A Fun Day in the Desert

I woke at 6:15 and got dressed. My gear was kind of organized the night before but I still had to dress, use the bathroom, eat breakfast, fill my flasks and get my act together. I filled my water bladder and attached in into my vest, got my maple syrup and salt flask ready, packed my vest with the things I thought I would need for the day: cheerios, candies, salt tabs, wipes in ziplock, pee cloth, re-suable cup, emergency blanket (I take one everywhere, traveled through Africa with it decades ago.) Sunscreen, lip balm, phone and headphones. Watch. 

I pinned on my bib, gobbled my breakfast, gulped my coffee and my son drove me to the race start. It was pretty low key over there. Everyone is over 50 who's involved in the race. There's a 50k, 50 miler, 100k, 100 miler. The oldest runner is in his 80's. We had a little pep talk, then we head out. 

I am so happy! I've studied the course. I know what I'm going to eat. I am in the desert, my favourite place on the planet. And besides, I labored for so many hours to have my five babies, I can run for 50 kilometers no problem!

The trail goes downhill and then along a sandy patch until we reach two large tunnels that go under the highway. I don't like tunnels at the best of times, but these were the only thing that I dreamed about when I was having anxiety dreams about the race. I got through the tunnel and started my race.

Wait a minute. Why do I feel water dripping down my front? Ok, so a few weeks before the race I was doing one of my long runs and the nozzle of my water bladder froze. I had a note on my list of things to do: dress rehearsal of gear. I was going to put all the gear I was going to use for my race, get it all together and just go for an hour run to final test that everything was working.

I never got to do that dress rehearsal. So in fact, the nozzle from the bladder had not only frozen but also ripped. The damn thing had a hole in it and it was spurting water. I noticed it after the big hill after the tunnel...the front of my running top was wet and water was splashing on my legs. I couldn't have worked up a crazy sweat already.... 

First I put it in my mouth and thought I would have a continual water supply. Note: you can't run with a tube in your mouth. Then I tried blowing air into it to see if that would stop the flow. It didn't. I ran up to a group of friends running together and asked if they could think of any quick fixes. They couldn't. I asked if they wanted to hear a joke: "My water broke! I'm leaking and labor hasn't started yet!". haha. Then for about a mile, I held the tube up to stop the water dripping, then I realized if I bend it, it won't drip. So I took some tape from the course markings, tied it around the bent hose, and stuffed it in my pocket.

All good, except that it meant that I only had my 500 ml of electrolyte mix readily available, and I didn't want to mess around untying tape every time I wanted to drink. Anyway, challenge accepted, and I decided to drink the electrolytes and refill with water.

The next 35 kilometers went by like a dream! I ran, I walked, I thought my thoughts. I spun around at times, just drinking in the beauty. I ate Ritz crackers with Nutella at an aid station. I filled my water flask. I didn't like my maple syrup so much. I finished my cheerios, throwing the last four remaining onto the desert ground with a small prayer of gratitude. I danced. I saw a butterfly. I met a cow. I missed a turn and went down the wrong road for a little bit until I realized there were no footprints. I turned around and saw three other runners wildly waving at me, so I turned back and got on track. I had some pumpkin pie at an aid station. I was filled with happiness. At around the 30 km mark I started eating candies and salt tablets. They were just what I needed! I decided to drink from my useless bladder, so I untied it every 20 minutes or so and took a long drink. 

At Mile 24.6, I reached Overlook aid station, 15 minutes after my planned time. I was happy and tired, and my son was waiting there with my Snickers bar! I gave him the offending water bladder, filled my flask, and headed out. Then the demons hit.

It wasn't really Courtney Dauwalter's famous pain cave. It was more like I suddenly realized, at about 42 kilometers, that I was a fat idiot. I was in the middle of the desert, with mountains in the distance, and blue sky above, and  for about a kilometer I was literally adjusting my clothing and worrying that I looked fat. I stopped. I stared at the sky. I had a drink of water. I continued. Fat or not fat, I regained my spirits and ran, stumbled, and walked the last ten km.

The final ten k were the hardest in terms of terrain. Very rocky and some steep descents. I couldn't really run. I slowed down a lot, partly because of my water troubles from the beginning of the race. But my "fat crisis" was minimal, and I regained my smile. I was terrified going back through the tunnel. I kept thinking if someone comes barreling my way in an ATV, what the hell can I do? But no one did, and I survived. I knew I wasn't going to die, the universe wasn't going to play that cosmic joke on me just yet.

Bottom line? I made it to the start line! And I made it to the finish line!

The finish line was a bit of a let-down, to be honest. I thought there would be more people there, but it was very low key. I got in the car with my loyal son and race support and we drive back to the RV where we were staying. I had a burger. I recovered, slowly. 

I trained. I trained hard, and had some setbacks. Physical stuff (colds, muscle aches and the like). Emotional stuff (challenges with family, feelings of Fatness, Fakeness, and the like). Discipline was ongoing. I needed to get out there, and when I had a run or a workout scheduled, I had to do it. I had to eat a lot, and good food. I needed to reframe my idea about how much protein I need, and how my body should look and act. I had to get 8-9 hours of sleep a night.

There's a lot of bullshit out there about a lot of things. Particularly about women, as far as I can see. Particularly about what we are or can be capable of. In this instance, I had to unlearn some of society's misconceptions about older women. 

Three little BS turds right here:

• Old people don't need to eat much, especially protein. 
• Old women shouldn't exercise too much. Lighter weights, not too much running (bad on the joints).
• We need less sleep.

If you're over 60, please have a look at your diet and make sure you are getting at least one source of protein with each meal. Start lifting weights asap! Your muscles are shrinking every day. And run, jump, ski, or dance whenever you feel like it. Sleep! If you wake up at five am, have a nap later in the day.

This isn't one of those "I did it, you can too" pieces. This is: shit happens, and usually we can overcome whatever hurdles are placed in front of us to get where we want, but sometimes we can't. 

My race was February 17, 2024. I had the idea of running an ultramarathon for a few years, so this was a big deal for me that I'd been preparing for for months. On February 8, nine days before my race and three days before I was due to fly out, I got a phone call. 

I was Mika's mentor, her teacher, her colleague, and her friend. She sought refuge with me when her demons first started attacking her in the summer of 2023. I tried to keep in touch. She loved the pictures I sent her from my travels. Mountains, desert, my grandson, snow-filled paths. Cactuses. Especially desert. Mika loved the desert, and she loved the outdoors. 

I ran my first ultramarathon knowing that my lovely young friend didn't find solace in the end, not here on earth anyway. She might not ever get to enjoy the beauty of the desert, the blue sky, the solitude and purity of the desert. Saying she's in a better place is a hopeful platitude, but it's what I hope. I didn't do my final test run of all my gear because I fell into a pit of grief, guilt, and fogginess. So I had a couple of miles of water spurting in the desert. The water in the desert reminded me of the fertility and joy and redemption, second chances, life itself.

