Toolbelts & Tiaras

Mean Marine

2011-11-29T13:01:00.007-04:00

Congrats to Queen Bee (aka Mean Marine) on yet another full marathon fait accompli. She took her rightful place at the start line of the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, DC in October and despite an injury that prevented any training 6 weeks prior to the event, QB finished strong and in fine Marine style.

Well done QB. You reign supreme. Ooorah!

Click the below link to watch QB's journey to the finish line...

http://secure.smilebox.com/ecom/openTheBox?sendevent=4d6a67774d4459334d6a52384e6a4d774e7a457a4e6a593d0d0a&sb=1

Remembering Vimy

2011-11-04T15:23:00.003-03:00

http://toolbeltsandtiaras.blogspot.com/2008/11/in-rembembrance.html

Running joke...

2011-09-12T13:43:00.003-03:00

QB is currently training for the Marine Corp Marathon in Chicago this Fall and shared this link with us.

To the non-runners, now we know what you really think. That's ok though...it's funny...cuz it's true.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cw5MHsO-JI8

And then they said "I do. We definitely do."

2011-07-09T09:56:00.050-03:00

"Mom, I'm worried it's going to rain."

"Don't worry Dear. I've got this one covered."

And she did.

So despite threatening clouds all around, the rain held off, as if to offer a ceremonial veil under which loved ones would gather, witness and celebrate the wedding of Brad and Mary.

It was a perfect day. A perfect wedding. Sweet and romantic. The kind that reminds us that love truly is all around.

Congratulations to you both...love is definitely all around you.

To see more photos from the day, click on the play button below. There's a total of three songs so be sure to turn up your volume.

Slideshow created with Smilebox

A sweaty year in review...

2011-02-02T18:05:00.065-04:00

Here we are in the lull of winter in Atlantic Canada and I find myself day dreaming about another great year of running with the Sweaty Girls. 2011 has already kicked off with a bang - QB has just returned from doing a half in Miami and Debbie aka The Machine ran a half in Maui in early January.

Other exciting news for 2011 is Debbie has set her sights on her first full marathon - Chicago 2011 and QB will also be doing another full this year. It will be so exciting to watch them prepare.

As for 2010, it was our best year yet. In April Amy and Craig welcomed their first baby into the world. In May Wendy, Donna and Sandy all completed their first half at the Bluenose and then in December a few of us boarded a plane together to run with Elvis.

So once again, we kept ourselves busy...travelling here, drinking there and laughing everywhere.

Here's a brief recap of some of the 2010 highlights...

In June, we traded in our sneakers and sports drinks for heels and martinis to celebrate my big 4-0.

Nectar...our favourite restaurant.

But the Nikes weren't off for long as it was soon time to get back to training for the PEI Marathon coming up in October....road trip!

Can't go to PEI without making a stop at Hashem's Variety for some apples, sausage, turnips and Asics. (Trust me, we only bought the sneakers.)

hmmmm.....shinanigans

Trying to stay warm as long as possible.

It was a cold miserable day but we all got through in SG style

But the weekend definitely belonged to Sandy as she finished only her second half marathon in 2:17. What a sight to spot her 1/4 km from the finish line.

When I'm asked why I run, the answer is found in moments like this.

And then in December...we were off to Vegas Baby!

35,000 runners

300 Evlis (or rather Elvi)

40 couples who got married during the race

2 Oylmpians and 4 World Records

1 post race concert with Brett Michaels

And 3 Maritimers who will never forget the thrill of running straight down the Vegas strip.

Cheers Sweaty Girls. What a great year...here's to what awaits in 2011.

Check us out at www.sweatygirlsrock.ca

I didn't say "I can't."

2010-11-08T09:07:00.023-04:00

(NEW YORK TIMES) - At a news conference in Manhattan on Thursday, Pena appeared in a black suit without sunglasses and explained through a Spanish interpreter that while he was trapped, "I was running to be an active participant in my own salvation. I wasn't just waiting around."

I didn't get out for my long run yesterday. I was supposed to do 12 miles but my early morning window of opportunity (I was at a conference all weekend) was being pounded by relentless rain. "Ok, tomorrow then," I postponed.

So, my plan is to run tonight after work. But grumbling to myself about the persistent cold rain and wind, I again thought about just letting this week pass without a long run.

And then, as if right on cue, I received an email this morning from QB containing the below link. If you were as riveted as I was by the rescue of the Chilean miners you will know that one miner ran 6 miles everyday as a way to cope - an inspiring accomplishment acknowledged by the prestigous New York Marathon who invited Pena to participate in the event which took place this past weekend.

"The message here is I found a way to run," he said. "I didn't say I can't."

Thanks for the perspective, Pena. I am grateful to feel the rain at all.

http://www.usatoday.com/sports/olympics/2010-11-04-chilean-miner-nyc-marathon_N.htm

Next up...

2010-09-09T08:43:00.002-03:00

Vegas Baby...Dec 5th

Never did I ever...

2010-07-02T19:03:00.011-03:00

...think I would hear myself utter the following words:

"You know, I've been thinking about doing a full marathon."

And yet, that is precisely what I uttered to Queen Bee this morning at the gym.

And she heard me. Oh she heard me.

Damn it.

2010-06-21T12:20:00.004-03:00

You don't run just to win.

You run to prove there

is still triumph and

possibility in your life.

Anonymous.

Blue Nose 2010

2010-05-24T08:16:00.028-03:00

A hot and sunny May long weekend welcomed nearly 10,000 runners to the 2010 Halifax Blue Nose Marathon. Congratulations to everyone, especially to Blue Nose newbies Sandy, Donna and Wendy who all completed their first half marathon. Back in February, I don't think any of these gals really took the idea seriously but in Sweaty Girl style, they decided to go for it and over the last four months they dug in, dug deep and come race day, got 'er done.

Here are a few pics from this year's event:

Tending to a few pre-race details...

Dale and Sweaty Girl Lisa cheering us in!

This first SG's to cross...Debbie and her Virgins :)

Donna, Debbie and Wendy

A celebration Dunk!

Sandy and Queen Bee, Susan.

Congrats Girls!

Check out this story and more at: www.sweatygirlsrock.ca

From the mouths of babes...

2010-04-24T17:36:00.024-03:00

"So Paige, did you enjoy our visit to the barn today?"

"I did. That was awesome. I had so much fun."

"Me too! And wasn't the donkey adorable?"

"He was soooo cute!!!"

"Are you excited about going to riding camp again this summer?"

"I can't wait!"

"I'm so happy that you love riding."

"I do, I love it."

"You know we both come by our love of horses pretty honestly, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"We inherited it from Grampa Stevenson."

"That's true."

silence...

"So Tammy, how come you don't ride anymore?"

"Oh, I don't know. After I moved to Halifax I never really made an effort to take lessons."

"How come?"

"Just got busy with other things I guess."

"How long has it been that you took lessons?"

"Far too long."

"Do you miss it?"

"I sure do Paige. I think about it every single day."

"Really?"

"Yup.

"Every day?"

"Yup. Everyday."

silence....

"You know Tammy, maybe it's time to stop thinking about it, and start doing it."

silence...

"You know Paige, you're a wise young lady."

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun...

2010-04-15T15:07:00.019-03:00

...and a good reason to drink wine! (Or rather, a reason to drink good wine.)

The Sweaty Girls have had lots to celebrate lately and since we're always up for a pot luck, wine and a little hot tubbin', we did just that.

Amy is getting ready to have her first baby so in February, Brenda hosted us for a lovely afternoon to toast Amy and her husband Craig on their April arrival.

What's a shower without shower games?

We also recently paused for a good cause to help support the Dartmouth General at the annual Revolution Fundraiser.

That's our girl Lisa leading the charge!

And then just this past weekend, we gathered at Queen Bee and Dale's beautiful home to celebrate the 50th birthday of Fabulous Wendy. Damn girl, you fine. (Note: there were many other photos of the evening but this is about the only one appropriate for public sharing.) :)

Allow me to introduce you to the Sweaty Girls.
Back L to R: Amy (just days away from having her baby), Birthday Girl Wendy, me, Sandy and Brenda.
Front L to R: Susan (aka Queen Bee), Lisa and Debbie.
Missing from photo: Donna who was on her sister's bachelorette...doing it up SG style no doubt.

As Seen on TV

2010-04-07T19:45:00.027-03:00

Thankfully the meeting finished early. Good thing because after an 8 hour training session the last thing I wanted to do was sit in traffic. This headache was killing me and I just wanted to get home.

Turning out of the Holiday Inn, I snuck neatly into the pre rush hour traffic. Perfect. A slick getaway.

Up ahead I noticed the overhead crosswalk signs were blinking amber. I slowed and pulled up in line, about 5 cars deep in each direction.

Fiddling with the radio station I found the CBC. Mumford and Sons crooned “The Cave.” I checked my blackberry. No new messages. Good. I turned up the radio; I love this song.

Glancing in my rear view mirror I noted that another 7 or 8 cars were idling in line behind me.

My blackberry dinged. Meeting reminder for tomorrow. I put it back in my purse.

Absent mindedly I looked around. Wait…we should have been on our way by now, or so I thought. My instinct was confirmed when I noticed that the lights had stopped flashing but yet, we still weren’t moving.

Hello? Heellllooooo…

Cars were now backing up in each direction. More than one or two honks from somewhere in the line tried to prod the group on.

Nothing.

I craned to see what was holding up the traffic. It looked like someone was there but couldn’t quite tell who or what they were doing.

I sat back in my seat.

Ok people.

Still nothing.

You could sense the collective restlessness building. Cars behind me jutted ever so precariously to the left but went nowhere. Instead we all sat…growing increasingly frustrated that the traffic was not moving.

And then suddenly a van two cars in front of me swerved out of his place and bolted into the middle of the intersection. He was making a break for it! Go buddy go!

But wait…he’s stopping. He’s stopping in the middle of four lanes of traffic. He's blocking the street. What…is...he....

And then as if in slow motion, out from the van stepped a tall, handsome young man wearing a light beige Airforce uniform. He moved effortlessly across the intersection, nodding politely at the gobsmacked drivers.

I could see him walking to the side of the road and then pause. And after a few seconds he turned and started to move, albeit ever so slowly, into the crosswalk.

As he passed in front of the lines of cars, I finally saw what, or rather who, had been holding up the traffic. On his arm was the smallest, frailest, little elderly lady I think I have ever seen. She clung to him like a lifeline, he smiled at her like a son. Holding her bags with one hand and her with the other, it took the pair almost three minutes to get to the other side. And despite a crowd that had been growing anxious just a few moments prior, noone minded the wait.

The image stayed with me for quite some time. In fact, I felt blessed to have been there at that moment to have witnessed such a rare act of kindness. It was a much-needed reminder that no matter how much of a hurry we think we’re in, we’re never too busy to stop and offer our help.

Just like the commercials say. Kindness. Pass it on.

Saying Farewell to a Great Aunt

2010-03-11T17:01:00.008-04:00

Bessie Josephine Stevenson
1913 - 2010

Bessie and her younger Sister, Stella.

I run like a girl. And proud of it.

2010-02-06T09:31:00.026-04:00

The Sweaty Girls had a great weekend working the "irunlikeagirl" booth at the recent Optimyz Health and Wellness Show in Halifax.

Debbie, invited us to join her in promoting our new favourite apparel from www.irunlikeagirl.com. Not only did we get to spend time with each other, we got to support and promote something we all believe in.

The booth had magnetic appeal - the moment someone realized what it was all about they were hooked. "This would be perfect for my daughter!" "Oh - I need to get one for my mom...she just started working out and I'm so proud of her." "I need this for me. I'm hoping to run my first 5k this spring." We heard many inpsiring stories over the two days - a reminder that a girl's spirit truly is universal, ageless and endless.

It was especially interesting watching guys approach the booth. While many of them totally understood and appreciated the message, there were a couple who just couldn't resist offering a snide comment or cynical look. I dare say, however, they have never had the humbling experience of running in Queen Bee's wake. God help them the day they do.

But all was not lost on the male attendees...at the end of the weekend, two young fellas approached the booth to buy a hoodie. Assuming it was for a sister or girlfriend, I asked what her size was. Imagine our delight when they responded: "This is for us! We'd be proud to wear this in the Blue Nose."

In a world that bombards girls and women with negative images and unattainable ideals, this type of message should be celebrated and each time we put on our irunlikeagirl shirts, we do just that. It allows us to wear what we believe in on our sleeve. Literally.

