Stuff and Memories

My mother died almost five years ago, and when that happened my sisters spent a weekend sorting through the house and sending me a Pod full of stuff. Well, no, a lot more happened of course. My sisters and I buried my mother, and we grieved and fought and made up again and grieved some more... but one big thing that also happened was that this Pod landed in my driveway.

It was full: antique furniture; bedding; medical equipment; books. Lots and lots of books. Kitchen stuff; art; stuff from Botswana; more books; some clothes; knick knacks. Every single one of those things - every book, and piece of art, and small tea strainer, was a vessel full of memory. Some of the stuff was ugly and old and had no sentimental value for me. Other things were part of my life since I could remember. An old carved stool that someone in Uganda had carved for my parents back in the Colonial times when I was tiny: they brought it to Calgary and I remember how comfy my feet felt fitting so snugly on to the seat of the stool.

We got rid of some of the stuff and filled our house with most of it. I put some of the stuff in my cafe. 

There's a thing going around these days about the "spark". Pick something up, if you feel the spark you keep it, if not you chuck it. Nah, not for me. I love to keep stuff, especially if it is the stuff of memories. 

What is the stuff of memories? 

I love to remember different times in my life by using my senses to bring me back. The taste of a papaya brings me back to Uganda when I was tiny. My mother's purple cardigan gives me comfort. Her paintings give me joy. Her art journal gives me sadness.

When I'm running, I listen to music. If I hear a certain song in a different context, I am drawn back to that bend at 16 k when the song played during my first half marathon. My medals remind me of each race - the triumphs and the struggles. All of my books give me memories; my clothes are all from here and there and usually connected to a good friend or a sister or someone who gave me a gift.

Part of life is enjoying the process of making memories. Take a look around you, right now, as you read, and remember this moment.

Gold Medals

I ran my first race in 2015, a half marathon, with my sister and her husband. I had started running two years before, but I've always been someone who uses my body to do hard things.

Tomorrow I'm running the Hypothermic Half in Oka, Quebec. Last year the race was in Montreal, at a nice flat loop on one of the islands. This year they moved it - after I'd already registered! And the new place is more challenging. Hills, trails, and the weather this year is definitely something to be reckoned with.

It's in the middle of my marathon training schedule and I am longing for clear sidewalks, or sunny trails, and less layers. But life is what it is, and I'll be wearing layers tomorrow, and cleats, and my lucky hanky will probably freeze.

But I'll wake up and have my regular race breakfast - a caffe latte and a bowl of oatmeal... and good to go!

Why do I run? Because I can. Because it's something I can do on my own. Because it reminds me of when I was younger and I'd hike in the mountains, accompanied only by me, myself and I. Because it gives me time to think. Because it's fun!

And the medals? They're an extra little bit of memorabilia that I can look at after my race.

At my cafe, we had a tough little time back in the fall, when we were in the middle of a big concept change, and our workload shifted big time, and I was always tired, and .... one thing led to another and I ended up getting a 2 star review! It was a shock to be publicly dissed, but also a shock to see how much I cared about what is essentially bullshit.

So we made a few changes, and now our cafe is working well, as well as it can and as well as we can, which is to say that we are more often crowded than not.. and I have decided that going after the stars or the gold medals, or the flattering comments, is a rabbit hole down which I don't really want to go.

Because, after all, it is YOU who decides whether you have succeeded or not. Our culture is full of advice about how to be the best, but none of it means anything in the end because you're the only one who can truly and effectively be you. Which is maybe why I love running, because I'm only racing against myself, and because essentially we all are.

So, remember, next time your buddy posts a picture of her amazing family, or someone calls you a bad name in public (read: on the internet), or your kid doesn't do well on a test, remember that comparing isn't worth it. Are you doing the best you can? Are you getting help if you can't? five stars for effort, and that's all any of us deserve!

Work in Progress aka Life

In 2003, I was done with city life. We were living in Montreal, not a huge city, but big enough, dirty enough and fast-paced enough to qualify as a big city. Life was fast, cold, busy. We decided to take some of our savings, and borrow some, and buy a ruin in Northern Italy that we could fix up and maybe one day live in. We had experience: we raised four children, renovated an old stone farmhouse, and ran a small subsistence farm in the previous chapter of our lives.

We've lives our lives following our dreams. Sometimes they turned into nightmares, mostly not. We've been poor, rich, and in between. We've been lonely, together, with and without children. Now we have five grown sons and perhaps another chapter is opening.