Did I bring her memory with me? Not for the whole race. Sometimes the grief jumped out at me. But mostly I drank in the happiness I was feeling. That's the thing about dying: you go somewhere we can't reach, until we go there too. So we are left over here, earthside, wondering what to do.

I think Charles Bukowski said it better than I ever could. Thank you, desert. Thank you, body. Thank you, family. Thank you, Kristina. Thank you, friends, sun, wind, clouds. 

The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

Birthing a Marathon?

mile 22

The way I see it, running a marathon and birthing a baby are very similar. I have attended well over 500 births (but under 1000 for those who are into numbers), and these three answers are the most common ones to the prenatal question I ask: "What is your greatest fear?"

• Dying
• Pooping in public
• Not being able to do it

I am a ravenous running nerd, and I read everything and anything to do with running, and I believe these are the three main fears of the marathon runner too: no one wants to die (hence the plethora of articles about people dying at races; no one wants to have to poop suddenly while running (more articles; EVERYONE worries about not finishing a race, for whatever reason.

When I am accompanying a pregnant woman, I may speak with her about her fears for the coming event. The number one fear is that her or the baby will die. Number two, fittingly, is that she will poop during the pushing phase. And number three, as in a marathon, is that she will have a DNF which actually is impossible in birth but, unfortunately, a definite possibility in every runner's mind.

Birthing and Running are the Same?

No, they're not the same, obviously, you can't compare a baby to a piece of bling!

You can compare some of the feelings, though. The hours, days, weeks and months of preparation. Finding a program or a method that matches your philosophy, or hiring a running coach (or a doula - we used to be called "birth coaches"); learning about nutrition; getting excited, then nervous, then depressed, then excited again; talking to other people who have done it ... of course, if this is your first baby or your first big race, all these feelings and choices will be felt and made in technicolor. If you're more experienced, you will still feel the same range of emotions, and you'll be "in the club".

That's where the similarities end, unfortunately.

Running the Drugs?

Runners, imagine this: You're at mile ten, almost half way through your marathon. You're keeping a good pace, maybe you started a little too fast, because this is your first. Your training went well, and you're feeling good. Mile eleven, you have to pee. You take a quick pee stop. At the next station you have a sip of Gatorade and you start to feel a little queasy, the way you ALWAYS DO when you have some carbs around miles ten to fifteen. You know this about yourself. It's a thing.

Suddenly, a car drives up and a bunch of people jump out, looking at their watches. "Your pace has slowed down too much! You're not gonna make your BQ! You might die!". In your head you know they're wrong, and you try to shut them out and run faster, anyway. But their worried expressions start to seep through your endorphin rush. "Oh, shit, does my heart feel weird?"

You let them know you're feeling a little tired, and you had that queasy feeling. All of a sudden, the car speeds up and they make you an offer: "Take some drugs, get in the back of the car, we'll drive you to the finish line, you'll get the bling anyway, all good, no shame, no worries." You protest - you're okay! But a voice in the back of your head says that actually, you're not okay. You need the drugs and you need the car ride. By this time, you're at mile 20 and you hit the wall. Take the drugs, get in the car.

Real Emergencies

Of course real emergencies exist, both during marathons and during birth. In those cases, there's no question that you need the damn car, preferably an ambulance, and you need drugs, and speedy medical intervention, and everything you could possibly grab for a life-saving conclusion to the RARE instance when you are actually in danger of losing your life (or if you're birthing, your baby's life).

Your Choice?

I'm not one of those airy-fairy militants who advocates a natural, candlelit birth for every woman. I've seen babies die, and I've seen women close to dying (Thank God for modern medicine!!). But I  do advocate CHOICE. I was just speaking to a fellow runner this morning. She's been running for twenty years and she's never gone further than 15k. She never races. She runs slow. Me, I've been running seriously for just over five years and I love to race. I push myself ... not too much ... but just enough.

I was at a race about a month ago - it was kind of tough: it was pretty cold and at one point the course turned into a muddy, icy puddle for about a kilometer, and it was a loop, so we had to do the puddle twice, once about the middle of the 21 k and once closer to the end. As I was coming up to the first mud puddle, I saw a runner with a weird gait... I got closer and I saw one of the yellow-jacketed medical people going over to him with a concerned air. The runner told him to go away. As I got closer, I heard him groaning with every step. He sounded like a woman in the deepest labor, feeling that baby's head right down low. A second medical person ran up to him: "Non, non, ça va, merci." ("No, no, it's okay, thank you!") I ran past him and didn't look back.

Here's the thing: I knew that if he was in that much pain already, there were two possibilities: either he would not finish the race, and spend months if not years fixing the damage he had wrought on his body; or he would finish the race and ditto. But, for whatever reason, he MADE THAT CHOICE and it was his to make. Obviously, if he was in cardiac arrest, or lying on the ground unable to move, the paramedics would be in there in a microsecond, doing what they need to do. But he was birthing a marathon HIS WAY.

Birth

I've witnessed a tiny number of births that ended up to be medical emergencies, where mother or baby could have died. But most of them are normal, scary, joyful, life-changing, painful, pleasurable, primal events. Unfortunately, the people who work in the maternity care field are usually unwilling to adopt the "marathon runner" model, and instead use the "air crash" model. In the latter, birth is simply an accident waiting to happen. In the "marathon runner" model, the birthing woman could be treated like a marathon runner: during the nine months before the event make sure you are healthy (I got a cardiac ultrasound done last year before starting my marathon training because of a risk of familial cardiomyopathy); create your team; and start preparing.

Let's skip ahead to the "event": the runner has been trainings for months. She followed a training program, or had a coach guide her through the realities of training to run 26 miles. The birthing woman has been preparing for this day for months as well, and she has been working with her team to make the upcoming event as pleasurable as possible.  Both the runner and the birthing woman have possibly been reading everything they can about their upcoming event, and both may have suffered setbacks along the way.

Running

And, now, what happens when you're running a marathon? You join a big, happy crowd of people, and you start. As you run the miles, you are handed water, energy drinks, yummy gels, bananas. All along the route there are smiling people, holding funny signs, cheering you on, giving you high fives ... letting you know you're doing great!

No one looks at you with a worried look, even if you're the oldest person in the race and the slowest (happened to me on my 60th birthday), they just keep on smiling and cheering, unless, like I said, you're on the ground.

Then why, oh why, did my lovely, young, strong, healthy, well-fed, happy labouring clients get the hairy eyeball from the staff when all they were doing was, basically, the marathon of the day. No smiles, no happy people handing you cute cups of water, no cute cups of energy drinks, no gels, no bananas, no funny signs, no high fives.

The epidural rate for first time mothers in Montreal hospitals is over 90% (don't look at the published statistics, they include second-timers who know better, and pull that statistic down to around 60%). Why? Because we focus on the fear aspect (YOU COULD DIE!!), instead of the fun aspect (YOU GO GIRL!!).

Fun Stuff

Yes, the truth is that running a marathon is just plain more fun, and more pleasurable, and better appreciated, than bringing another human into the world. Weird.