Visit http://www.irunlikeagirl.com/ to learn more.

A Mile in Her Own Shoes

2010-02-06T08:38:00.061-04:00

In the February issue of Runners World, I read with great delight this month's installment of "The Newbie's Chronicles" in which the author shares how his running, or as he refers to it, his "gasping efforts," inspired his 6-year old son to run as well.

Reading his story, I couldn't help but think of my niece Paige and how after being there for me at last year's Saint John Marathon, instantly decided she too wanted to run it this coming Fall. What I hoped wouldn't lose steam has in fact turned into an 11-year's determination to wear her own bib number in September.

The two-page story "A Mile in His Shoes" concludes with a rather inspiring thought - a thought that goes far beyond running. It's a much-needed reminder that we not only have the power to impact those around us, but that we do impact those around us...whether we realize it or not. Something I think we often forget.

The writer begins to wrap up by quoting a study (Christaks/Fowler) that appeared in the New York Times: "If you want to improve the world with your good behavior, math is on your side. For most of us, within three degrees we are connected to more than 1000 people - all of whom we can theoretically help make healthier, fitter and happier just by our contageious example."

The writer then went on to conclude his article in his own words: "No one is an island. No one runs in a vacuum. There is always someone watching you leave the house, dig it out, come back, and do it all over again. You are being watched by a roommate, brother, a spouse. The driver of every passing car. You are being watched by future generations. My grandmother ran in college! someone might say of you one day. My great uncle took it up in his 30's and ran marathons into his 60's! We are inexorably entwined within each other's influence. You may run by yourself, but no matter how early you start, no matter how remote your location, you never run alone."

I never thought of it that way before and by no means had I expected my "gasping efforts" could set a positive example but after reading the article, I have a different perspective - someone is always watching.

In my case, it happened to be the watchful eyes of my 11-year old neice who I can't wait to watch cross the finish line this fall.

It's January the what???

2010-01-10T17:58:00.042-04:00

Holy Cow...where did the time go? The last time I checked it was Halloween...as depicted in the annual pumpkin-carving-pictures below which were once again a hit with the trick or treaters, with exception of two little ducklings that refused to climb the driveway. I happily obliged by taking the treats to them...

In November, I had a lovely weekend visit from two much friendlier faces...

But in the blink of an eye, the Christmas season was upon us which officially kicked off with the 2nd annual "Sweaty Girls Rock Running Club" Christmas dinner. These are the incredible women of whom you have heard me speak countless times who not only inspire me to be a better runner, but who inspire me to be a better person. One of the very last episodes of the series Sex and the City, Carrie looks at her gals pals and says "A troubling thought occurred to me the other day. What if I had never met you?" That line makes me think of these girls. Throughout my entire life, I have always been blessed with amazing girlfriends. The Sweaty Girls are no exception.

And then...it was the week of the 21st which I met with a little trepidation considering it was my very first time being the Christmas host. If you've ever spent Christmas with the Stevenson's, you know that's no easy task to live up to. But I gave it my Martha best and it was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. Of course, it helped to have guests who were easy to please (and slightly sedated thanks to some cold medication.)

After the Christmas cookies were munched (yes I made these)...

the presents were opened, the candles were lit...

and dinner was enjoyed...even by Maggie...

...it was a most lovely Christmas.

And just when it seemed like it couldn't get any better, we received the best present of all...a phone call from my brother Brad, and his new fiance, Mary.

Congratulations to you both! We are all so happy for you.

In one precise moment.

2009-10-12T10:40:00.023-03:00

A rare but meaningful encounter with one of God’s smallest creatures last night has left me a little reflective that maybe things aren’t as random as they can appear. The events leading up to this, go something like this:

Sunday at 10: Jody runs into a friend at the gym who builds decks. He takes the opportunity to ask if he would give us a quote for a deck that was supposed to have been replaced earlier this summer.

Deck guy says “sure; I’ll stop by today around 4pm."

4pm: No deck guy.
4:30pm: No deck guy. Grrr…we were ready to go for something to eat. We’ll give him until 5:30pm.
5pm: Still no deck guy

5:14pm:
Phone rings. It’s deck guy who said that he had already stopped by earlier in the afternoon when we were out and looked things over. Gave Jody quote.

5:25pm:
We leave for supper for a big feed of fish and chips at Warf Wraps. Upon arrival, we notice the restaurant is packed and we are seated in the back. The two waitresses are struggling to keep up so we decide to settle in knowing we have a bit of a wait. About 2 minutes later, the waitress informs us that a large group has just arrived and asked if we would mind moving to a smaller table. Once reseated, she lets us know that we will be served first for the inconvenience. What should have been a long wait, ended up being a rather quick (and somewhat guilty) serving. We ignore the envious sneers and scarf down every morsel in a rather disturbing manner.

6:30pm-ish: We leave restaurant. “Wanna take a quick drive around the Bay?” I ask.

About 15 minutes later we’re about to pass Oceanlea Drive – the shortcut home.

“Maybe we need some treats from the Irving?” I suggest which would require us to pass by Oceanlea and continue down Cow Bay Road.
“Really?”
“Yes. After that meal what damage can they do?”
“Alright.”

And then at the very last moment, I have a change of heart, "no, nevermind.”

“Are you sure?”
“My tummy’s sure.”

We take a quick left onto Oceanlea. Up in the distance we see a young girl and her mom on their bikes.

As they approach the cross walk, they hesitate to ensure we see them. We come to a stop to let them pass in front of us.

The mom waves a thank you. We start to continue on. Jody glances over to her and notices the little girl has stopped and is pointing.

Jody checks the rearview mirror. “Oh no!” he says with concern.

“What?” I can’t see.

He starts to back up. “I think that bird is injured.”

Over my shoulder I see a little mourning dove dragging its wing along the side of the curb.

We all gather on the sidewalk to determine what needs to happen. Remembering there is an animal emergency clinic in Burnside, we decide to try to catch it.

After 10 minutes of fluttery, failed attempts, Jody finally captured the frail bird in his hat.

So off we go hoping the clinic is open. It was and much to our relief, they were happy to take him in and provide the necessary attention. I understand that Mother Nature has her way of taking care of these things, but it is nice to lend her a hand every now and then.

Driving home, I couldn’t help but replay the events of the day in my mind. I was struck by the obvious fact that if one thing had gone differently, if Jody hadn’t run into the deck guy, if he had called when he said he would, if we hadn’t gotten served early, if we had continued on to the Irving, we wouldn’t have been where we needed to be to help the little mourning dove. We wouldn’t have been where we needed to be in that one precise moment.

Perhaps just a gentle reminder that not all things are left to chance.

PB & Jam

2009-09-29T21:03:00.054-03:00

It's not quite what you think. PB in this case stands for personal best and the jam is more specifically the very important Gramma Stevenson's blueberry jam that I ate not only before every run while training over the last four months but again this morning - who knew that in a couple of hours it would help me achieve my personal best at the Saint John's (Half) Marathon by the Sea.

A 7am start...

didn't deter the best cheering squad I could ask for from showing up at the crack of dawn.

After a hug from Paige to calm my nerves ...

some help from Dad with a few pre-race details...

and one last touch for good luck...

we were off to the races.

As I started out, the words from Queen Bee were ringing in my head to keep my pace under control and not to get caught up in the excitement. As difficult as it was to let people pass me, I trusted her words that I would catch up to them on the second half after they started to burn out, which is exactly what happened.

At mile 5, I received a much-needed morale booster when I ran past Mom, Dad, Brad, Mary and Paige coming down Union Street. After tossing my gloves and taking in their encouragement, I had more energy than I could have ever imagined.

The last two miles were the hardest. The entire course was filled with steep hills, long elevations and quick drops but thanks to Lisa showing up beside me (in spirit anyway) reminding me to "keep my head up, shoulders back, long strides, don't forget to breathe," I managed to conquer them all. That is until the last hill at Mile 11. It was a biggie, but after a brief slow down I picked it up again. Looking down at my watch, I knew I was in the last mile.

Miley Cyrus' "the climb" came on my ipod and my eyes started to well up. I had dreamed of this for an entire year; the thought of having my family waiting for me at the finish line overwhelmed my senses. Even though I couldn't see or hear them, I could feel them waiting for me, anxiously watching each runner appear at the top of the hill, checking the time clock, looking back to the hill.

Starting the last mile, I passed a young girl who had given up the chase. On my way by I tugged on her shirt and said to her "come on...you've got this." She smiled and started to run again. A few minutes later, I too fell to the same fate. With only a 1/4 mile left, I had to slow to a walk but after just a few seconds, that same girl came up behind me, tugged me on the shirt and said "we're almost home." Cresting the last hill together we ran side by side to the finish line, bonded by a shared determination to finish. Seeing the crowd gathered at the bottom and hearing the cheers welcoming us home I opened up my gait, and gave 'er.

Finally after 13.1 miles, arriving 18 minutes faster than my previous (and first) half maraton in Halifax this past May...

I was rewarded with the best possible prize...hugs from Mom, Dad, Brad, Mary and Paige.

During the post-run celebrations I felt someone take my hand. Expecting to see Mary or Mom, I turned with a smile. To my surprise it was the young girl with whom I ran the last 1/4 mile. "Thanks," she said to me. "I would never have finished like that if it weren't for you." Thanking her too for paying it forward to me when I needed it, we shared a very brief but special moment.
Reflecting on it all now, I know that my performance that day won't be of which legends are made or stories inspired. It will go unnoted in the history of great marathon runs, but this day was a great day for me.

On this day, I ran stronger and faster than I ever have and I know without a doubt that it was because of three things...the support of my family, the support of my running mentors and a little bit of mom and dad's blueberry jam.

Hit or Miss?

2009-09-14T09:27:00.009-03:00

Please help me settle a debate with my Brother, Brad. While up at Mom and Dad's this summer, he appeared in this lovely shirt.

As you can see, he feels quite certain that it is a fashion-do.

I am not quite as convinced. Feel free to cast your vote...

Blueberry Pickin' 2009

2009-09-14T09:03:00.018-03:00

It really was a great week.

It’s blueberry season up at “the Stevenson Farm” and this year my brother, his girlfriend Mary and her daughter Melissa, myself and Jody ascended upon the blue acres to lend Dad a hand with this year’s crop.

What started out as a rather naive assumption of “how difficult can it be?” ended in a four-day, back-breaking, sun-beaten, fly-bitten week and we enjoyed every minute of it. I do think, however, we all have a whole new appreciation for just how hard Dad works taking care of his crop and just how difficult raking blueberries, the old fashion, harvester-free way, actually is.

It required a true team effort, with us out in the fields and mom back at the house preparing meals and cleaning our clothes each night. Together, we were a well-oiled machine and each evening, we took great pride in surveying our berriful-bounty and great pleasure in counting our boxes and setting the goal for the next day.

It really was a great week. The only thing wrong with it is we didn’t get to stay long enough.

So the next time you pick up a blueberry muffin from Tim’s, or bake a blueberry pie, you never know, it could be a Stevenson blueberry.

The field to conquer. After our four days, we finished about 1/3 of the field. Dad finshed the rest after we left. In total he managed to get 13,000 lbs from the sheep pasture and field that leads down to the river behind the house.

Dad and raker-extraordinaire, Debbie.

This was taken just before some tourists from France wandered
into the field wanting to take our pictures.

Mary realizing that I was actually kidding about tucking our pants into our socks to prevent spiders crawling up our legs. Dad realizing Mary actually fell for it.

Don't worry Mary, here's a lovely one of Brad. Something the original Grampa Stevenson could have never dreamed of. Working out in the field while talking on the cell phone.

Only Melissa can make blueberry picking look glamorous. Melissa by the way, received the MVP award. She was a real trooper and stuck it out to the end! She made us all, especially Grampa Stevenson, very proud.

Our mitties drying out for the next day...
(Click on the pic to enlarge it; can you find the morning dove?)

Off to Oxford Foods.

And to top it all off, we got to celebrate the week with Paige's birthday party!

(Sorry mom, I didn't get any pictures of you! We know you're there though...)

The Park

2009-07-22T07:45:00.038-03:00

Coach Susan (aka Queen Bee) is demonstrating once again just why she is our fearless leader. This October, she is running the Chicago Marathon and is about to enter what I like to call "the Marathon-Training Twilight Zone." Basically, she's at a point in her training where her weekly Sunday runs will be longer than the Bluenose Half that I hobbled through in May.