In any case, our mountain hideaway is a big part of our lives, and it's always been part of other peoples' lives too. This past summer, we hosted our first "work-in-progress" retreat. It was a great success! It was a healing retreat for women, and we learned how to stop and let life happen. It was about fun, playing, resting, eating and drinking, hiking, and being ourselves.

This year, 2019, we have a huge building project! Our land has two stone structures on it. We've fixed up the small one:

and now we have to get to work on the bigger one!

This is the barn. It's a huge, beautiful stone structure with a giant corrugated iron roof, that was put up many years ago to cover the original thatch. The roof has to come down, the beams have to be replaced, and we have to put a new roof on that baby.

So no retreats planned this summer. But if anyone out there loves to build and you want to come and visit for a while? Come on down! 

Next summer, though, I have three fantastic retreats planned. I'm inviting eight women to come and learn how to rest. I'm inviting eight experienced trail runners who want to master trail running in these mountains ... 

and I'm inviting eight women runners who want to learn about running trails, in a safe and fun environment, with an experienced running coach.

Drop me a line if you're interested in any of these activities - more details and dates to come!

Work In Progress!

Beach day!

Sage Sticks

8 Kilometer Thoughts

Mostly cloudy, -12 (Celsius)

Hmmm glad I wore my cleats, it's super icy. Kind of getting sick of Kenny Rogers, gotta get some new tunes. No! Summertime Blues? Next...

Okay, out and back, four k out then turn... or should I shake things up a bit? Ok, light's green, it's gonna be an out and back.

So, why can't I be happy? I'm always miserable with everything. I just need to live in the moment. Mindfulness. That's what running can teach me. Good. Good to run. Remember how grateful you are to have a healthy strong body. 

I'm gonna go the long way around this roundabout, there we go. Gotta remember to do the same on the way back. Na, not feeling it today. 2 k blues. Weird how that happens. 

Great song! Love the Wood Brothers. Damn my nose is running a lot today. They said the sun was gonna come out. But no. Grey shitty day. Montreal. Why can't I be happy here? Ok, stay in the moment. Be happy! Breathe!

So, yeah, the difference between Goals and Expectations. That's gotta be my mantra from today on forever. No expectations. Ok, like, if I have a goal to, let's say, finish a marathon. That's a goal. Expectation to win? Haha. Expectations that the dishes'll be done when I get home? No! Not realistic, also I shouldn't think about what other people are gonna do. Ok, my mantra for the rest of my life. No expectations. But goals! Marathon. Training. Being a better person. All that. 

Damn! What a beautiful day! I'm so lucky to have a healthy bod. Gotta be careful to NEVER cross in the middle, runners get hit by cars because of the high. Wait for the light. No cars coming, ok, go! 

Yikes, that was a serious piece of ice. Like a skating rink, hard, transparent. You can still slip if you're wearing cleats. I hate falling. Gotta learn how to fall.

Yeah, stairs, I love stairs. Up, cross over the tracks, down. Good one! Great song! Love the old Led Zeppelin for good running tunes. Ya, the good old days. Revolution! Yeah. Damn my hankie is getting so wet. Hey another runner! 

So don't wave back, bitch. Was she wearing cleats? I'm a pussy. She was going faster than me. Taller too. I look like a short fat hedgehog running along. Who am I kidding. 

Oh, 50%, ok time to turn around, yay I don't have to cross R. street, never get the light. Nice, I feel good! four k already? Great! Ya, a little detour, the long way around, better. A fucking Maserati? Who needs a Maserati? What is wrong with everyone? Capitalism! Bullshit. Well, you're living it. I should just move up to my mountain. 

How fast am I going? Damn, speed it up. That's better. Ok, no checking my watch until I'm at 90%. Ok, what's 8 k divided by 10? Like, four fifths, and what's four fifths of 8 k? Ok, so 8 divided by five is. Ok, so five miles divided by five is one. But that's not right because I have 15% left, so what's 5% of five miles? Damn I looked at my watch.

Ok, sprint home, one k left. For fuck's sake, why are you PARKING on the sidewalk? Damn, you shouldn't get mad when you're running, mindfulness, happiness, feel good, ok, 110%...done. Yeah good run!

Gym Rats and Runners

As everybody already mostly knows, I love to run. See that big ole smile? That's me on my 60th, when I ran a kind of ok time for my second half-marathon.