So, I guess that's why I don't attend births in the hospital too much anymore. It just kind of tickles me when I imagine birthing mamas being treated like runners - and how different it is from the reality:

"hey, I know you're planning on running the Barkely, but it looks really dangerous. I think you should run it attached to an IV pole."

Or, "hey, I know you're 60 and you're planning on competing in the World Marathon Challenge. This is super dangerous, why don't you just get really stoned and we will drive you around - you deserve it!"

Or, "you know you could die doing that? Running a marathon/birth/solo travel/sailing/(fill in the blank) is just too dangerous."

Yes, I know I'm gonna die one day, and I'll let you in on a secret - so are you. And so is everybody. But I really wanna have fun while I'm doing this crazy little thing called life. Spread the Love!

The Magic of Meditation

I always tell myself I'm going to start meditating, then I do, but I only keep it up for about a month or so before other things become more attractive. Like running or sleeping. I've read a lot about meditation, and I know that physiologically it makes a difference to how our bodies process stress hormones, how our blood moves, and how our bodies function in general.

But since I'm not a meditator, how can I access the kinds of things I want from meditating, without meditating? What do I want to feel? How do I want to change my body and my mind? What's my goal?

My goal is inner peace. My goal is world peace. My goal is a healthier body. My goal is a better temperament. My goal is a better birth experience for women. My goal is to be a better person. My goal is to be the best ......

Hold it right there! "working on yourself", having a "goal" in terms of self-discovery or self-care, or healing from trauma or whatever... these are not useful. Why are we starting at a place where we are intrinsically broken? Why don't we start from that place where we are whole? If you can sit with yourself for one minute and be grateful for ... grateful for just being. For the little things that may give you pleasure in the here and now, then that is good. And that's all it is.

Life is made up of tiny drops in the ocean. Do something, it will have effects. Don't do another thing, that will have effects too. I try to experience that physiological state that I imagine meditating achieves when I lie in bed. I move my consciousness through my body and check where little glitches might be, and then I fall asleep. It's when I'm running that I can free my mind. When I run my goals disappear. I run to get lost. I run to lose mySelf. I run to run.

Running Memories

I'm so fortunate to be able to run. Here are some running memories.

 

Competitive Spirit

The first official running race I participated in was this one: a half marathon (21 kilometers), when I had just turned 59. I loved everything about it! The camaraderie; the cups of water; the corny posters; the feeling that I couldn't do it and then I did!

I still love running races. I've done a bunch of them since then. The first in-person one I did since the beginning of Covid was last October. My smile lasted about two kilometers, when I lost myself in the joy of hearing all those other runners' feet pitter-pattering in front, beside and behind me. Then my self caught up with me and I spent the next two hours or so agonizing about my life and all the things that were going wrong and have gone wrong in the past.

Am I an impostor? Was the main question I kept asking myself. The jury is still out on that one. Because here's the thing: as soon as I say I'm anything, especially these days as the social media is ready to pick up and amplify any little piece of horse shit that escapes my mouth, as soon as I say I'm a midwife or a caring person or whatever, a witch and the like, then .... then I am that. And I necessarily have to be the BEST at whatever it is I've said I am.

And if I'm not the best, then I'm an impostor.

We live in an age of experts.

Experts, apparently, study stuff. They know about stuff and they can tell other people how to do things. But there are so many, many experts out there it's hard to know who to believe. So a regular person just finds the expert they agree with and build a game plan from there. But that leads to some difficulties: first of all, you can't just pick any expert. Some people do actually know more than others about any given subject. As a lay-trained midwife, I know that I don't have as much technical knowledge as an OBGYN... so I shouldn't represent myself in opposition to them. But I do, or rather, we do ... we seem to be living in an age when we are all projecting images of ourselves that are larger than life, and better than the puny reality.

The second difficulty with finding an expert to guide you on your way is the problem of responsibility. If you're following an expert's advice and things go sideways, who are you going to blame? Yourself? I don't think so. If you've already decided that you need an expert to help you do whatever it is that you want to do, then you've already given them some degree of responsibility. 

So, if we do away with experts? Well, no one is going to do brain surgery on themselves I hope. But maybe we could tweak the idea a little bit. Maybe we could add some humility to the picture. Perhaps we could reduce our need for experts, trust ourselves a little more, and remember that living life isn't actually like running a race. No one really wins: it isn't really about the survival of the fittest.

COVID19 in-house Day 35: Marathon

Training for a marathon is fun, but it isn't easy. This time I didn't download a program like I did in 2018 (Fredricton). Neither did I download a bunch of programs and move back and forth and get all frazzled, like I did in 2019 (Edinburgh). I just use my Runkeeper app marathon training program, for someone who can train 7 days a week and wants to finish in around five hours. Easy peasy.

Well, of course, it isn't easy peasy to run 42.195 kilometers without practising for it. So that's what I'm doing. My race got cancelled - Ottawa Marathon - and so I'm going virtual and I plan to run around a mile loop next to my house, 26 times.

It's going to be fun! My family will be hanging out on the porch with water, Nuun, Rekarb maple syrup gels, orange slices and bits of banana. They'll have the music blaring, and they'll take a pic of me every time I pass. The last mile, they're all gonna run with me, even my dog (who's been my running buddy throughout the winter).

I often try to apply my marathon experience to my daily life. If I'm at the cafe and it's 3:30 pm, and we've has a busy day, and I still have a ten k, and I have a mountain of dishes, and we had a bunch of rude customers, I just breathe and imagine I am at mile 20. I know I can run 42 k, so small things shouldn't matter, right? I am luckier than the huge majority of 63 year olds ever anywhere, and I can still run and move and all that.

Of course, this new challenge is a little more complicated. But humans are eternally adaptable, and we are adapting as well as we can to the situation. I see so many people every single day who are fighting against angst and despair, by giving to others, taking care of their own, taking care of themselves, remembering their social responsibility, trying to do good. 

The Covid19 marathon is different: we don't know the distance, we don't know who will DNF, we don't know its rules, the course, we don't have a GPS to tell us the way or volunteers to give us water. The virus has its own rules and only nature knows what the final score will be. Except that nature doesn't actually care. So we, the runners, just have to do our best, put one foot in front of the other, take care, take care. 

My training is going well. I have all the time in the world to run, as I've closed my cafe for now. I'm running faster. Sleep helps. Stress doesn't, and of course I am stressed. When can we open again? What will it be like? How safe can we make our space? But the good thing about running is that part of the deal is you don't give yourself time to think and ponder. The body takes over. 