As part of her prep, she receives emails and newsletters from the Chicago Marathon organization which provides tips, details and poses interesting questions for the participants to ponder.

She shared with me her response to "how do you beat the heat" and I just couldn't resist posting it. The fact that it's a great story is obvious but it also gives a snippit of insight into what it takes to train for a full marathon, both physically and mentally...insight I will never be able to offer (nor have the interest to.)

So straight from Queen Bee's sneakers...enjoy!

"The Park"

I was pondering your question of the month “how to beat the heat” in summer training and originally thought this was a pretty simple and straightforward answer.

The day before my long run, I eat a nice meal of healthy carbs. I rest my legs and go to bed early. I get up nice and early to get the run in before it heats up. I bring lots of cold water along to stay hydrated (and a little extra to pour on the back of my neck once in awhile.) I listen to my body – and slow down when I need to and I watch for feeling lightheaded. For me, I know the heat is starting to get to me when my hands and fingers start feeling like they are swelling.

I live in Nova Scotia where there really aren’t that many hot days to worry about. Then, this morning while doing my 12 mile run, I had time to think about this some more. First let me give you a little background. I am a 46 year old who started running almost 6 years ago. If you ask my husband, he will tell you that that was the time when I turned 40, took up running and started drinking wine – he says that suits him fine – now I can run to the liquor store for him :). I have run 11 half marathons and 2 full marathons since then.

Last evening, my husband and I and our “almost 9 year old” daughter went to an outdoor concert in Halifax to see Kiss (not really my “thing” but my husband and daughter love them) (note to self: add “Rock and Roll all Night” to my running play list). We had to grab a quick bite on our way there – no healthy choices so I had a cheeseburger. And we stood for 6 hours and got home at 2am. Thus back to my run this morning. I didn’t get out for my run until 10:30am. I broke all of my first 3 rules! It was a very warm and humid day today and a bit of a shock when I am used to running in refreshing 50-60 degree temperatures in the mornings!

I filled two small water bottles with some crushed ice and started out. I decided today to do the first half of the distance as an out and back in one direction from my house, and the second half in the opposite direction and into the park near my home. You see, the park has a lot of rolling hills and I want to build up strength to knock 14 minutes off my best marathon time. Let me digress again and tell you a bit about “the park.” When I first started running, I used to do this run as my 10K route. It was a nice quiet scenic run , next to no traffic, and a turn around point at one of the nicest lakes in my province – an enjoyable run. That is, until I started marathon training a few years ago – mentally I thought it would be a good idea to use “the park” as the last 10K of every long run. “The park” and I eventually grew to have a mutual dislike for each other. You see, as the miles increased “the park” decided to introduce hills that I never noticed were there before. I swear that if I drive the route, it looks as flat as a pancake, or even down hill – both ways, but as I ran it as the last 10K of an 18 or 20 miler, “the park” seemed to add these steep, never-ending series of rolling hills. So I stopped running it.

Back to today. I decided I needed the challenge of “the park” to get me stronger. I did the first half of the run without a lot of issue. In fact it was quite a treat to turn around after the first 3 miles for a change! But it was warm and humid and I had to slow down a little. Then I got to the next 3 mile mark and finished my first bottle of water. The ice had long since melted and the water was warm. In fact, if I had brought a tea bag, I could have steeped a nice cup! And there was the entrance to my subdivision – with my pool waiting for me to cool off. But I was going to “the park" today and had to run by – as hot as I was feeling. That was a bit tough mentally speaking!

One mile to “the park” entrance and I was still feeling pretty good – just really warm. I ate an energy gel and washed it down with even warmer water – yuck! And there ahead of me lay these monster hills. I just drove there yesterday – I swear they were not there – “the park” was up to its old tricks I see. I looked up ahead at the bend in the road and it sure looked like it was in the shape of an evil smile.

I kept going and finally was at the turn around point where the lake looked so inviting, cool and refreshing. Then I remembered the chafing incident last week from running my whole long run in a down pour of rain in soaking wet clothes and decided to just keep on running. And plus, after all those uphill climbs I just did, I can enjoy all the down hills on the way back! Except they somehow seemed to be turned around and I only had “up hills” once again. At mile 10, I looked down at my hands and realized that someone had switched them with those of the Incredible Hulk (expect for the green part). I was really hot by now, and the clouds had disappeared with the sun beating down. And I started thinking about a funny story my friend wrote in her blog about meeting “the wall” at mile 10 during her training for her first half marathon – I was her coach and I took her through “the park” that day! And then, ahead of me there was this very nice long down hill stretch! I thought that the wild flowers in the farm-like open fields around me looked like they were in the shape of a wink! One more big uphill across a train bridge and then I would be home free and out of “the park”. My water bottle made a whistle – “tea’s done” – it was really warm by now. One more mile to get me home! My GPS beeped to let me know that 12 miles were complete. Except I was still a quarter mile from my subdivision! How could that be??? “The park” apparently not only changed the elevation of the hills, it made my route longer today too!

So after all that, I decided that the best way to beat the heat, is to tackle it straight on - it's good practice once in awhile to know how it feels! I wonder what “the park” will have in store next week.

Susan Faulkner
Grand Lake, Nova Scotia Canada

Susan and her husband Dale after the Bluenose in May.

A pricless find.

2009-07-12T20:54:00.032-03:00

I learned a very valuable lesson today...always check a CD before you throw it away! I felt the need to clean closets this weekend and had tossed a couple CD's into the garbage pile. I thought for certain they were blank but in the last second I decided to check to be sure.

I'm glad I did! I didn't even know that I had these pictures and since they brought such a huge smile to my face, I'd thought I'd share them.

On the first CD I found pics of when Mom and my Aunt Donna brought Paige for a visit a couple summers ago.

Arriving on the train...

Being illegally "parked" for our lunch in the Public Gardens. At least the grounds keeper let us finish eating before putting the run to us!

Laughing at one of Aunt Tammy's hilarious jokes, no doubt.

Our afternoon at Claytime.

Making cookies for breakfast... :)

And then on the other CD I found a few pics from Father's Day at Mom and Dad's a couple years ago.

My brother Brad, who happens to be a very talented frame-marker, framed and restored the poem "The Mighty Saint John" that had been in a box for years and years.

Paige showing her Dad the Father's Day present she made for him.

My present to Brad...pics I took over Christmas.

A quick pre-dinner lesson:

And I absolutely love these next few photos. I can't quite remember the story, but Mom got Dad a cowboy for Father's Day. By the look of sheer glee on Dad's face, I'm guessing it had something to do with him being a young feller...way back when. :)

You see? Priceless.

Happy Father's Day

2009-06-20T19:45:00.073-03:00

It's Father's Day and since you already met my Mom in an earlier post, I also wanted to share a few tidbits about my Dad; probably a few even he didn't know.

So, without further ado...Happy Father's Day.

Where Dad grew up:

Chipman, NB. The youngest of four children.

What he wanted to be when he grew up:

An airtraffic controller

His favourite hockey team:

Toronto. Dad also was the goalie for his highschool hockey team.

One of my earliest memories of my Dad:

Me and my brother in our pyjamas sitting with Dad in front of our fancy schmancy hi-fi stereo. We were using the microphones to record our voices onto an 8-track tape. I think that’s when I also heard Alvin and the Chipmunks for the first time.

I also remember going to Connell Park for ice cream at the tee-pee and to swing on the swings, you know...the kind with the hard leather seats and metal cross bar that slides down the chains.

A Favourite Memory:

One in particular was when I was only four or five years old. Every Saturday I would go with Dad to the stables in Woodstock where he trained race horses. The “stables” were two long rows of barns that ran parallel to each other. Dad’s stalls were on the end of the back row.

After Dad had “Big Mac” firmly steadied in the cross ties, I would wander down the row to commence my weekly visit with the other regulars. My first stop would always be see Dalmus, a gentle giant of a man who must have been at least 100 years old. Climbing up on to the wobbly stool beside him, he would sing me a tune or two as we shared some white peppermints. “Old Suzanna, now don’t you cry for me…” Yup, we had great chats me and Dalmus. With a couple more mints in my pocket for good measure, I’d hop off my perch and mosie on down to the far end of the row to find the Greer girls, the daughters of Dad’s dear friend, Bob Greer (who later died of cancer). They would always make a fuss about me by hoisting me up into the saddle for a ride around the grounds. Jane would later keep me busy (and probably out from under foot) by assigning me to “brush” duty.

On this particular Saturday morning, I had gone off to do my usual visiting.

Now from here, despite remembering it vividly, I will recount the rest of the story from Dad’s perspective as he tells it:

"I look up and around the end of the row of barns in front of me, comes Jane walking her horse with Tammy trailing along side.

A few minutes later, they circle around again only this time Tammy was walking the horse as Jane walked along side.

The third time around, Tammy was walking the horse but this time, there was no Jane anywhere in sight! There was this little four year old walking a huge horse like it was no problem at all. Heart in my throat, I dropped everything and ran over to take over the reigns, literally."

To this day, I can remember the expression on Dad’s face, but for the life of me, I just couldn’t figure out why he looked so panicked. What Daddy? I have it under control.

Who I think he resembles:

Go ahead...make his day.

A moment I am proud of him for:

During Dad's company retirement party held at the Delta in Fredericton, the President of Aliant stood at the front and called the countless retirees up on by one up for the ceremonial handshake. For the most part it was just a standard succession of names but when Dad arrived to the stage, the President broke from the script. He turned Dad around to face the ballroom, stood behind him with his hand on Dad’s shoulder and proceeded to tell everyone how much Dad had meant to him. Apparently when the President was just starting out with the company many moons ago, he was met with a rather collective cold shoulder from the “old boys.” He went on to say that Dad was the only guy who took the time to make sure he learned the ropes. It obviously meant a lot that Dad did that for him as he never forgot it. The round of applause that arose from the crowd made it apparent that the President wasn't the only person for whom Dad had looked out for over his 35 year career with the company.

Another proud moment was when he walked me down the aisle. For the most part, Dad just stays in the background so to be able to take his arm and walk with him front of all our friends and family was a very special moment.

What I respect about him the most:

Many things but I would have to say his work ethic. Dad worked for the telephone company for over 30 years, and I rarely remember him ever taking a sick day. He also spent much of his career travelling an hour to and from work but was never late…even in snow storms.

Three things I have learned from my dad:

1. A love for horses. To this day, the best smell in the world to me is the inside of a horse barn.
2. How to use power tools – like a sliding compound mitre saw, air compressors and brad nailers. Not only can I use them, I rather enjoy it! I have the best tool shed of any girl I know.
3. How to do fractions. Well, I never really did get it but he certainly tried!!!

Something I'm glad he and I do together:

I always enjoy our time together doing house projects. We’re always very productive but truth be told, it’s not really about the project.

One thing I wish he knew:

There is no cloud following him. Personally, I think it's about perspective; someone else could look up and see the cloud but comment on how blue the sky is around it.

That said, however, he does seem to have a higher than normal account of rain on camping and canoeing trips!

My favourite picture of him:

Three things I wish I could give him:

1. Peace of mind. He’s a worry-wart. Like me. :)
2. An unlimited gift card to John Deere.
3. Warm summer evenings sitting on the farmhouse porch with Gramma and Grampa. (I think we’d all like that.)

Three things I probably never said thank you for:

In addition to all the countless things that he did for us that we don't even know about...here's a few:

1. Teaching me how to drive. I received a 94% on my exam and when I told the guy who administered my driving test that my Dad taught me, he responded by saying: “Tell him he did a good job. Most kids who take the Young Drivers’ Course don’t drive half as well as you. ”

2. The hours and hours he spent refinishing a 100+ year old drop-leaf table which served as his toolbench after he rescued it from the barn in Woodstock when mom and dad bought the farmhouse there in the early 70’s. Knowing I needed a table for my very first apartment, he relegated his tools to the garage floor so he could painstakingly strip off the endless layers of paint to restore it to its original rustic pine patina. The table has always had a prestigious place in my home no matter where I’ve lived. A couple years later, he also made me a beautiful pine hope chest lined with cedar which is by far one of my most prized possessions.

3. For always holding out the net. Both mom and dad taught us the importance of making your own way and doing it for yourself, which I think my brother and I have done reasonably well. I always knew though that no matter what, he was always, and will always, be there with a safety net…just incase.

Three things I’ve learned from him that has made me a better person:

1. He taught me if you’re going to do something, do it right. Case and point…the hope chest I just mentioned? Well, the one that he gave me wasn’t the first one. Nope…the first chest he made didn’t turn out to his liking, so he started again, from scratch.
2. If you say you’re going to do something, do it.
3. Not to be afraid of hard work. I think it's one of the best gifts a parent can give their kids.