I started training recently for my second full Marathon. If you want to run faster and better, and you want to build endurance and strength, you really have to do some strength training. Also, you really have to live in Montreal to experience Mother Nature's sense of humor. The winter temperature can vary from -30 (celsius) to above freezing in a half a day. I love a nice cold run: -20, sunny, cold and beautiful. You just have to know how to dress. But if it's super cold and snowy, and then it goes above freezing and everything melts, and then it rains and then it goes dow hard freezing again, and then it snows just a little bit? Then you've got a skating rink covered with a little bit of snow that's just enough so you can't see what you're landing on. 

For those days, and for my strength training, I go to the gym. 

I like gyms, kind of. I like the feeling of everyone playing. There's a lot of good hormones flying around too, and that reminds me of my real love, midwifery. It's fun watching people get their bodies strong. I like to see how everyone's body is so different. And of course I enjoy working out and pushing my body beyond what I may feel I'm capable of.

But there's a gym vibe that's just so different from the running feeling. I joined a new gym; I had a one hour session with a trainer who gave me a program and showed me where everything is. I went there for the second time, eager to try out my program. But of course I didn't know my way around that well yet. So I start my first exercise, I have to lie down. Fine, I found a spot and did my thing, its like a bridge except with holding one knee to your chest. 12 reps, 2 sets. All good.

The I had to do my lunges. The gym was crowded and I found my weights (10 pounds) and looked for a spot. I found a little spot facing the mirror where it looked to me like no one else was lifting weights or doing anything too complicated. I start my lunges. A guy came by, heading for the rack to my side. He gave a little-old-lady tut-tut and looked at me like "Get out of my way bitch". Whoa! I didn't feel good. In fact I went and found another spot. Laughs on him because he strutted off to the bench and started benching a plate - one plate, dude!, with a great deal of huffing and puffing and drama.

One of my kids benches 225 lbs, and his PR is 240. And I made that kid in this skinny old body (well, I was younger then). And I made four other ones too, all equally impressive. But hey, I'm not here for a pissing contest. In fact, I'm wondering why pissing contests exist in gyms at all. Everyone knows that bodies are different. Why not learn from your runner friends how to treat fellow athletes?

I know someone who regularly runs ultras. He did a marathon last year and cycled up to Ottawa (200 k), ran the race, then cycled back. I met him last week as he was headed out for a run with a buddy. He knows I run outside all winter so he invited me along - I told him I'd slow him down. He said, na we'll just run back and forth, all good.

Runners aren't so proud that way. We help each other out. Sure, we race against each other (why oh why did I let that lady get ahead of me last May?). But we treat each other well, and cooperation is the name of the game. So, next time you're at the gym, be nice. It'll improve your gains.

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.

I Love Housework!!

It's true. Although you probably couldn't guess it looking at the state of my home right now. Cobwebs everywhere. But I love housework!

When I first started doing housework, I lived in a bungalow in Calgary with my parents and my two younger sisters. My mother had a part-time job teaching math at the university and she was an artist. My father was an entomologist who played the piano. A very bohemian household, where the odd cobweb, crumbs behind the African baskets on the kitchen counter, full ashtrays didn't matter much in the bigger scheme of things. But they mattered to me. I cleaned and organized and read books and played the clarinet. Until I discovered rock music and opening the doors of perception, that is.

When I was travelling, I didn't really bother cleaning. Although when I was sleeping in a small makeshift tent in the desert with my husband-to-be, I did try to sweep the sand out in the morning. As a young woman, I lived in many communal houses and did dishes when things got rough.

I've had a home of my own for many years. I've raised five children and kept myself going all these weeks and months, and I've come to value the smell of a well-cleaned, dusted, polished and loved home.

But there's another kind of housework that I do, and that kind is more difficult. It's  the housework we have to do to ourselves. Our inner homes, the ones that we inhabit in our heads and our hearts. This year has been hard, since the fall. I've fallen out with a good friend, consciously. I decided that I could no longer continue with a friendship that I felt was not good for me. Or for her.
I noticed myself falling back into old habits. I had to work around those cobwebs and try to sweep them out. I polished my love, my compassion and my gratitude, so that the light could come through my windows and keep me going on those days when Life is Suffering doesn't seem to make a difference. I moved my inner furniture around, and covered up the scratch on the wall that I kept looking at too often and for too long.

I got rid of some activities that were making me unhappy. I shut some doors, those ones at the back of my inner house that led to resentment, sadness and grief. I opened some other doors, ones that led through a pretty narrow hallway to a sunny room. Armed with natural cleaning products, emotional feather dusters, a large vacuum cleaner and a ton of elbow grease, I cleaned up.