Some practical tips for training during this time:

• Lower your expectations. Everyone is living with added stress, some more than others. You may find you're needing more sleep, eating differently, and of course if you're an essential worker then - we love you! - you are battling fatigue. While it's usually a great idea to push through in normal times, it may be better when you're trying to stay mentally and physically healthy to ease up a bit on yourself.
• Stay safe!! That computer simulation that went viral had some validity: infected slipstream snot could theoretically reach and infect an unmasked person up to ten meters behind them. ("For walking at 4 km/h a distance of about 5 m leads to no droplets reaching the upper torso of the trailing runner. For running at 14.4 km/h this distance is about 10 m. This implies that if one assumes that 1.5 m is a social distance to be maintained for two people standing still, this value would have to be increased to 5 m or 10 m for slipstream walking fast and slipstream running, respectively, to have a roughly equivalent non-exposure to droplets as two people standing still at 1.5 m distance. This leads to the tentative advice to walkers and cyclists that if they wish to run behind and/or overtake other walkers and runners with regard for social distance, they can do so by moving outside the slipstream into staggered formation when having reached this distance of about 5 m and 10 m for walking fast and running, respectively.") 
• Stay safe!! Don't run trails or neighbourhoods that you would avoid, just so you can run alone. The Covid crisis has already created a huge increase in gender-based violence; women running solo, be aware!
• If you have extra time on your hands, move your schedule around if you feel like it. If you're not feeling the long run, don't do it. This is a time for introspection, change, loosening. 
• Strength training, yoga classes, meditation are all available online if you want to learn some new skills that will keep you running strong.
• Don't dwell on the disappointments. Yip, all our spring and early summer races are cancelled. It sucks. We've lost money. It sucks. Let it go.

I'm planning on running my marathon on May 24, 2020.  For each mile I run, I'm going to ask my friends, family and others to donate a dollar. I have created a campaign to raise money to distribute food in Luwero, Uganda, to the most vulnerable families who cannot eat because of their lockdown restrictions.

I'm asking you all to send me your suggestions: if you have a campaign or a charity that you think is valuable, please let me know! Let's help others, by running around a city block!

COVID19 in-house Day 28: Risky Behaviour

When life hits you sideways with a truck, you get back on your feet as well as you can, make the best of it, or you die. I'm here to tell the story, didn't die yet, and I'm thinking about clever advice I could hand out on the social media.

So I'll tell you this: trauma breeds trauma. 

We're all born into it. Catecholamines are produced, along with cortisol, in both the fetus (and the newborn) and the mother before, during, and after childbirth. These hormones, known popularly as "stress hormones", allow the newborn's body to adjust to the rigors of life on earth. This happens metabolically, whether the baby is born in water, in air, or on a surgical table. Actually, catecholamine levels are higher in babies born vaginally, because those babies are born "physiologically" and have a physiologic reaction to being born, which helps them breathe.

Birth is risky. That doesn't mean we should rush to the hospital and get fixed up with intravenous pipelines if we are giving birth. But it IS risky, for mother and child. Life is too. In fact, the older you get, the higher your chance is that you will die sooner. Of course, parents are usually around to protect the young ones from behaviours or events that are too risky, but they can't be around all the time, and sometimes they just aren't.

I've lived a pretty risky and interesting life, in all sorts of ways, and miraculously I've survived, like that old Timex watch from television commercials a lifetime ago. I must have at least nine lives (there was that time when we were crossing the railway bridge, and the guy with the shotgun... then the year I travelled through Africa solo, oh, and the drug mule thingy...), and I don't know which life I'm on now, but some of my more scary moments are tending to pop up in front of me these days, and I kind of want to wear bubble wrap (but you can't run in bubble wrap!).

In these surreal days, we are faced with mortality: our own, our friends' and loved ones', random strangers'. We are trying to #staysafe. Trying to #stayhealthy. We are told to #stayhome. We are talking about numbers, risks, science, masks, ventilators, viruses, pneumonia, sickness, plagues. We are blaming: the Chinese, Bill Gates, the Jews, Trump, the government. We are all doing our best.

And we're worrying. And as we worry, our stuff is going to rise to the surface. When we are robbed of our busyness and our schedules, we have time for our demons to rise up and confound us. Some of us have tame demons, some of us don't.

My demons decided to haunt me this week, and the only way I could put them at rest was to keep on running. And I don't mean that metaphorically. I started a run streak on December 31, 2019. I run at least a mile a day: so far in 2020 I've run over 400 k. 

When I run, I can feel my body working. I know that I'm alive, I'm good, I'm okay. My lungs are strong because of the mountain air I used to breathe when I wandered in the Rockies. My frame is strong: farm work and five babies helped with that. And thankfully, when I'm running, my mind goes into low power mode and my imagination stops streaming, and my spidery thoughts relax and spin pretty webs.

I'm not suggesting y'all go out and start running - far from it! In fact, I wish y'all would stay home like you used to, so that I can have the sidewalks to myself again. I'm just letting you know - those of you who can't understand why ghosts from the past are haunting you, or why old angers or sadnesses are reliving themselves in your mind, or why you might feel like crying for no reason - I'm letting you know that you are not alone. 

And if you see an old lady with a gnarly look zooming down the road, or down the trail, stay away - she's chasing demons!

Is Social Media Destroying my Joy?

On the metro in the morning I wear my disguise. I dress up as a middle-aged woman going to work. Which is what I am.

It's pretty nice because people give me their seat, which I like.

But every Sunday I go for a nice long run.

I've been doing long races since 2015, when I ran my first half-marathon. I love running!

Or at least I used to. But these days I feel clogged up with information, advice, opinions, reports, essays, books, photos ... it's all very heavy and it's making me feel bloated and uncomfortable.

There are countless articles, scholarly and otherwise, about the effects of social media on our "self-esteem". But that term itself is a modern take on an ancient concern: Who am I? Where am I? And what does it all mean? "Self-esteem" is a way of describing a certain contentment with the way things are, or rather, with the way I Am. "Self-esteem" inspects how I feel about myself. And what better way to increase my "self-esteem" than to present pleasant images to others that will reveal how truly wonderful I really am.

Right?

The problem is, everybody is posting those images, and some people are better at it than others, and some people even hire other people to post them, so we really don't know where to stand. That's just the tip of the iceberg. The bigger picture is that all of our activities - from the most banal (walking the dog? giving a three year old some cereal?) to the most intimate (giving birth) to the most impressive (running a 3 hour marathon at age 60) - all of these activities that we love to do, or the ones we do by rote, or the special unique events in our lives - they're all bunched together, shouted out to the world, commented on, "liked" or not, and then forgotten.

Don't tell me that you've never been doing something and, as you're doing it, you're thinking about what to post about it. Oh, I know there are purists like my husband who - honestly, people! - uses Facebook for what it is worth - funny animal videos. But most of us who are online are online way too much, and thinking about being online way too much, and we are turning ourselves into something I'm not sure is such a great idea.

Or are we? My state of mind when I made this pre-Olympics video with my son was one of good humor, happiness, and strength. I make some fun of myself, and I was clearly having a good time. So what has led me to the point I am at now? When I'm taking myself so seriously, checking my paces, weighing myself, jumping from one running program to the next, not satisfied with my progress.

Progress?

We are using social media to mark our progress. Who's better - using any marker you and your friends choose to use - most radical, most downtrodden, most fertile, most religious, most athletic, best cook, cutest pets...