And a fourth…

He and I share a wee bit of a stubborn streak. And although it can be very frustrating for those who love us, I think I’ve learned to focus it into a form of determination when I need to get “up and over”.

What everyone knows about him:

His knickname…Rodger Dodger. And that if you ever need help, just call Rodger Dodger.

What I hope he knows about me:

1. Even though it never gets said, I do appreciate that he gave up a lot as a young parent. Both he and mom did. I know there are many dreams they both set aside to raise their family in the manner in which they knew best.
2. How proud I am when people say, “Oh you’re Rog’s daughter.”
3. To this day, I still hope that my decisions meet his approval. It will always be that way.

What I love about him the most:

That he's my Daddy!

Happy Father's Day Dad! I love you,

Tam xoxoxo

Just a wee bit speechless.

2009-06-02T21:47:00.040-03:00

This past Monday was my birthday and just before leaving the gym that morning, Susan (aka Queen Bee) gave me a card and a cd on which was a hand-written note wishing me a happy birthday. The note also explained that she hoped I didn't mind that she borrowed from some of my posts, (such as A Someday Intervention, Nobody Important (the Wall), and Signs.) That's all it said. Huh?

With my curiosity completely peaked of course, I played it immediately upon my arrival at work but I definitely wasn't prepared for what I found on it. For my birthday, Susan created a video chronicle of my running journey to the Bluenose Half Marathon starting with my very first 2 mile race last October, through our hateful winter training drills and on to our spring training which included a nasty tumble, a lost garmin and very discouraging encounter with the dreaded wall.

Thank you Queen Bee. I am deeply touched. And you're right..."the sure-thing boat never does get far from shore."

Click the link to view the video...

http://secure.smilebox.com/ecom/openTheBox?sendevent=4f5459304e6a51344e4877784f546b794e7a45784f413d3d0d0a&sb=1

Blue noses...warm hearts

2009-05-27T14:12:00.061-03:00

Woody Allen once said: "80% of success is showing up."

After much debate, a nagging injury and a whole lotta self doubt about doing my first half marathon, I decided to take his advice and just show up. I figured the only way to finish was to at least start.

So in the wee hours of May 17th, I sucked up my courage and joined my fellow "sweaty girls" to take on the Bluenose.

We all gathered at QB and Dale's room for some pre-race commraderie but before we knew it, it was time to climb to the start line together.

My goal time was 2hrs and 2o minutes which up until mile 9 was looking possible. Shortly thereafter though, "the arse end fell out of her" and I had to slow to a limp; unfortunately the ankle had had enough. For a few minutes I had to stand at the curb flamingo style, one leg bent up as to prevent putting any weight on it. My odd stance prompted a poilce officer to approach and ask if I needed help. I did but I told him no. Debating whether to walk off or walk on, I decided to keep going. In the end I walked/ran my way to the finish line in 2 hrs and 38 minutes. Clearly disappointed in my time I was more relieved that I hadn't quit. It wasn't easy and it certainly wasn't without pain, but few things worth doing rarely are.

But for Lisa, Susan and Debbie, they all finished within two hours...a personal best for each of them!

The day held countless memorable moments. From standing at the start line with 8000 runners,

to the thousands of spectators who stood in the rain along the entire route to cheer on loved ones and complete strangers,

from all the incredible volunteers of every age who stood tirelessly with water, jelly beans and applause,

to the police officers who stood at every intersection to stop traffic no matter how fast or slow you were going.

But for me, the absolute most memorable, meaningful moment came at the very end. With about a mile left I was feeling "done." I had just spent the last 30 minutes fighting the battle between pain and perseverance. I was wet, cold, hungry and blury eyed but as I turned one more corner, the big blue inflated finish gate came into the distant view. With the end finally in sight, I adjusted my ipod, picked up my pace and started to give 'er one last time.

At the Brunswick Street intersection just before the final climb, I could see a few people standing on the corner waving at me, more kind supporters cheering us in no doubt. In my daze, however, I couldn't really see them clearly but within a few seconds I recognized their faces; imagine how overwhelmed I was when I realized it was the very people who got me there in the first place. Apparently Lisa, Susan and her husband Dale (all of whom had finished long before) had set out to find me and shortly after they spied me emerge from the fog I too saw them. I couldn't hold back the tears when I realized that despite their own exhaustion, they had come back for me...just as they had done so many times before during our countless training runs over the last 6 months. As I drew closer, they ran out into the street, took me by the hand and proceeded to run the last 1/4 km by my side.

It couldn't have been a more perfect moment and as we crossed the finish line together, all the fatigue and self doubt completely melted away.

It was an incredible experience, not just the day of, but the journey to. The last 6 months have been trying, painful, and emotionally-draining...and I can't wait to do it all again.

I recently read in a running magazine that "race day is the celebration of all your hard work." How true indeed.

Happy Mother's Day

2009-05-10T14:27:00.023-03:00

Since it's Mother's Day, I thought I would share a few little facts about my mom so you can have the pleasure of knowing her too!

Earliest Memory of my Mom:

It would actually have to be of her feet. I have vivid memories of looking down at them while I sat in the shopping cart as she walked through the Met in Woodstock.

Another early memory would also be when I was about 4 or 5 years old and as I ran through the garden toward the field by our house in Woodstock, I notified her that I was running away, to which she replied, “Ok” and then went back inside the house. Reverse psychology at its finest.

One of my Favourite Memories:

When she came to my junior high during career day and everyone wanted to go see her. Melissa Sinclair, the most popular girl in the school, came up to me at the end of the day to tell me how interesting and cool my mom was. It was perhaps the only time in junior high I was cool too.

And a more recent memory was just a couple summers ago when we visited Hirtle Beach. It was fun watching her walk around with her camera and play in the sand. Her spirit looked so free.

Her best quality:

She has many but I definitely love her laugh. And her heart. She has a HUGE heart and often wears it on her sleeve (in fact, she’s probably crying in the computer room right now as she reads this.) :)

One thing everyone knows about her:

What an amazing cook she is. (And she will tell you that Grandma Stevenson taught her everything she knows!)

What I respect the most about her:

There are many things but I would have to say her commitment to her faith, especially since she lives in a world where people tell you you shouldn’t believe.

Something I’m proud of her for:

One moment in particular was when she graduated from the hair academy and she won the top prize for marks. I also remember one of her fellow graduates reading a poem about what a good hair hairdresser she was but that she was also very slow. The only part of the poem I can recall is that it ended with “…but please pick up your speed” and then they presented her with a little turtle. Even though I was very young at the time, I remember thinking that she must be pretty special for someone to write a poem about her.

Three things she has taught me:

(Too numerous to choose just three, but here’s a few…)

1. You make your bed, you lie in it.
2. Everything seems better when your house is clean.
3. How to hug.

Three things she has done to make me a better person:

1. Told me when I was 15 that if I wanted new clothes, I had to earn my own money.
2. Loved me unconditionally, even when I was 14.
3. How she took a bad work situation into her hands and started her own very successful business. (I learned A LOT from watching her do that.)

Three things that I probably never said thank you for:

1. All the pretty dresses she made sure I had for various events (many of which she made herself).
2. When she (and Dad) let me go to Montreal for graduation.
3. The COUNTLESS times she did my hair over the years…and all the money she saved me in product!

(And a fourth…)

In grade 12 when Travis Christie broke my heart, she sat on my floor until I got out of bed (which was about three days!) :)

Three things I’m glad we had a chance to do together:

1. Travelled to Las Vegas and saw Celine Dion.
2. Went to Cuba (even though she wasn’t feeling very well).
3. Fashions Shows and step dancing classes.

One thing I wish she knew:

How pretty she is. And smart, the woman is extremely smart and has a knack for all the things I wish I did, like math, problem-solving and speaking her mind.

Something I value that only she and I shared:

Our time spent together doing my hair. When we were at the salon or in her shop, it was just our time, when we would chat, discuss life and on a few occasions work out issues between us that needed to be addressed.

Three things I wish I could give her more of:

1. Money.
2. Time together.
3. Grandkids. (I don’t think the grand-kitties are quite cutting it. )

Three things I hope she knows about me:

1. How much I love her.
2. How proud I am of her for all that she has accomplished and for who she is.
3. I have an independent spirit because of her independent spirit.

What I love about her the most:

That’s she’s MY mommy!

Happy Mother’s Day Mom! I love you,

Tam xoxoxo

Signs.

2009-05-07T19:03:00.027-03:00

So, after five weeks of physio for a bad ankle sprain, it's looking like the Bluenose isn't official afterall. And I've been ok with that because I can honestly say the journey over the last 6 months has been the most rewarding part of this experience.

What?? That's the truth! Allow me to quote Miley Cyrus: "It ain't about what's on the other side...it's about the climb." Hard to argue with the daughter of the man who started the entire 1993 achy breaky heart line dancing craze, no?

Ok, fine. I guess if I dig a little deeper beyond the surface of a respectable stance on the situation, I'm also scared to death of trying and failing. A "bad ankle" is also a really easy excuse in the "oh well, what can you do about it?" category.

On top of that, I'm the type of person who tends to believe in signs. And in the last month or so I've collected a few that I've convinced myself are telling me not to run. Ahem:

1. 5 weeks ago I fall during a run and sprain my ankle.

2. Two weeks ago I lose my Garmin after using it only twice. (A Garmin is a special runner's watch with a built-in GPS system that tracks your pace, distance, progress, etc. It also cost me $200 for just the base model.)

3. After last weekend's run, I develop a blister the size of Montanna on the bottom of my foot. (Which still hasn't healed by the way.)

You See? Signs. Signs that are saying "don't run Tammy." "Ok, signs. I won't."

And just as I getting used to my "Oh well, maybe next year" response, I ran into another sign yesterday morning. There, in the front lobby of the gym it took the form of a huge hand-written quote carefully scrolled on the notice board by one of the employees that said:

“The person who goes farthest is generally the one who is willing to do and dare. The sure-thing boat never gets far from shore.”

Whatever. I've always said believing in signs is stupid.

Ding Dong, the Ugly Room is Gone!

2009-04-11T20:53:00.016-03:00

Finally. The obnoxious orange monster that has been living in the basement since I bought the house has at long last, been silenced. Aahhhhh....Isn't taupe grand?

(Can you find ALL the Rascals??)

Before...

After...

Before...

After...

And one more for Rascal...

The Wall.

2009-03-24T10:49:00.041-03:00

Sunday, March 22 @ 1:30pm...

Tammy, meet the Wall.
Wall, meet Tammy.

“Hi Tammy, nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise. I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“I’m sure you have. Probably not good though, huh?”

“Well, actually, no. Sorry, no offence.”

“Oh hey, none taken. Trust me, I’m used to it. I’m not very popular with runners but I always like to stop by and check in anyway; I even drop in on seasoned runners. You know, just to check their fortitude around the tenth mile. But new runners, well they’re definitely my favourite. ”

“Yah, so I’ve been warned.”

“So…today is your first 10-mile? Wow. Good for you. Bet you’re feeling nervous.”

“A little. But I ran 9 miles last weekend and it went really well so hopefully today will be good too. We’ll see. Anyway, Susan and Lisa are ready, so I have to go.”

“Oh sure, sorry. Let me get out of your way there. Have a good run. I’ll catch up with you later.”

3:10pm…

“Tammy, we just passed the 8.5mile mark. Only 1.5 miles to go. Are you ok back there?”

“I am. Thanks Susan.”

“Hey Tammy, there you are. I was looking for you.”
“Oh, hey Wall. Where did you come from?”
“I was waiting for you on the bridge; just after the 8-mile mark. You didn’t see me?”
“No I guess not.”
“Really? Because I thought for sure you looked right at me.”
“Um, maybe. I didn’t really notice.”
“Well, you looked pretty focused. So how’s it going? A mile and a half left, eh? You look pretty tired.”
“I am.”
“Holy cow. Look at that hill. You may have to walk.”
“No, I’ll just slow down a bit.”
“Geez. Susan and Lisa are already up and over. You seem to be losing some ground.”
“mmhm.”
“Are you getting cold? You look cold.”
“A little bit but I’m ok.”
“Should have brought your mittens huh?”
“I guess.”
“Are your knees still hurting?”
“Yah.”
“Nauseous?”
“kinda.”
“How’s your ankle doing anyway? I know it was hurting pretty bad a few miles ago.”
“It’s ok.”
“Because you shouldn’t run through pain you know. You could do some damage. Do you want me to run up and tell those guys you have to walk? I know they would understand.”

