can in the middle of the trail. Every run in a series of near misses.
We decide to head to the Valley and bring Anja back into the fold for her first day on skis. We pick her from the daycare where she seems to know what’s coming because she yells “SKI!” as soon as she sees us. She heads out the door with Jay and by the time I gather up her stuff she’s waiting at the door in ski boots and a funny yellow bike helmet.
Meanwhile, the boys are enjoying spring skiing by shedding jackets, mitts and any non-essential layer. Will is lounging in the snow, vaguely watching Anja. Rory has beetled over to the magic carpet and is taking himself skiing.
Jay carries Anja about 40 feet uphill, I wait a bit anxiously to see her reaction when he puts her down and lets her go. 3, 2, 1… GO! She instantly starts laughing and saying “FAST”! She repeats this mantra as we push her uphill to start again… Success!
We decide to head up the Magic chair – the universe’s slowest 3 person lift. I head up with the boys, Jay and Anja are behind us. All I can hear is her little voice calling “FUN!” The plan is to slide down to where the car is parked and head home. Rory and Will clearly have other ideas as they take off and ski on their own while we ski down with Anja (FUN! FAST! MORE!) We end up doing a couple more runs of ‘catch and release’ and calling it a day. Just imagine when she turns 2…
Can’t wait to try it all again. Next time, perhaps without calling patrol.
10.
Oh! Right! I have a blog.
Where was I?? It’s been *crickets* around here lately, haven’t been very inspired to write. Fell off the training wagon (that big THUD you heard a few weeks back). Trying to claw my way back on, but it keeps rolling about 3 feet away like that annoying big brother would do when you were trying to open the car door to get in and all the cool kids were watching.
Anyway, moving on. I was thinking about something to write and figured that if the expression”a picture is worth a thousand words” is still true, then I’ll do a photo post and be miles ahead.
Ever wonder if you can define your life in photos? In 10 photos or less? I pretty much can, I think these sum up my day-to-day nicely these days. What about you?
Edited to add: I wrote this post on Thursday of last week… On Monday I started a new job. So! Add a shot of a different deskin an actual office with humans and a water cooler and a boardroom and a shot of an alarm going off at 5:30am and there you have it. My life.
Back to the races
Yesterday was the first race I’ve done since June of last year. I rarely state my goals, but in this case I declared that my goal was to either run a personal best or blow myself up trying.
I did both!
Overall, I am super happy with how my run went despite the fact that I spent the rest of Sunday paying a hefty price. Hello, post-race nausea! Go away now, thanks.
I did a few things differently for this race and surely some of these contributed to a good race.
- I had a pacer. Thanks Lizzie! Unfortunately, her hamstring decided to have a picnic in Stanley Park at about the half way point, so from then on, I was on my own. But I know for a fact that without her at the start there’s no way I would have made it to a PR.
- I ran with music. Bad music! Music that makes me want to sing along! (confession: Lady Gaga, Maroon 5 and Florence and the Machine make me go faster, and mumble the words to all those around me. Apologies to fellow runners).
- I did a proper warm-up (once again, thanks to Liz).
- I didn’t run with a watch. Well, I did. But I don’t know how to work the stupid thing so basically I ran with wrist weight.
A half marathon is a hell of a long time to spend inside one’s own head. It’s generally not somewhere I like to hang out and at around mile 12, the mental Gremlins started to get the best of me. Maybe I should just walk it in. I managed to keep them in check and kept pushing it to the end.
Turned the corner to the finish line and saw 1:37! I was so happy! And also, in a bit of shock.
I felt great when it was over, my legs were fine but my feet were not (I’d post a picture but that would just be gross). As per usual, my stomach had some nasty ideas of its own not long after finishing. I’d welcome your suggestions to how to get through that without wishing death upon myself.
One last observation about ½ marathons… Why do people carry enough water to hydrate a village? We’re not running through the desert, it’s a supported race with water every few kilometers, in downtown Vancouver. Why would you do that to yourself?!
Thanks to Carlee for the support… and for driving my sleepy self home.
- Hiding my blisters
The SMO's stories 