Oh, don't get me wrong! I'm still going to post my cafe events, funny things I find, my haunted houses. But I'm planning on going real easy when it comes to virtual running. My body needs to run, fine. My "self-esteem" can stay at home.

Grace and Racing

Last year on Mother’s Day I ran my first marathon. I was a little disappointed: not really because I had expected to run it faster, but because it wasn’t really fun. That is, there were no moments that stood out for me. I know why: it was completely my fault for taking a load of emotional baggage along with me for the full 26 mile run. I had a spirit animal last year who ran with me and who personified me: Mrs.Tiggywinkle is a short, stout, prickly hedgehog who keeps a clean house and takes in laundry. I had taken in way too much laundry last year, and during the three weeks before the marathon instead of tapering and trying to gain strength and revitalize after months of training, I spent my time cleaning, cooking, and taking care of other peoples’ business.

This year, I’m running as a human. My spirit animal may be a donkey, as I am stubborn and strong. I’ve been training since December 2018, every month, every week, but not every day. I ran through the winter, and it was a doozy this year. We had snow, rain, ice, freezing rain, ice pellets, and everything in between. Temperatures hovered between -25 and +10 for most of the five months I trained. I put screws in my shoes and bought ice cleats. I ran a half marathon in deep snow and got my slowest time ever. 

“Fitness is classist AF,” wrote a young relative of mine. Certainly, what we understand to be Fitness is a privilege exercised by a small group of wealthy people. Pun intended. But we were born to run. Humans were made to use their bodies. We were made to sweat, and feel our muscles, and push our physical limits, and we were also made with an urge to play. 

I love going out to play. I am so grateful that my body is healthy enough that I can go outside and run around, for twenty minutes, for an hour, or for almost a whole day. I am always aware that I am privileged: I have a body that functions, and I can spare the time to run with no particular place to go.

This year, my dedication to training my body for this race has led me to understand some techniques for running, and also some techniques for living.

1. big things can be broken down into little things: one step at a time

2. a lot of stuff just isn’t that important

3. love is all we have

4. you never know what might happen

5. smile

6. drink water

7. be grateful

8. always bring a hanky

9. talk little, breathe deep, tie your shoes well

10. laugh at yourself

And finally, you need to learn to submit - to surrender - swim upstream by going around the obstacles instead of using all your energy to fight them. Grace is a wonderful characteristic to explore.

I’m hoping to finish this marathon in less time than my last. I’m hoping to finish. I’m keeping some people in my heart as I run the last five miles or so: Becky is my cousin, and her body is hard to use. She has cerebral palsy and eats twice as much as me just to do a simple day. She perseveres and doesn’t need help, and she’s one of the people I am in awe of.

My friend Perse is an athlete and survived a particularly rare and vicious type of cancer. She’s my oldest friend (over fifty years and counting!). She is enthusiastic, tough, and just doesn’t let anything push her around.

My friend Syd fought an addiction and won. She spends her life putting love into the world. 
Kimberley is my running  buddy. When we run, we talk. We weave and untangle, laugh and analyze. Agree and build. I hope she’ll be running next to me for many years to come!

I hope that these strong women will be beside me when I am pushing through those last kilometers. 

See y'all ‘round the bend! I will definitely let you know how the cookie crumbles!

Running Home

I never thought I'd be interested in a sport. I guess running isn't a sport, per se. Anyway, I have a drawer full of running gear, I have three different pairs of running shoes, I now read running articles and magazines, and I would rather be on a nice long run than just about anything else.
So what happened?
It's just wonderful to feel yourself strong and in your body. It's fun to run like you used to when you were a kid. There's no team work involved, so you don't have to relate to anyone except yourself. It's fun to sweat, and it's fun to achieve something in a half hour that you didn't think you could do. It's even fun to come home after a not-so-great run and feel a sense of satisfaction that at least you went out and did it.

Another weirder thing, for me. When I'm out running it's the only time I feel normal. I rarely feel at home in my skin. From being a white colonial baby in Africa cared for by my Ayah, to suddenly moving to oil country (Alberta) when a toddler, and being the only weirdo in school... and becoming a wanderer... whatever, I felt like an outsider much of my life and sometimes that is even outside myself. Which yes is also weird.

But when I'm running? I'm here and now! I'm free again - running in the Rockies, or anywhere. Just running for the hell of it. Ya, so get shoes, clothing, gloves whatever a hat if its cold, and just step out... and run...

Of course there are problems, life is suffering after all. Don't go out alone on a rural road if you're a woman. Don't run after dark in an isolated area if you're a woman. And all that. Even today, some asshole yelled after me ... actually he yelled AT me while I ran past. I turned back around and came up to face him again... he looked down at the ground. Didn't want to deal with a mean-ass bad-ass 62 year old like yours truly.

I'll have run 1000 kilometres in 2018. I'm hoping to crunch a half marathon in February and a full in May.
So grateful that I can.

My 10 Favourite Running Books (and 3 extras)

I love to read. My night table is piled with books and my house is a testament to my love of reading. Bookshelves are packed, sometimes sideways, and I have a hard time deciding which ones to give away if they get too crowded. My cafe is a reader's haven, and the main library in downtown Montreal is one of my favourite places. And along with the regular social media platforms that everyone lives on, one of my favourites is Goodreads (check out my 10 favourite running books!).

So, of course, I love to read about my other favourite activity: running. Although I would never want to mix them. I am not that person who runs on a treadmill with a book in front of her. No, my idea of reading involves sitting or lying down, preferably with a hot beverage or tasty carb.

Here are my ten favourite running books. Scroll or read down to find out what my all-time favourite is!

Number Ten

I am not a mathematician! And I don't organize my life too far ahead. Ok, I did a 26 week marathon training plan. But it was an easy one, and it was 26 weeks long precisely because it had space for life to happen. This book is well written, and very informative. It contains the "every running book" chapters on nutrition, injury, and has some strength training exercises and flexibility stretches included.

The running schedules are detailed and specific and include programs for beginners to advanced for halfs, marathons and BQs. But the complicated equations are just too much trouble for me to figure out. For example, I'm supposed to do this on the first run of week nine: "2x(6x400) (90sec RI); (2 min 30 sec RI between sets)". By week nine I am already juggling work, home and family and I can't be bothered to 1. figure out what it means and 2. spend fifteen minutes setting my watch. So, this book is great for running geeks but not for people with busy lives.

Number Nine

  

The Illegal, by Lawrence Hill (of The Book of Negroes fame), is not a running manual and has no clever tips for runners. It is a novel, set in a futuristic African country, about a runner who has to make life-and-death decisions that revolve around his running talents and how they are used. Tired after your long run? Laid up with an injury? Read this!

Number Eight

This entertaining book follows the author around the world as he explores what makes us run. He is a professor of English literature so the book is literate and fun. Slightly uppity at times, almost making you feel evilly happy when his marathon time ends up being five hours (he made a comment about middle-aged women runners at some point in the book). But a fun ride and worth reading if you get a chance.