“No. Thanks.”

3:17pm…

“Hey Tammy….we just passed the 9-mile mark. We’re in the home stretch!”

“Thanks Susan.”

“Boy, Susan’s a great runner, eh?”
“She’s awesome.”
“And Lisa, wow, look at her go.”
“I know. They both inspire me.”
“It’s nice that they let you come out with them.”
“It is.”
“Because you know you slow them down.”
“I know.”
“Their pace would probably be a lot better if you weren’t here.”
“I know.”
“You’re probably wondering if you’ll ever be as good.”
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“I thought you would have been faster by now.”
“Me too.”
“You can quit you know. Why don’t you just quit? “
“I dunno.”
“Don’t you want to quit?”
“Sometimes.”
“It sure must be frustrating. You’re probably questioning why you even started running in the first place, huh?”
“mmm.”

3:21pm…

“Sooooo….the Bluenose in May? That’s ambitious of you. Wow, that’s quite a lofty goal you set for yourself. Not being a real runner and all.”

……

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“um hm...”
“You’re a…kinda quiet.”
“Just tired.”
“You must be hurtin.” You sure look like it hurts.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are those tears in your eyes? Are you crying? Why are you crying?”
“I’m just frustrated. I want to get it over with.”
“So, just walk it.”

“No.”

“Suit your fancy. Have you ever noticed that the closer you get to something the further away it can feel? I bet you feel that way right now, like you’re NEVER going to finish. Susan and Lisa are probably already there.”

“Probably.”

“Hey, do you remember in school how you were never any good at sports? Man, I think you were the only kid in elementary that got a pin for the Canadian Fitness Testing. You were really bad.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m just kind of surprised that’s all, that you thought you could do this too. I mean, really, a half marathon is pretty tough. I’d hate to see you embarrass yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, anything is possible I guess. So, still tired? Your legs must be killing you. Are you ever going to finish? Even I’m getting….hey!”

“What?”

“There’s Susan and Lisa; they’re coming back for you. Looks like you made it! I guess it’s time for me to go then; I think there's some runners up ahead I need to check in on. See you next weekend maybe?”

3:25pm…

“Tammy, we’re all done! You just ran 10.45 miles; sorry, I added on a little more by mistake. How do you feel?”

“Tired, but ok. I’m sorry I was so slow.”

“Not at all! Long runs are supposed to be slow; it’s all about endurance, not speed. It’s great doing this together as a group."

"I agree."

"So, did you hit the wall around the nine-mile mark?

"Funny you should mention that. I definitely almost hit it."

"Well, you weren't alone; that was tough for all of us. Come on up to the house for some chocolate milk."

“Sounds great.”

“Oh by the way Tammy, who you were talking to back there?”

“Oh. That. Nobody......nobody important anyway.”

Note: Just shortly after posting this story, we received the news that Susan's mom had sadly passed away. At 90-years old, she was known for her "humour, incredible strength and perseverance," qualities she obviously passed on to her daughter. Our thoughts and prayers are with Susan and her family.

So...it's official.

2009-03-15T16:49:00.007-03:00

I registered for the Halifax Blue Nose Marathon, well half-marathon to be more specific. After much encouragement and a perfectly reasonable running program, I decided to suck up the courage and give 'er.

Truth be told, I registered a few weeks ago but was afraid to tell anyone for fear of being held to it!

But after today's 9-mile run, I realized that I only have 4 more miles to go although I have been told that wierd things start to happen after the 10th mile. Interesting. I'll be sure to let you know what that's all about!

Anyway...looks like I have a date with this guy in May.

Who knew?

2009-03-09T13:24:00.019-03:00

I had no idea that this type of reward awaits after a long run!

But thanks to Susan (aka Queen Bee), we had a lovely post-run celebration in the hot tub after last Sunday's 8 mile race (put on by Run NS.)

I think I just might be able to get into this running thing after all.

Sing it with me...

2009-02-20T18:32:00.004-04:00

"It's the most wonderful time of the year! "

My First Time

2009-02-16T09:45:00.014-04:00

(Don't worry Mom, it's ok to read on...)

I'm happy to report that I finally experienced the "runner's high" for the very first time. I've been waiting for it wondering when and if it might ever happen. I was starting to believe it was just a myth told by experienced runners to lure newbees into the sport.

But now, I can personally attest, yes Virginia, it does exist.

It came as the result of an 11.6km run three of us did together last night. The air was crisp, the mood was light and we all had magic feet. In fact, it was the very first time I actually felt like a runner. It all just clicked for me, my breathing, my pace, my legs did what I wanted them to do.

When we finished we were rewarded with a most pleasant buzz, which I can only assume was that elusive runner's high. And I'm pretty certain it was because of the running, and not the big cloud of marijuana smoke we ran through on Thistle Street. Although I'm sure that didn't hurt.

Now I just have to figure out what I did right so I can do it again.

Oh. Maybe that's the point.

Ain't that the truth.

2009-01-09T12:59:00.013-04:00

After a rather pathetic performance during this morning’s running drill, I fell into the trap of beating myself up; the voice that tells you “to just give up already” was loud and clear! But in the few nano-seconds just before giving in and agreeing with it, I thankfully remembered a perspective-shifting story that I heard recently. So I thought I would share.

During a conference last Fall I had the absolute pleasure of attending the keynote address delivered by a woman named Yvonne Camus who spoke about how she prepared for and competed in Eco-Challenge 2000, the world’s longest and most difficult race, a race so challenging that it’s not about who finishes first, but rather who finishes, period. What was so motivating about her particular experience was that she was the only female member of a four-person Canadian team who not only finished the race but were the first-ever rookie team to do so.

Her one-hour speech was filled with awe-inspiring tales, tears, life lessons and “ah ha” moments to which anyone could relate but there was one story in particular that resonated with me.

To prepare for the 10-day, 24-hour, 500km race through the jungles of Borneo, her team trained twice a day for three months with the Canadian military. Their daily routines consisted of a grueling 4:30am bike ride and run, followed by a day of work and kids, and then another three-hour workout before collapsing into bed.

After one particularly tough training session, she had lost hope; it was all just too much. The voice that told her to “just give up already” was loud and clear and in a moment of defeat, she told her trainer that she was ready to quit, to which he said the following.

"You can quit if you want to; I won’t stop you. But what I will tell you is that today is not the day to make that decision."

He explained.

"When you’re working toward a goal like learning to run or bike or ski, or anything that is a challenge, you have to look at it like this. If you were to practice 10 out of 10 days, you will have 8 days that you do ok. You will have one day that you feel like you can’t take another step and then one day that you will feel like you can go on forever.

The mistake most people make, and therefore end up sabotaging their success, is judging their potential on that one “worst” day instead of the one “best” day. So if you want to quit, quit. But be very clear, a bad day does not determine your potential, just your fortitude. "

Ain't that the truth.

Ten years to the day.

2008-12-21T17:30:00.027-04:00

I've Learned...

2008-12-10T08:50:00.055-04:00

One of the things I've enjoyed most about learning to run are all the life lessons that go along with it. Among many things, I've learned about can't vs won't, I've learned that the easier something looks the harder it usually is, I've learned that you should buy running sneakers one size larger than your shoe size (who knew?), I've learned that you shouldn't eat garlic at lunch and then run after work and then this morning while Susan was punishing us with her crazy !*@#$% 40-minute treadmill drill, I learned perhaps the most important one of all.

This little gem came as a result of deliberately getting on the treadmill beside her in order to push myself, and even though I still fell behind the pack, I managed to do the 40 minutes leaving me completely exhausted but with one very important lesson: success isn't about being THE best, it's about being YOUR best. Go figure. And furthemore, if you want to be your best, stand with the best. That's why I run with the girls I do. (And because they let me.)

So on that note, I thought I'd share a few other life lessons I've learned along the way. I had originally presented this back in 2001 at a staff retreat and had completely forgotten about it until a colleague recently sent it to me. (Please note that anything with an "*" isn't an original and in most cases I don't know the author, but I've included it because I agree!)

Feel free to add your own life lessons in the comment section...

I’ve learned…

I’ve learned that learning and living mean the same thing.

I’ve learned you cannot put a price on contentment.

I’ve learned that you’re never too old to set a new goal; even if you think there’s no possible physical way you can achieve it.

*I’ve learned that making a living is not the same thing as making a life.

* I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they handle three things: A rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. (Unknown)

I’ve learned that a good opportunity is not necessarily the right opportunity.

I’ve learned that stress is relative.

I’ve learned a strong work ethic from my parents.

*I’ve learned that the harder you try and get ahead of someone else, the farther behind you fall.

I’ve learned that when someone gets on my nerves, it’s usually because they’re highlighting a quality I don’t like about myself.

* I’ve learned that if you talk more than you listen, people stop hearing what you have to say.

I’ve learned that we often let go of an opportunity, not because we’re afraid we might fail,
but because we’re afraid we might succeed. The status quo is a comforting thing.

I've learned that fear is the root of our anger and that our ego is the root of our fear.

I’ve learned that you can grow leaps and bounds when you feel the fear and do it anyway.

I’ve learned that if you’re the kind of person who likes to gossip,
you can always come sit by me. :)

I’ve learned that I would rather live in a small home than a big house.

*I’ve learned that being happy or unhappy starts with the realization that it’s a choice, and then making it everyday.

*I’ve learned that if you blame others for your own unhappiness, you will always be unhappy.

I’ve learned that people who choose to live their life as a victim have not figured out that the past does not determine the future.

I’ve learned that you can go a year without watching a soap and still know what’s happening.

I've learned that sarcasm is a cowardly way to make a point.

* I’ve learned that “why me” is not an acceptable question and should be replaced with “what’s next.” (Oprah)

I’ve learned that I have no tolerance for people who abuse three things: waiters, animals and nice shoes.

I’ve learned that sometimes you need to let go and trust that the current will take you to where you need to be. Has a current ever taken a river anywhere but toward the ocean?

I’ve learned that if you stop trying to find the answer, it will usually come to you. I’ve learned that when you stop needing something, you will usually get it and I’ve learned that when you stop looking for something, you will usually find it.

I’ve learned that it’s been in the hardest times that I have learned the most profound lessons.

I’ve learned that although you may not always get what you want, you usually get what you need.

I’ve learned that tequila does not mix well with beer, wine and guacamole. Definitely learned that one the hard way.

I’ve learned that I don’t understand people who instinctively always put their own convenience before that of another. I’ve also learned that it would probably do me good to do just that more often.

* I’ve learned that your life is an accurate reflection of how much you give.

*I’ve learned that whenever you decide something with an open heart, you usually make the right decision.

* I’ve learned that doing the right things is often more important than doing things right.

I’ve learned that it’s impossible to stay out of the Cadbury chocolate drawer at work.

* I’ve learned that life is not about what happens to you but how you handle what happens to you.

I’ve learned that those who maintain their grace and composure in times of adversity are the truest leaders.

I’ve learned that although you can’t judge a book by its cover, it’s usually enough to pull off a C on a book report.

* I’ve learned that in life no one is perfect and that nobody would invite you to dinner if you were anyway.

I’ve learned that the tone of your voice determines what others hear…not your words.

I’ve learned that your behaviour is how you want others to know you.
People can only believe what you show them. (Oprah)

I’ve learned that just because something is interesting and important to me does not mean that it’s interesting and important to someone else.

*I’ve learned that if you pursue happiness, it will elude you. But if you focus on your family, your friends, the needs of others, your work and doing the very best you can, happiness will find you.

I’ve learned that just because I know these things does not mean I deliver on them. But I’ve also learned that life is about the effort, not necessarily the result.

And if you need proof, take up running.

Remembering Vimy

2008-11-10T10:06:00.214-04:00

We found ourselves without much to say as we waited for the train back to Paris. Our day had left us reflective, humbled, by our visit to Vimy Ridge.

Looking over my shoulder I took note of the small statue that stood in the center of town.

"What’s that?” I inquired.

“The statue? I noticed that too. The plaque says it was built as a dedication to the civilians who were injured or killed in the first world war.”

"Hmm. I didn’t even notice it when we arrived. Why is it so chipped?”

"Apparently it's bullet holes from when the Germans came back through this area in the second World War. They showed no mercy to anything that reminded them of their defeat in World War I.”

A few minutes later as we pulled away from the train station, I tried to imagine how different this quaint, cobblestone town would have once been as the unwitting host of not one, but two invasions. It’s hard to picture anything other than the idealic scene we found upon our arrival. We were immediately romanced by the aroma of fresh pastries cooling in open windows and friendly faces bidding us a warm hello. But the reality of this entire region was of a painful past, one still evident by the visible scars from two world wars, a constant reminder of both the horror, and the grace, of mankind.

Full of anticipation we awoke that day at 4am to ensure we didn’t miss the train from Paris to Arras, a small village just on the outskirts of the Vimy Ridge Memorial - the site of the infamous World War I battle that took the lives of 3600 of the 30,000 Canadian soldiers whose triumphant sweep freed the hill from the relentess German hold.

We had decided to leave the city to visit the grave of my great great Uncle Hiram Stevenson of whom I had long heard the story of how his shady ways eventually caught up with him. From what I can remember the story goes that after leaving Chipman, NB in the early 1900’s he headed West and struck it rich in the goldmines. In fact, his fortune helped pay for the Stevenson home that raised four children and even more grandchildren and to this day, great grandchildren. Unfortunately, just as Hiram was making his claim, he got into a brawl at a local watering hole. A fight ensued leaving one man dead. His punishment? Either go to jail or go to war. He chose the latter becoming the oldest serving soldier at Vimy Ridge at age 41. Fate would ensure, however, that he would never return to Canada and now, 81 years later we were on a mission to bring him greetings from home. Before leaving on our trip to Paris, we found the details of his gravesite on the Veterans Affairs Canada website; Thelus Military Cemetery was where we would find him, 1km from Vimy Ridge.

We arrived in Arras a few hours later; it was still early morning. The sun was just breaking from behind the clock tower casting long shadows across the town square. After enjoying a leisurely cup of coffee and two butter croissants, it was finally time to begin our adventure. I felt excited and anxious.

Entering the car rental office I greeted the gentleman standing behind the counter with my rusty French.

"Ah…you are Canadian, no?” he confirmed with a statement rather than a question.

"Oui. Yes. Nous sommes ici de trouver mon oncle. I have a relative buried at Vimy Ridge so we’re going to find his gravesite and then visit the memorial."

A large smile warmed his face. He came out from behind the counter to shake our hands.

"Bienvenue mes amis.” Welcome my friends, he said with a genuine grin.

Walking down the street to our car, I asked about the enthusiastic greeting. “What do you think that was about?”

"What? Him shaking our hands like that?” It would appear they are still grateful for what the Canadians did for them.”

"Really. Even after all this time?"

"There's just some things you don't forget."

And so we were off albeit somewhat naively as we soon realized that this wasn’t going to just be a simple task. Despite being but a few minutes from Vimy Ridge, we very quickly became disoriented by the number of war cemeteries that dotted the lush fields outside Arras. At every turn, thousands and thousands of white markers stood at attention in perfect rows. Ornate gates and impeccable greenery welcomed visitors wishing to pay their respects. But after an hour of going around in circles, a few more wrong turns and an unsuccessful discussion with two officers that couldn’t speak a word of English, we had started to lose hope.

“We must have passed it," I sighed. Are you sure we’re even going in the right direction? Maybe we should go back and ask again. Actually, never mind, maybe it’s not even here. Let’s…”

“Wait…there it is!”

“Where?”

“In the field, on the left!”

A spied the road sign that pointed to 6 large maple trees surrounded by perfectly manicured hedges. Nestled far back in a corn field, the Thelus Military Cemetery was significantly smaller than all the other sites we had seen. But there it sat, quietly modest, without the need for any pomp or circumstance. There it sat, so typically Canadian.

We pulled over and jumped out of the car. For whatever reason, we both felt compelled to run through the field; perhaps it was the adrenalin from being so close to proverbial needle in the haystack. Despite my haste, I noticed two workers mowing the corn stalks who, when they saw us, turned off the machinery and got inside the white van parked just outside the entrance - a small gesture of respect for two familiar strangers.

Bursting through the entrance we immediately started searching and even though we knew the exact location of his plot, we couldn’t seem to find it. My heart sank. “But I don’t understand!” Panic raised in my voice. "Where is it?" How could we be so close? My frantic search was finally broken by Richard's voice.

“Tammy."

I turned quickly to find Richard standing perfectly still on the other side of the cemetery.

"It's here. Hiram is right here.”

I stared at him, unable to move.

“Come here,” he said quietly extending his hand in my direction.

Approaching the grave I was unexpectedly overwhelmed with emotion. Tears filled my eyes as I saw my own name etched across the top of the smooth, white stone. Bending down on one knee I traced the letters with my finger.

Stevenson.

I read the inscription out loud.

Private H. A. Stevenson
2nd Canadian Mounted Rifles
April 19, 1917

I felt Richard's hand on my shoulder. “I’ll give you a few moments alone."

Resting on both knees to take a closer look I was struck by the moment. I knew nothing of this man other than a bit of folklore but as I sat there in the middle of a cornfield, in a land far removed from all things familiar, I felt incredibly close to home.

From my pocket I retrieved a small package. In it was soil from where the original homestead once stood on the Stevenson road. Sprinkling it on Hiram's grave marker I realized that I needed to complete the circle. After a few reflective moments, I gently plucked a single leaf from a majestic maple that held a tireless watch over its sleeping children. Cradling it in my hands, we paid our final respects and then spent some time reading the names of the other 300 Canadian soldiers who had also been laid to rest in the Thelus Military Cemetery.

An hour later we decided it was time to take our leave. Passing through the cemetery gates I paused to look back. There was so much I felt should be said, but I chose just two words to express my feelings.

“Thank you.” I whispered.

We spent the remainder of the afternoon visiting the Vimy Ridge Memorial. For anyone who has ever been there you know there are no words to describe the stark moment you realize that Mother Nature had no part in carving out the lush rolling landscape and grassy knolls. Standing in the stone-lined trenches and wooden bunkers you try to imagine how these meager shelters provided protection from not only the cold, driving Easter rain but from the driving bullets that rained relentlessly down around the cold, young boys on that Easter morning.

Under the watchful eye of a park guide, you are then lead into what can only be described as the bowels of the earth. With the sunlight instantly fading away from behind, your eyes take a few moments to adjust. Coming into view is a dark, damp cave that is the beginning of an endless labrynth of underground tunnels that allowed the British and Canadian troups to organize, plan, treat the wounded and ultimately ambush and push back the German front. Hidden beneath the hills of France, this largely still undiscovered world is considered to be one of the greatest and most significant feats of wartime engineering.

Turning a corner you discover an invaluable piece of art that has been part of the limestone walls for 81 years. A protective sheath of plexiglass preserves a small, hand carved maple leaf. Studying its simple perfection and familiar lines, I wondered if the young soldier who had widdled away the time by widdling away the limestone could have imagined that his work would one day be viewed and appreciated by millions.

Moving on into the Park you are immediately silenced by the grandeur and ominous presence of the 150 foot limestone monument completed in 1936 as a testament to the nearly 66,000 Canadian soldiers who paid the ultimate sacrifice in World War I. A structure so grand that even Hitler himself is pictured admiring the monument when they reoccupied the area in WWII. Despite their heartless destruction of many historic sites from the first world war, it is said that he ordered his troops to spare the Canadian landmark; perhaps even he revered the courage of the Canadian soldiers.

That evening, during the train ride back to Paris I reflected upon how our day had ended in such contrast to how it had begun. My excitement had been replaced by a sense of solemn respect and humility. I felt ashamed by how little I knew about this place, about this formative part of Canadian history.

Now a week later, we were back in Chipman sharing our stores and pictures with mom and dad, Judy and Les. We enjoyed the opportunity to relive our experiences from Paris and London but even when all the stories were told and the memories recounted, there was still one thing that needed to be done.

“Grampa, I want to show you something.”

On a late afternoon in early September, I pulled up a chair to sit close to him. The sun warmed the porch as it poured through the windows. He set the geranium on the freezer and used his hand to remove stray blooms off the small table so I could lay out my pictures of Vimy Ridge. Wiping the red dust on his pants he checked to make sure his hands were clean. He sat down and began to examine the photographs, one by one. I told him of our train ride from Paris and our misadventures finding the cemetery. I described the monument and how Richard had found a piece of shrapnel in the cornfield and how the young cadette manning the information booth at the Memorial grew up on the same street as I had in Fredericton. As he listened, I sensed he took comfort in knowing that family had been there to visit his uncle and to know that he was resting in such a beautiful place. Although he didn't say it, I imagine he had the same hope for his brother Charlie who later died in Sicily while serving in World War II.

“Oh, I almost forgot Grampa.” Retrieving the now brittle leaf from my bag, I offered it to him suggesting we could take it back to the old homestead on the Stevenson road where Hiram had once lived.

After a brief pause, he replied “No. I know where that belongs. Do you mind driving?”

Turning down the road, he didn’t really say anything other than give directions to head toward town.

“Just pull in here."

I parked the car in the United cemetery by Stewart MacLeod Park and then followed him as he made his way over to a modest, black granite stone.

“This is where it should go," he assured.

Moving in closer, I read the inscription:

John Stevenson, 1833 - 1906
His wife Esther, 1843-1918

And as I read the words below their names, I instantly understood why we were there, tears once again welling up in my eyes. The inscription continued:

Pte Hiram A. Stevenson
Killed at Vimy Ridge
April 19, 1917
Age 41 years

Knealing down in front of the gravesite of Hiram's parents, he dug a small hole in which he motioned to me to place the leaf. Gently covering it with soil, he looked up at me with a knowing smile. “They will appreciate that,” he said.

Many say that Canada came of age as a country on that fateful Easter Monday, 1917. Infact Vimy has been described as the site of our country's first true Canadian moment. I could have never anticipated at the beginning of our day, over 8 decades later, it would also be mine.

As so many Canadians, I am deeply proud that I have relatives who served in World War I and World War II, both from my Father's and Mother's side. They, like all others who have and are serving, deserve our eternal gratitude.

Here are a few photos and websites of interest.

Thelus Military Cemetery (note the white van):

In front of Hiram's grave.

The Letter of Attestation signed by Hiram when he joined the military in 1916. You can see his signature on the bottom right.

Websites to visit:

The story of Vimy Ridge.

CBC: Vimy Ridge Remembered

Vimy Ridge Memorial

Thelus Military Cemetery

Have you hugged your kitchen today?

2008-11-03T19:31:00.028-04:00

Well, if you haven't you should! I never realized how much I took my kitchen for granted until I didn't have one for five, very long weeks. It's been an interesting journey to say the least but finally, FINALLY it's all back together, new and improved!

To refresh your memory, here is the before:
(Click here as a reminder of how it got like this)

and as of today, here is the after... TA DA!!!

So, allow me to share my learnings from this little experience:

1. Plumbers are our friends. Water dripping through your floor is not.

2. Your house insurance covers stupidity.

3. Depsite what Home Depot may say, there IS a limit to what "you can do." Become intimate with those limits.

4. When you're installing anything yourself and you say: "Hmmm...I should probably go buy a new dooflicky thingy because this one is worn out," DO IT!!!! Ignore the voice that says: "Nah, it's good enough."

5. You can have guests stay the weekend even when your house is a wreck. People who love you don't really care about how your house looks; they only care about how you are doing.

6. I no longer like Hawaiian pizza. Or pepperoni.

7. We do adjust to our surroundings. After cleaning on the weekend I actually thought the house looked presentable despite the entire kitchen being crammed into the dining room.

8. The bump on my head from hitting the dining room light fixture EIGHT TIMES A DAY is probably permanent.

9. And finally, despite what we see on Mike Holmes, there are good contractors out there. I have a renewed sense of faith that there are tradesmen who still take pride in their work and do their best for complete strangers. The people that worked on the kitchen, from the Insurance company, to the water damage specialists, to the tiler and to the carpenters, were all phenomenal. And I am so very grateful.

So now, if you will excuse me, I'm going to sit in the middle of the kitchen. Because I can. Feel free to join me. :)

Gettin' sick of pizza.

2008-10-25T11:19:00.024-03:00

Leaky Diswasher Update: week 4 and still waiting for the new floor to go in. The water damage was extensive enough to get the insurance company involved who determined that the entire subfloor had to be removed and replaced with a new one. The good news is the tiler is coming tomorrow.

Nothing like having your entire kitchen crammed into the dining room.