Number Seven

This is a little gem of a book is a collection of essays by philosophers who run or runners who philosophize. "Long-Distance Running and the Will to Power" is the first essay. There are essays on pain; running and the existential conundrum; running and freedom; passion and marathons (and how a zombie could not run a marathon); and a philosopher's argument for running to music. If you think, run, and read then this book is for you!

Number Six

  

I picked this up in a little second hand bookstore, along with George Orwell's Brave New World. I was six weeks away from my first marathon and I was reading everything I could. This book is for the regular person who wants to run a marathon, and it's good: friendly, down-to-earth, and packed with some great tips. I found the training plans a little too cerebral (heart rate, intensity rate, percentages ... can't do 'em ... but someone less impatient than me would enjoy them!). It's a fun book to have around.

Number Five

 

I had read about this book and I really wanted to read it. So one day I was at our lovely huge library downtown, and I decided I would get it. The catalogue said it was available. It was winter; I was wearing my winter coat and boots and carrying a heavy backpack. I ran up the three flights of stairs to the stacks and looked for my book. I went and asked the librarian, who said it should be there. Went back and searched. She looked it up, came and searched. By now I was in a full-blown winter gear sweat and feeling stressed. Haha, no mindfulness there! A few days later, a customer brought a copy in to my cafe for me to read. Patience is a virtue! The book is a great read, and tells the author's story while speaking of Buddhist meditation, western business, and running marathons with a mindful approach.

Number Four

Runner's World published this book about ten years ago, but it is still relevant and super informative for us women runners. It has chapters on your regular runner's issues: training, FAQs, moving forward from a beginners to an intermediate runner, and racing. But the beauty of the book is its specific tips and insights into running as a woman: safety, balancing our busy lives, running during the childbearing year, the older woman, running and adolescence, body image, nutrition are all topics that we as women runners are interested in, and we can find answers in this great book. Every woman runner wants a running buddy like this one!

Number Three

I wanted this book. I wanted something that would light a fire under my lazy runner's block soul and get me out there again. I was feeling bad after my first marathon. Very bad. I was a grand total of 61 years old, I'd been running seriously for about five years, and I did my first marathon in 5:34 and I felt so disappointed in myself! BooHoo!! So I wanted to straighten myself out and I thought this book could help.

Yes, I can swear with the rest of them, in a couple of different languages even. But I don't like unnecessary cursing. They just put F*UCK on the cover to get people's attention, and I think that's stupid. So, I covered my copy with a pretty race bib:

Simon Marshall is a physician and professor of sports and exercise psychology. He is married to endurance athlete Lesley Paterson, and between the two of them they have produced an excellent book. Marshall explains how the athlete's brain works, during training, during racing and afterwards. He has filled the book with interactive exercises, tips, suggestions and hard-ass advice for us all, whether you are a runner with Imposter Syndrome, or a triathlon athlete who wants to get better at their game.

Did it light my fire? Yes! I am back on track. Most importantly, it helped me understand why I was feeling so down and what to do about it next time.

Number Two

An amazing story that traces our ability to run, and explores what makes humans different from all other animals: we are born to run! Read the book and find out how and why.

Number One

Everyone should read this book! It's written by a champion, but she doesn't talk down to us lowly back-of-the-packers. Her story, and her struggles, and her triumphs come alive on the page. Her attitude and her focus teach everyone about the advantages of keeping a positive attitude. This book can change your life!




So much more to read! Suggestions?

A Week in Lisbon! What To Do?

7 Days in Lisbon

We had a week to get away; we had wanted to go to Lisbon for years. I wanted a place I wouldn't skip on my marathon training schedule; we couldn't break the bank. Let's go: a week in Lisbon!

What can you do for 7 days in Lisbon? You can have the time of your life! Food, art, romance, friendship, beauty, and running. A week in Lisbon here we come!!!

We went in late January, during the deep freeze in our home town of Montreal. We wore our winter jackets and needed them for the first few days, and on our crazy trip to the coast. Some days were pleasantly warm, and we shedded layers. I always ran in my capris and a t-shirt... but generally the weather was cool in Lisbon - check out the southern European winter.

Day One

We arrived before dawn.

I found a lucky charm on the floor as we arrived and I knew we were going to have fun ... our trip started out with a funny turn ... we were relaxed and happy as we landed in deep fog, and we decided against rushing off the plane with the rest of the passengers, so we missed the bus! Got special transport with the crew, and listened to the pilot talk about how difficult the landing was. Hmmm...

We love to travel! We booked an Airbnb that wasn't going to be ready until noon. No problem, we thought, until we walked around town for too long with our bags (het, just duffle bags but still bags), got chilled in the wind, and wished we had know about the various left luggage storage spots in Lisbon. Then we could've visited a museum or a bookshop and relaxed in the warmth ...

At noon

We were finally allowed into our apartment and it was lovely!!!

Four flights up these beautiful stairs (just the right cool-down after a run through this amazing runner's paradise!), a little hideaway with a balcony where we could watch the city from dawn through twilight. And also a place where the firemen could visit (twice!) so they could secure the large piece of metal siding that was blowing off the roof next door!

After getting settled, we set off to explore Alfama, which is the oldest and very beautiful past of Lisbon. The Alfama is a maze of tiny streets, stairs and close-set houses. It is the oldest part of Lisbon, and survived the 1755 earthquake mostly intact. It is said that it used to be the red light district during that time, and during the 15th century it housed the Jewish population of Lisbon. We wandered around, got completely lost, and wandered back. After doing some groceries close to the apartment, made a lovely dinner and went to bed early.

Day Two

Saturday we relaxed! It's so easy to relax in a place where people still go out for a morning walk. Coffee shops were full and people were eating the traditional Portugese pastry (the Pastel de Nata is a tiny custard tart) with their coffees. No one sitting alone on their laptops, but people of all ages chatting, eating and having a regular Saturday morning.

Our r and r was only disturbed once with the unlikely event of the doorbell ringing. I looked out of the window and saw the neighbours pointing at our house. My husband ran downstairs, opened the door, and a herd of firemen rushed in, onto the balcony and on to the roof. One of them fell back down on to the balcony; I thought I was going to have to do first aid. They fixed the sheet metal, said "buon appetito" in Portugese, and left us to enjoy our lunch.

The day was full of walks, yummy home-cooked food, chocolate, red wine (Portugese wine is good!), naps, then dinner out (4 out of 10, sadly, a little vegan place. I don't know how they got a 4.5 on Google, perhaps because the staff was so pleasant).

Day 3

A perfect day! First, a run. Let me tell you about running in Lisbon ... in a word, amazing!!

Lots of hills, stairs, flat if you want, many runners out on the roads (and everyone waves or at least nods). I was in the middle of a marathon training plan, so I had a great chance to cover my week's worth of training sessions in a warmer, hillier place. I went out for a 13 k early Sunday morning. Lovely! And very warm compared to the 13 k I did the week before!

After my super morning run, we decided to get the tram to Belem, which is just outside Lisbon and houses a Marine Museum we wanted to visit. Sadly, it was closing by the time we got there so we consulted our trusty guide book (Rough Guide to Lisbon) and discovered a treasure! The Berardo Museum is a beautiful building that houses art from every era! It is a pleasure to visit, and very affordable. We wandered around the museum for hours.

At closing time, we went for a drink in the bar just behind the museum. It was perfect! There were a few tourists there, like us, and there were also smart-looking older Portugese couples who were out for their pre-dinner evening drink or coffee. We sat for a while and weirdly I had a craving for cider so we had a very good apple cider (British). Then of course I went to look for the bathroom (yes this is relevant). With scarcely-understood directions, I first walked into the cleaning closet, and then I went down a hall and found myself in a pizza/sushi bar! (And I found the well-appointed washrooms...).

Off for dinner!

This is a cool little spot with a great wood-oven pizza menu, and a huge selection of sushi. We chose pizza and beer, and it was sublime! At the end of the evening we rolled out of the restaurant and took a tram home. In Lisbon, as in most of southern Europe (except France! They put their kids to bed pronto, no messing around), families, couples, people of all generations tend to be out late. The tram was packed and we were happy.

Speaking of trams, and crowds. Do be careful of thieves in Lisbon! Our friend (who lives there!) was robbed while we were chatting with her in a cafe - her bag was on the floor, she was preoccupied with her young child and with our conversation, and two men next to us got their hands into her purse and made off with her wallet. (Same thing happened here in Montreal to a customer at my cafe: put your bag in full view and keep your eyes on it!)

Day 4

On Monday we had a lazy morning and decided to go for a stroll. We wandered through the Alfama again ... and found ourselves near the center of town next to the Casa dos Bicos, which is a strange building with spikes on the outside... So many of the buildings in Lisbon are beautifully tiled, some with patterned colored tiles, others with plain white or a lighter color, some with intricate designs. This 16th century building really stands out, partly because it is strikingly ugly compared to the tiled beauty that surrounds it. The building houses a tribute to the famous Portugese writer Jose Saramago. (I bought one of his books and found it pretty heavy reading.)

We continued along the waterfront and explored the main market, which was disappointing. (But check out Day 7 and you'll see why!) The fish stalls were all closed, there were a few sad-looking vegetables and a tourist stall. We went for coffee instead, and sat outside in the sun chatting about the things you chat about when you've been together for over 35 years... kids, the meaning of life, hegemony and what it means, what to have for dinner tonight, you know...

We spent the rest of the morning wandering around central Lisbon. Check out the artisanal shoe stores. The shoes are made with soft leather, and the price is right! Take a stroll down to the waterfront, and then walk through the Praça do Comércio and up one of the shop-lined streets to the Chiado area of town.

I love books, reading, and bookshops.

On most of my trips I try to find one book to take home and read, to remind me of my trip. I loved the look of this little bookstore:

But I was very excited to find mention in my guide book of the oldest still-operating bookshop! I was so excited to go in! And there on the wall, kind of in a place of honor, they were showcasing "Mein Kampf". Yes, fascism is definitely on the rise in Europe. I remember in Pontremoli a few years ago at their yearly literary fair, the Premio Bancarella they had also decided to keep several copies of this hateful book on their shelves. I sent my husband to guard the door and threw them under the table. Not being a smoker any more, I couldn't do a real direct action protest by setting them on fire, so I threw them harshly in the hopes they would tear. Not possible in this upscale bookshop so I left quickly and muttered angry comments under my breath.

"Is the world in the hands of those who have the courage to dream and take the risk of living their dreams?"

Sunset

As I was angrily steaming up the hill, it was getting dark and my husband realized it might be time for a drink. We walked up to the top of the hill, and found ourselves a little outside bar at the top of one of the many elevators that take people to the top of the town. The Bellalisa Elevador houses a large outdoor restaurant, but there is a bar outside where you can sit and have a drink and look out at the view. Perfect! We had one drink and then realized we were having such a good time we needed one more for the walk home. It was lovely!

On our way home, we passed a huge church with no roof. We discovered this was the Carmo Convent, beneath which was the centre of the giant earthquake of 1755 that destroyed most of the city. The earthquake took place on All Saint's Day (Nov 1), and much religious speculation was made of it. The area that suffered the least damage was the Alfama, which is said to have been the red light district ("why did God save the prostitutes?") or the Jewish area ("why did God save the Jews?"). Here's an interesting article suggesting that the earthquake rattled people into thinking more seriously about atheism.

Of course, us being us, as we walked arm in arm back to our place (a much longer walk than we expected), we discussed all this and more, and stopping at times to make a point, and stopping at one point on the top of a hill next to a beautiful piazza to listen to a 5-piece band play covers!!!

And home for a late dinner. With a bottle of good red wine, delivered to our door by the amazing Dima Peyroteo of the Wine Museum. We found him online, ordered a case of wine and port, and he was at our door within the day! The port was very good too. Porto Quevedo Ruby, a full-tasting port without the sweetness that some fortified wines have.

Day 5

After a busy day on Day 4, we decided to take it easy on our fifth day in Lisbon, especially since we had another busy day planned for Day 6! I went for a fast run up and down some hills around the apartment, and along the way I noticed in passing a huge outdoor market. I looked it up when I got home and found the Fiera da Ladra is a huge flea market that is only open on Tuesdays and Saturdays, and closes at 2pm! Luckily my husband was busy cooking when I got in from my run, so we ate and went back out.

The Fiera da Ladra (thieves' market!) is part flea market, part junk shop and part artisanal fair. It stretches for a few streets along the top of the Alfama, around the Campo de Santa Clara. We browsed through old books, postcards, lamps, LPs, you name it. I bought a pair of earrings, a hand-made leather belt, several fridge magnets. There were lots of broken conversations with people, mixing English, Portugese, Italian and hand gestures to create the illusion that we were actually conversing, and in a way we were.

As the blankets and mats were being rolled up and the fiera started to disperse, we walked back down the hill to the centre of Lisbon by the waterfont. We stopped for coffee where the owner gave us a free pastry that was so good I could've probably eaten twenty more! It was, he explained, a traditional walnut cake. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

Window-shopping

I have to confess, although I do enjoy wearing pretty clothes, and I do love a new pair of running shoes or a running skirt, and of course I love all stores paper-oriented - bookshops, stationary stores and the like .... my biggest love is a good old-fashioned hardware store. I'm not talking Home Depot here, where you can buy anything from a hundred sheets of drywall to a giant bar of chocolate. I mean a small, down-home, hardware store.