When this is all done and the kitchen is back together, I'm going to make the biggest, yummiest, chicken dinner with all the fixins.

What?!? It could happen.

Bonjour.

2008-09-27T13:41:00.053-03:00

They just followed me home. Honest!

Ok Ok, maybe it didn't happen quite like that but it did start innocently enough.

It all began during a girls' weekend in Moncton when we stopped by Winners. A quick look-see for winter boots turned into an unexpected encounter. In fact, it was one of those magical moments; upon first sight, I just knew it was something special.

Observing their shiny finish from a safe, emotionally-detached distance I couldn't help but admire their pretty posture despite the Saturday afternoon chaos that could be caused only by careless, haphazard females rumaging for a good buy. An array of mismatched sneakers and toppled Hushpuppies seemed to gather around as if to protect them from the mayhem that ensued. Apparently, they too appreciated their beauty.

Moving slowly as not to draw unwanted attention to these little gems, I plucked them gently from their shelf to take a closer look. Hmmm...my size. My heart skipped a beat. I cradled them in my arm. A little cuddle couldn't hurt could it?

Twenty minutes later, after searching through the rest of the offerings, I stood with two choices: practical, 3/4 length brown leather winter boots or completely unecessary, 3 inch black-patent, peep-toe Mary Janes. Faced with the age-old dilema of need vs want, I knew immediately who could help me out. Peeking up over the miles of racks, I spied her; her curly blond pigtails showed the way to enlightenment. Walking swiftly through the aisles of skirts, blouses and coats, I made my way to the one person who could make sense of it all. As demonstraded below, my cousin's adorable 21-month-old is a shoe officianado with impeccable taste.

I presented her with my dilema hoping secretly that she would choose the winter boots. I held my breath as she observed my well-selected bounty. And then, with a coy little smile, she endorsed the Mary-Janes as the clear winner. My heart sank; the boots I could justify, the shoes, not so much. I thanked her for her insight and wandered off somewhat bewildered by my pending decision. I could buy both I suppose but I didn't need both. I needed boots.

So I left with the boots.

Back in Halifax, I tried on my practical purchase again before putting them away to await the onset of winter. Slipping my foot in, they felt a bit odd. What was this? Did I get the wrong size? No, but they were definitely too big. How come I didn't notice that on Saturday?

Huhn.

I guess I would just have to return the boots, an easy task considering I was already scheduled to make a quick day-trip to Moncton later that same week.

Thanking the cashier, I tucked the return receipt into my wallet. As I turned to leave, I paused for but a moment. What could it hurt I thought? I would just be saying hello; they're probably not even there.

But they were. There they sat, still waiting, patiently, to be loved.

I approached cautiously; they still didn't seem practical nor reasonable. But you know, sometimes in life, you just have to give in to the impractical and the unreasonable. So I did. We left the store giggling and excited to start our new journey together and now they sit, displayed on my kitchen stool. I'll put them away soon but for now I just want to admire them, content in a way that only a woman could appreciate.

Men will never understand the relationship between a girl and her shoes, but that's ok; we don't really get their love affair with the automotive section at Canadian Tire.

Oh dear.

2008-09-23T20:07:00.012-03:00

Looks like a new kitchen floor just got moved to the top
of the to-renovate list. This unexpected project is brought to you by
"my leaky dishwasher."

Incase it isn't clear in the photo, that greyish-white lump is (or rather) was my flooring, newly installed three years ago.

Smell-o-Vision

2008-09-23T19:46:00.015-03:00

A recent trip with my mom and friend JAK to LaHave Bakery just outside Bridgewater, NS resulted in a yummy day! You'll just have to take my word for it...it smelled exactly as a 100 year-old bakery should.

For Steph...

Every kind of cookie you could imagine...

Sugar-high smiles...

A "McReno" Update

2008-09-12T10:31:00.028-03:00

Behold the hideousness that has been my basement for the last three years and to answer the obvious question: "NO I did not do this!!"

For those who have not had the jaw-dropping, lip-curling experience of witnessing this in person, or for those who may look at this and think "Hey, that colour ain't so bad," what you can't really appreciate from the photo is how the otherwise ok terracotta walls are accented by blood-red ceilings, yellow trim and the now-removed crown moulding made out of dark brown baseboards. Apparently, the previous owners felt that painting the entire basement in this array of couleurs would help sell their house. Ironically, it didn't deter me from buying it; if anything it made me want to reach out and save it...in a "Brangelina" kind of way.

So for SVW, who not only coined the term the "McBasement" but also made a public request on her blog to see an update on the McReno, here it is. Despite it still requiring a few finishing touches, like doors for the laundry area and a berber runner for the stairs, you'll get the jist.

New paint...ahhhh...

New doors...

New tiles...

But don't let it's shiny new look woo you; the McDaddy of the McBasement is still hiding around the corner awaiting its makeover...

Fall down go boom.

2008-09-10T14:16:00.008-03:00

Well, not literally. Just mentally.

As a running check-point, this morning really tested my spirit as much as my hamstrings. It almost broke me gosh darn it. But thanks to Susan and Lisa who, as usual, sacrificed their pace for mine, I managed to dig deep and get ‘er done. But it wasn’t pretty.

In yoga, they say that falling out of a pose is a sign of progress. I sure hope that also applies to running.

sigh….

Summer Bounty

2008-08-26T21:08:00.015-03:00

A few images from my visit home...
There's just something about late summer, isn't there?

The sun setting over the garden...

Mom's late August blooms...

and Grampa's Harvest...

...which later fulfilled its destiny as a yummy hodge podge!

Running Progress Check-Point

2008-08-13T16:24:00.022-03:00

August 13 - 6.44 km (actually it's probably more like 6.4 km because I cut through a parking lot when Queen Bee wasn't looking...)

At about the 4km mark, the conversation with Susan went something like this:

"Tammy, are you cursing me yet back there?"

"Nope! If I could teach myself everything I needed to know about running, I wouldn't need to be here."

Back at the gym I was feeling pretty good about the run and then as Susan was leaving she leaned in and said:

"We won't go as far tomorrow."

Oh yay!

"But we will go faster."

Ask me the question again.

Fiona's Apple!

2008-08-04T19:58:00.009-03:00

As a follow up to my post "Apple Blossoms in Wilmot Park" (May),
look at what I found this weekend on Fiona!

Four words...

2008-07-25T08:42:00.004-03:00

"Runner's high" my ass...

Currently under construction

2008-07-22T21:13:00.006-03:00

I'll let you know how it works out. Your guess
is as good as mine...

A Toolbelt Moment...Before and After

2008-07-12T10:46:00.018-03:00

Before...(actually this is about half way through. When I bought the house, the little wall in the back of the photo was covered with mint green siding and I didn't even know there were rocks until I unearthed them from about four inches of crushed gravel.)

And After...

A "Someday" Intervention

2008-07-09T13:32:00.059-03:00

I did it. I ran with the big girls - meaning that elite group of gym goers who run marathons as a form of entertainment. I’ve watched them with envy for the last couple of years as they meet twice a week at the front desk to go running before they actually do their work out. When they return 30 minutes later laughing under the veil of that elusive runner’s high, I’ve always wondered if someday, I might be able to go too.

But that’s the thing about “someday.” We all know darn well that it rarely ever comes. It’s a word we use far too carlessly to describe what we would like to do or have, but never requires any type of committment to actually get it done. It just buys us another day of not making the changes we know need to be made in order to get there. So...despite wanting to make the change, I knew deep down that that unless there were ever some kind of major intervention, I will probably always be just a "someday" runner.

Well, without any kind of warning that “major intervention” came on Tuesday morning. It arrived in the form of a slightly intimidating and definitely unexpected conversation with the Queen Bee herself, the leader of the morning running pack, the woman who entertains us in the locker room with her stories of running marathons throughout Canada and the United States.

As I was leaving the gym that fateful day, she stopped me and said “You should come running with us tomorrow morning. We leave at 6:30am; Lisa tells me you’re doing really well.” After instinctively looking around to see to whom else she might be speaking, I slowly found my words and replied, “Ah thanks…but no. I still have some serious work to do before I can run with you guys. Maybe someday though.”

And there it was - a look of recognition from her that told me that at some point in her life she too had hung her hat, or in this case her sneakers, on “someday.” After a brief pause, she looked at me and said in a polite but firm tone: “No really. You should come. You’re more ready than you think.” I again thanked her for the invitation but suggested quite strongly that although I would consider it, she should leave without me if I wasn’t there in the morning.

Turning to walk away, I had a flashback of being in grade nine when for the first time ever, the “cool girls” decided to talk to me one day out of the blue. I can still remember my shock and awe when, for whatever reason, their Queen Bee took note of my otherwise invisible existence and offered me a rare but highly coveted invitation into their inner sanctum. (An invitation coincidentally that was revoked about a week later when they realized I just wasn't up to par. That's ok though.)

I got into my car reflecting on the odd conversation that had just transpired. The voice inside my head was giggling at the absurdity of joining their inner sanctum so ahead of schedule; talk about not being up to par. But as the day wore on, the internal critic uncharacteristically subsided and was replaced by what Queen Bee had said to me and by 4pm I had resolved to go. What’s the worst that could happen? I vomit? I fall down? Highly unlikely. The worst would probably be that I’d have to bow out gracefully and walk back to homebase, humbled but completely not surprised. Content to try it again, someday.

After a sleepless night, I arrived at the gym at 6:15am. Approaching the front desk I seriously considered just walking right on by but when Queen Bee came around the corner there was no escape. She gave me a big smile and said she was glad I decided to come out. And then she said something that will forever change my perception of her: “I should warn you; I’m a bit out of sorts today so I hope I don’t disappoint you.” Pardon? Disappoint me? What? The woman who uses the adjective “only” in front of 5K as in “we’ll only do 5K” was actually concerned about making a bad impression on me? Looking back at her she actually seemed human to me for the first time in two years. It had never occurred to me until now that maybe she hadn’t always been a runner, but rather someone who had always wanted to be one. I wondered what her “someday intervention” had been.

A few seconds later we met Lisa outside and away we went. 5K. Run 10 minutes, walk 1 minute. Gasp. Susan, aka Queen Bee led the charge setting our pace. She said a few technical things to us that I really have no idea what it meant, but as we turned out of the parking lot, I tucked myself neatly behind her and Lisa to observe their style, follow their pace, watch their arms. I didn’t say much; I just wanted to focus. I knew this could get ugly real quick.

Along the way, Susan and Lisa chatted with great ease but regularly looked back to make sure I was doing ok. A thumbs up was about all I had to offer but before I knew it, we had done our first 10 minutes and were enjoying a glorious one minute walk. Then 8 minutes were run. Walked one. 9 minutes. Walked one, and suddenly as I was holding on for dear life, dragging my cement feet, Susan turned to me with a victorious smile and said “You did it! We’re done! We just walk from here to cool down.” High fives were handed out and honestly, if they had looked closely, they would have seen the tears in my eyes. I didn’t vomit. I didn’t fall down. I didn’t turn around and go back to the gym. I didn’t walk while they ran. I did it. I did 5K with the big girls.

While stretching outside the gym, I finally mustered up the courage to ask Susan when she started to run. Imagine my surprise when she responded: “I only started when I was 40. A friend of mine ran a marathon when she was 50 so it inspired me to give it a try; I had always wanted to do it. My first time out I barely made it to the end of my driveway! That was five years ago now.”

Let me try and put this into perspective for you. This woman has legs of steel and is in crazy shape; if I had been asked, I would have testified that she was in her early 30’s. And serving as a confirmation that it wasn’t just a fluke, there too stood Lisa in the body of a 22 year old despite turning the big 4-0 earlier this year.

I learned a lot today. The first lesson came at about the 3K mark. Anyone who knows me knows that I have not been happy about approaching the end of my 30’s; in fact I’ve been downright whiney about it. Since turning 37, I have been desperately looking for a sign that, despite what society seems to want us to believe, it's not all downhill after 40. And this morning, while I focused on Susan’s and Lisa’s killer calves, I got that sign loud and clear. If they are what our 40’s can be, then bring it on.

The second thing I learned is that I just might be able to do this, because I just did. Obviously I have a long way to go and a lot to learn before I can actually call myself a runner but today, on a foggy morning in Burnside, someday finally arrived.

I won’t ever know why Susan stopped me that day. Maybe she recognized herself in me and decided to stage a “someday intervention.” Whatever the reason, I’m just glad she did. My hamstrings on the otherhand...well, they still need some convincing.