When you look in the window and you see this. Twenty different sizes and shapes of machetes, each with their own purpose. You can find a wood stove; pruning shears; a copper and glass still; glue; locks and keys; screws and hammers. No chocolate. No drywall. I can spend hours in a small hardware store, not buy anything at all, and come out happy. In a clothing store, on the other hand, I could also spend hours but I usually think most of the clothing is ugly and then I feel ugly when I leave. I am an old hippie, essentially, with very expensive tastes. I went to the Balenciaga fashion exhibit here in Montreal last week and now I want an original Balenciaga... yip. Oh, by the way, if you are super incredibly rich, please visit Storytailors in Lisbon and buy a fantasy dress.

So anyway we visited a wonderful hardware store and bought a couple of fun things. A machete. Stuff like that.

Day 6

Off to the beach! After almost a week in Lisbon we were looking forward to seeing the countryside. We did our research and planned to go to Guincho beach for the day. We read that there were restaurants all along the waterfront, so we went after breakfast and planned to have lunch there. "The train departs from the Cais do Sodré train station in Lisbon (green metro line). The train journey is 30 minutes and a single ticket costs €2.15. It is a 200 m walk from the Cascais train station to the bus station, which is below the Cascais Villa shopping centre." Super easy directions and we were at the beach by mid-morning. Public transport in Lisbon and surrounding areas is fantastic! Clean, fast, easy to use.

The coast line is beautiful!! No, this is not a stock picture; I took it from the road above the beach. The beach itself stretches for about a kilometer; we walked almost to the end and back but it was COLD and there was a biting wind. I wore my winter coat but took my socks and shoes off to enjoy the sand.

But the crazy thing was, we picked the best day ever to visit the beach! The waves were huge! Magnificent, pounding, scary waves. You could see dark blue underneath as each waves rose and crashed down. It was insane surfers' paradise!

We walked a meter or so at a time and then just stopped to stare at the waves and listen to the crashing. Big Waves catching them on video doesn't do justice - they look like nice, body-surfable waves. But here's proof:

Lunch

We were getting cold; teeth-chattering with the exhilaration and the freezing wind. Time for lunch! We hiked up to the first place (see that fortress-looking place in the picture?). Turns out this was where they shot some of the sequences for a James Bond film. In the lobby there are photos of Very Famous People. Lunch was going to cost as much as our Airbnb.

We took a stroll down the road and soon realized (after a couple of kilometers) that this was Rich People's lane. Lots of fancy cars, fancy looking restaurants and menus that started at 80 Euros. Back to the beach. I found a packet of cookies and an orange in my bag. We snuggled down in between two rocks and ate our lunch. Hiking up to the bus, though, we found a lovely coffee shop in the dunes. We sat outside, shielded from the wind with a large plexiglass window. The view was stunning; the staff were friendly (as always).

We raced up to the bus stop and of course got slightly lost. Got to the train station late so we picked up a Sue Grafton novel at the kiosk, and weirdly found out that she had just died. Home again, big pasta dinner, lots of red wine, sleep...

Day 7

Our last day in Lisbon! Our week in Lisbon was almost over. The great thing about a really good vacation is that you're sad to leave...

A nice morning run along the waterfront (you can run for about 15 k from Cais do Sodre all the way to Belem) was followed by a long walk through the town. We were supposed to meet with someone in the early afternoon so we had lots of time to enjoy the city. It's fun when you have someone to meet up with in a new place who knows the fun spots ... but it was great meeting up with her after we had already spent a week exploring on our own. But this wasn't a friend who we had known forever or someone we knew super well. Just the good friend of a close friend of ours, from back when our kids were small. But she's our kids' age, so she has a small child.

On any given day at my cafe  you will find people of all ages enjoying the food and each other's company, or just sitting by themselves and working. In the front you'll see people meeting for work; at the bigger tables there will be larger groups eating together; on the couches you'll often see a group of mothers with their babies or toddlers. The mums will be chatting and nursing their babies (everyone needs to eat right?), and the small children will be playing with the in-house toys. Everyone gets along.

Here in our busy culture we have a tendency to divide people into groups - not only in our bigger cultural picture but even in one person's life. The older friend of a friend who visits must be given a half hour and tea. The friend can't have dinner with the husband around. Children are not welcome and certainly not nursing babies. In other countries its different. When we first moved to Italy the people we met were astounded that we put the kids to bed at seven. Whoever heard of such nonsense? It would mean that we would have to be home every night at seven!!

We met with our friend and her child in a beautiful spot at the top of the Edward VII Park. This is a typically sculpted park that stretches down the hill so that from the top you eyes follow the length of the park and then move to the rest of Lisbon. We sat at a pretty outdoor cafe next to the pond and had coffee and chatted about pretty much everything. Then the pickpocket thing happened. We realized then ran around the park looking in garbage cans, then down through a nearby mall (the only shopping mall in Lisbon apparently. No luck. She called her mum and they went to the police station. I figured it was ciao ciao and see you in a few years.

Nope, not in Lisbon. We made a plan: she would go to the police station, then pick up her husband and we would meet for dinner at 7pm. In the meantime, we spent our last day in this beautiful city wandering around, climbing the hills, checking out the little stores. Just before sunset we found ourselves at a little bar on the waterfront, drinks in hand, sitting next to the sea wall and watching the sun set over the Tagus. Perfect!

Best vegan food around!

We arrived at the Vegan Food Project before seven and there was already a lineup! They take traditional Portugese recipes and recreate them with all plant-based ingredients. The ambience is perfect; children are welcome; the service is friendly but professional. As a cafe owner myself I appreciate a quality business, where the food is excellent, the kitchen is clean and the employees are happy. They are located in the Chiado district, which has a bustling night life, and it's best if you reserve a table as they are packed! Open for lunch and dinner, and closed during the afternoon.

We ate magnificently, and we still thought our lovely friends would be heading home. Nope! Now we were going to a small bar ... it's closed, okay, off to the market! Remember the market we were so disappointed by? Well, at night it transforms into the Lisbon TimeOut Market and it is a hoot! It's like a giant traditional market, food court, night club and pub all rolled into one. There are food stalls of every variety. We had beer and desserts (of course!). There are young people out for the evening; families with small children; friends eating with great concentration; older couples sauntering about. Stalls sell souvenirs, port, sausages, custard pies... sushi, pizza, seafood, burgers, all excellent and hand-picked by the TimeOut big shots.

Music. There's a DJ. Lights. Picnic tables. Finally we realized we were all ready for bed so we left the market, took one last stroll around the waterfront, and headed home to pack and prepare for our early morning departure.

Day 8

We were slowly packing away our stuff and doing all the things weary travellers do the night before a 5am taxi. Check-in. What clothes to leave out? Fragile gift - is it going to break? Is that machete we bought going to rip up our clothes? So tired, just want to get to bed already. Suddenly there was an ear-splitting bell ringing and banging on the door four stories below. We ran down. And up, followed by firemen. More drama with the sheet metal. They ran onto our balcony, climbed on the roof and spent a good half an hour trying to attach it to something.

Finally, they left, with this parting remark: "Three best things about Lisbon: the food, the friendly people, and the best firemen in the world!"

Our week in Lisbon was a resounding success! We'll be back!