Run Run as fast as you can...or walk so you don't pass out.

2008-07-02T09:01:00.013-03:00

Running Log Day Three. Thursday, July 4.

Met in Shube and did 5K but walked A LOT!!! Very hot night.

Learned harsh but valuable lesson; don't eat garlic pasta within five hours of running.

eeewww...

Running Log Day Two.

Sube Park with Lisa on Canada Day. (kinda hoping she might forget...)

3K in 25 minutes; mostly running, much less walking.

Didn’t puke. Goal fait accomplis.

Does my butt look smaller?

2008-06-26T11:52:00.005-03:00

Day One of my new running regime.

6:30am. Burnside Nubody's to Walmart (ish) and back.

2km in 25 minutes (run, walk, run, walk, run, walk, walk walk, can't breathe...must rest...by this hydrant...)

Lisa, my 40 year old hard-bodied-bounce-a-dime-off-her-ass friend and inspiration kicked mine the whole way. And I love her for it.

We meet in Shube Park on Tuesday. I will try not to hurl.

When friends move...

2008-06-25T13:58:00.003-03:00

On Labour Day weekend, 1979, my family moved to Fredericton. I was nine years old. And even though it was only an hour away, it felt like we were moving to another country. On the morning that our moving van patiently awaited our departure, I vividly recall running down the street to say goodbye to my little friend, Jennifer. I saved her for last because I knew she would be the hardest to say goodbye to.

I had very mixed emotions that day. I was excited to move to a new city but I was also sad that I wouldn’t be able to run over to her house unannounced as we would often do to play an impromptu game of hopscotch, comb Barbie’s hair, spy on the neighborhood boys or run to DiCarlo’s to see if their annual back-to-school order of “fat chalk” had arrived.

On that sunny Saturday morning as I gave her a hug goodbye and told her that I would miss her, I remember her saying to me “I’m happy for you. But I’m sad. Is that ok?” With the truest of intentions that a 9-year old could have, I assured her that I would come back to visit her. Often. I had a bike.

Unfortunately, that was indeed the last time I laid eyes on her. Life is like that I guess.

So now I’m an adult (well in some ways, some days) and nearly 30 years later, I find myself having those same mixed emotions as I prepare for the move of my grown-up hopscotch friend, who lives down the street and who also is coincidentally named Jennifer. It's funny how adult situations can reconnect us to childhood feelings like that. The main difference between then and now, however, is that I have the insight to know that “moving away” doesn't necessarily mean “moving on,” primarily because of one, unavoidable, blatant fact: I no longer have to rely on my bicycle as my primary mode of transportation. I have a car.

So to my friend, as you prepare for this exciting change, please know that I am so very happy for you. But I’m also sad...is that ok?

A Toolbelt Moment...Yoga anyone?

2008-06-09T13:15:00.002-03:00

As per the "toolbelt" portion of my blog title, here is my latest reno. My new "yoga/ballet/computer/guest room" room.

Happy Birthday...

2008-05-30T11:37:00.003-03:00

So, Sunday June 1st is my birthday. Oh joy.

But instead of writing a long diatribe lamenting about turning 36-ish, I’ve decided I would reflect on what it means to be a girl born in the early 70’s. So to my other 30-ish friends and family, perhaps you can relate.

Girls, you were born in the early 70's if...

You remember your mother’s friend wearing the coolest platform sneakers with the Pepsi wave on the side (or at least I do).

You had a Garfield eraser and practiced drawing him on your scribblers.

You just realized you can still draw Garfield.

Ma-Ma-Ma-Max actually means something to you.

You owned something with Holly Hobby on it. (I actually had the life-size playhouse in my room. Coolest thing ever.)

You remember how disgusting fruit-flavoured chips were. Thank God that didn't last.

Thursday nights meant hanging out with the gang from Cheers and seeing what the Cosby kids were up to.

Sunday nights were about watching the Wonderful World of Disney, the Beachcombers and Fraggle Rock, in that order.

Adults didn't seem concerned with the fact that kids could buy candied cigarettes...you know, the ones that had the little puff of "smoke" when you first blew into them?

You wore pins that held solid perfume in a secret compartment.

Barbie was a “superstar”.

You played “pong” on your black and white tv and wondered “what will they think of next?” And then Atari came out and completely blew your mind.

You spent four hours every Saturday afternoon listening to Dick Clark’s top 40 so you could record your favourite songs onto your cassette tapes.

You still can’t see a St. Bernard without having flashbacks of Cujo jumping on the passenger window of the car.

Your status in junior high was determined by three things: how many Swatches you owned, how many friendship pins you had on your sneakers and whether or not you had a real K-Way and not an imitation one.

You fought with your friends over who would get Shaun Cassidy when you played “boyfriends.” (Poor Parker.)

You had cases of Pop Shoppe Pop in your basement. (My favourite was black cherry.)

You folded up your already tapered jeans to make them even more tapered.

You owned the entire collection of Little House on the Prairie books.

You had a rainbow sweatshirt with puffy sleeves.

You also owned a bubble-knit sweater with pom-poms.

You actually had discussions about how you “trained your hair” to feather back.

You carried the fold over “comb and brush” combo in your back pocket for regular “feather” maintenance.

Olivia Newton John’s black outfit at the end of Grease was the raciest thing you had seen to that point. That's also when you wanted your first pair of high heels...just like the wooden ones she was wearing.

You choreographed your own routines to the entire Saturday Night Fever album.

Wal-Mart was Woolco and you remember the day hundreds of people lined up outside the local Woolco for the first shipment of Cabbage Patch Kids.

For my friends who lived near the NB/Maine border...you stayed up until 1am on Saturday nights to watch Stacy's Jamboree out of Bangor.

And finally...you remember playing with the dead hornets in the back window of your car. Why? Because you weren't restricted by those pesky seatbelts. :)

Apple Blossoms in Wilmot Park

2008-05-24T19:18:00.007-03:00

I have always been struck by how smell can instantly connect us to the past. One sniff of the inside of my grandmother’s cookie tin and I’m 6 years old sneaking a treat from the farmhouse pantry. A rare whiff of Polo cologne will always make me turn expecting to see my first boyfriend and believe it or not, the smell of gasoline often conjures up fond memories of family road trips to PEI or Douglas Harbour, long before the luxury of air conditioning allowed us to keep the windows rolled up on hot hazy summer days. More recently, I was once again reminded of this sensory phenomenon during a business stopover in my childhood town of Fredericton, NB – the City of Stately Elms - home to the majestic Christ Church Cathedral and Salvador Dali’s Santiago El Grande - home to arguably one of this country’s most scenic riverfronts and most treacherous potholes, home to the Saturday Farmer’s Market where no matter how long you’ve been away, you will always meet a familiar face, where eating a donair with a samosa-chaser before 8:30am is considered perfectly normal, if not highly recommended after a late night at Dolan’s Pub or the Lunar Rogue. It is a city deeply engrained with rich cultural tones and is world renowned as a nurturing mecca for the arts. And among countless other cherished hallmarks, one would be remiss in not mentioning the fierce but beloved battle of the hill – the age-old and ageless rivalry between the UNB Reds and the St. Thomas Tommies. It’s a city that walks confidently into the future all the while strolling thoughtfully through its past - if you’ve ever run your finger along the ornate gates of Officer’s Square, visited the now closed Mazzuccas Variety Shop, admired the simplistic brick lines of the Cotton Mill in Marysville or have ever noticed the original GE George’s sign perched above Queen Street, then you know precisely what I mean. This is indeed the place where I grew up, where I went to university, it is the place where I lept off into adulthood and it is the place that I left in my late twenties. Ten years have since past, and even though time has begun to fade my once steadfast connection to this fair town, it is here where I know myself best and it is here that I covet each opportunity to return – as infrequent as that may be. On this particularly glorious May morning, I paid my room bill at the Fredericton Delta and proceeded with my bags across the lobby. Stepping into the bright sunlight, a warm smile instantly embraced face. “Ah…it was good to be home,” I thought to myself. Greeting the moment with a slow, deliberate breath, I suddenly found myself unable to move. Much to the confusion of the young man holding the door, I could do nothing but stand perfectly still on the walkway - I was completely and utterly paralyzed. Perhaps but a few moments had passed before I was able to reconcile what was intoxicating my usual sober demeanour – it was, in fact, the unmistakable, sweet, fragrant aroma of the apple blossoms drifting effortlessly from the nearby Wilmot Park. Tears instinctively welled up in my eyes - a kaleidoscope of memories flooded my senses – all seemingly triggered by an unconscious awareness that is the veil of springtime in Fredericton. The rush was met with an overwhelming urge to turn back time and walk across the street to a small, cozy bungalow in Sunshine Gardens – the last place I lived before moving to Halifax. After a few surreal moments, and much to the doorman’s relief, I pressed stop on the silent movie playing in my head and stepped forward into my day, albeit with a little sadness in my heart and a longing to return to a place I knew so well. Driving down the Woodstock road, I slowed at Wilmot Park to marvel at the beauty of the white and pink blossoms - branches so full that the flowers dripped heavily on to the pathway below. “How could I have never noticed this before but yet know it so well?” I asked out loud as if someone were listening. How had I never taken the time to stroll through the park for the mere pleasure of gazing upward into the chiffon buds? But it’s like that sometimes isn’t it? It’s not until we leave that we appreciate where we’ve been. Approaching the Vanier Hiway a persistent melancholy slid quietly on to the passenger seat beside me to hitch a ride to Halifax. During the four hour drive, we lingered over memories of growing up in “Freddy Beach” – memories I had long since tucked away, memories that made me smile, sometimes cry, but mostly smile. As much as I enjoyed Halifax and despite living there for the last decade, it had yet to feel like home. It was where I lived, but it wasn’t where I was from and this morning’s experience reminded me just how much I loved the little city that sits snuggled up against the banks of the mighty Saint John. I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps it was time to reconsider my fate. Maybe it was time to return to my roots. Just as the late afternoon sun danced across the Halifax Harbour, I finally made the right hand turn on to Shore Road in Eastern Passage – a small, quaint fishing village that still relies on, and respects deeply, the water’s bounty. I bought a house here a few years ago and have come to appreciate the beauty of living so close to the coast – a stark contrast to growing up in land-locked central New Brunswick. Feeling a bit road weary, I took a moment to pull over at Fisherman’s Cove. Meandering slowly along the boardwalk, I breathed deeply to clear my senses. With salty air filling my lungs I couldn’t help but wonder if someday I might be as awestruck by the scent of the ocean as I was by the apple blossoms from Wilmot Park. Maybe. Maybe someday. A short time later, I unpacked the car and made my way into my little house-by-the-sea where I was greeted by the warmness of a snoozing kitty curled up on her now- claimed green ottoman. Welcoming me home with a sleepy purr, I realized in that very sweet moment I would no doubt one day drive by this house and wish I could walk in and return to the comfort once found inside. Someday I would pass by and again wish I could turn back time - just as I had done earlier that morning. The thought provided some much-needed comfort but even more importantly, it offered a gentle reminder of how important it is to be, wherever it is, you are. Home truly can be anywhere because where you’re from, never changes. Ironically, just before leaving for my trip to NB, I had made the reluctant decision to dig up the small apple tree (aka "Fiona") in my backyard. She had been struggling to bloom ever since I transplanted her from the front yard when I moved in. Much to my chagrin, it had become apparent that perhaps she wasn’t going to be able to adjust to her new surroundings. But looking out at her now, the day’s experience had shifted my perspective and I felt a change of heart. Perhaps I needed to reconsider her fate; maybe all she needed was a little more time to take root. Turning away from the window, a warm smile embraced my face. It truly was good to be home.

Welcome to me. Now what?

2008-05-11T12:31:00.000-03:00

Well. I've done it. I've finally succumed to blogging mania; I dare believe that I am the last person on earth to do so. Actually making the effort to get started was much more difficult than finding the name which was established quite some time ago by a dear friend. In observance of my new life as a home owner she felt it aptly represented my past, which was definitely more sparkly and glamorous than my present, which is now filled with tools I never thought I would own (like a Bosch sliding compound mitre saw, air compressor and brad nailer), an endless array of beigie-taupe and taupee-beige paint chips, a fear of watching Holmes on Homes and line of credit that has taken more than it's fair share of "arse-kickings" in the past three years.

I guess all things considered, the title is more than suitable. Now I just have to figure out what to write about. Although I sincerely doubt anyone would have a reason to care about my ramblings, I will populate it as if someone did.

So. Now what?