adding some...

Must add Three Cups of Tea and David Copperfield to my list of books!

Half-marathon challenge

I've been invited by a very good friend to run a half-marathon in Ottawa, in May. And I am going to do it. The challenge starts very soon, with a weekly routine leading up to the run.

I think to warm myself up I'll do the Vancouver Sun Run in April. At least, to give myself a 'head start.' Wish me luck. Updates I'm sure to come on my progress over the next few months.

Run, run, rudolph.

wildlife run

I went for a run this afternoon. And I loved it, because whenever I run in Steveston (where I live) I see all sorts of animals. For instance, I run past a big, dead tree, and usually in it sits two bald eagles. They are beautiful.

Today was especially neat, however, because I got within feet of a blue heron. And this is the second time it has happened.

The great blue heron is the largest in North America, with a wingspan of 180 cm. As you can see in the picture I've taken, it has black feathers, red-brown thighs and feathers. It is beautiful. Some people don't favour birds, but I can't help but think they are the most gorgeous creatures on earth.

The Blue Heron migrates from Florida, Mexico and to South America, and also, in Steveston. Which is lovely. They are normally found in marshes, and Steveston has many of that. I've watched this particular heron sit and listen to the water before it strikes its beak down, usually finding a turtle or fish. I've never seen it pull up a turtle, but according to Wiki it does eat them. It also eats shellfish, insects, rodents, reptiles (snakes) and other small birds.

I do think though that my favourite thing about them is their eyes. They look at you, and when they do you feel like they are examining you, contemplating whether or not you are a threat to them based on your movements, your reactions. But the look they give is more than just a form of defense, it is somewhat intimidating, intense, and yet they do it calmly, as though they aren't afraid at all. You wonder whether they themselves will turn on your and attack you with their beaks.

Perhaps the nicest thing about herons is... they are nowhere near becoming extinct. They are of the 'least concern' in conservation status, and that makes me rather happy.

Lightning Strike

Tonight, I was so mesmerized by the sound of thunder, and the heavy rain that I decided to take a gander outside with my boots, coat and umbrella.

I walked halfway down the block and the rain was coming down on me, and I was just about to turn around, when at that very moment, and at the exact same time: I saw a flash of light, sparks, and felt an intense shock in my hand. I threw my umbrella down on the grass and yelled, "Oh my God!"

That's right, my friends, I believe I was just struck by lightning.

I know it may sound crazy, and everyone may think I'm loony bin nuts and am making it all up, but it is true. I can not believe it. I can't believe that I felt a shock in my hand so intense that I threw the umbrella out of the way. And as I looked up I checked to see if anyone saw anything, and the lights in the street went out.

Now, after doing some research, I've discovered that despite the belief that it is a rare occurrence to ever be struck by lightning, it isn't. In fact, there is about a 1 in 600,000 chance of being struck. And about 2,000 people are injured by lightning each year. Only 9-10% die from the strikes.

There are four different ways a human can be struck: by a direct strike, a 'splash' from nearby objects that are struck, a ground strike near the victim, or electromagnetic pulse from close strikes (EMP).

I feel fine. My hand, where I saw/felt the shock, feels a bit strange, not really weak but sort of off. I suppose it is hard to explain. My umbrella looks intact, although I haven't exactly gone outside to check on it.

It's quite peculiar, though. My dad told me that my grandma was also struck by lightning when she was younger. She, however, wasn't as lucky. Her toenails fell off. I suppose it runs in the family?

Either way, I'm glad it didn't turn out for the worse, and that I am healthy and alive. The whole, "Life flashes before your eyes" phrase may really be true after all.

Subway tears

I'm standing on the subway with my boyfriend. We have just come from an amazing Italian dinner with some friends downtown, and we're looking forward to getting home to our own bed.

And as I'm standing on the trai

n, I look over and noticed this woman, Chinese ethnicity, possibly mid-twenties, well dressed. She has a black pair of pumps beneath her feet, a black dress coat, as if she had expected the night to be filled with glamour. What I notice first, however, is not her attire, but how red her nose is.

I smile at her, the thing to do when you meet eyes with someone for the first time, a stranger. She half-smiles back, and turns away, looking out the subway window and into the concrete tunnel we are flying through.

I’m not sure if it is female instinct, but at that moment I feel as though she has just hinted to me that she is sad.

My boyfriend and I were smiling upon entering the train, laughing about the night, waddling with the pasta that filled our bellies, but after meeting eyes with this woman something changes. I feel guilty for being so happy, for having someone to share the small nothings on a subway with.

The boyfriend finds a seat and rushes to sit down. I stand by myself for a few seconds, contemplating what to do. Should I go and see if she is all right? Should I just ignore the fact that she is clearly upset?

I look over again, just like any human looks at the site of a car accident as they are driving past – we know we shouldn’t, be we feel compelled to see what is going on. She is speaking on her cell phone with someone, and she is crying. Quietly, probably hoping no one will notice. Probably wishing that at that very moment she could just disappear and magically reappear at home, where she feels slightly safer.

I feel so awful inside, staring at the sad woman. I’m not sure what it is that sparks inside of me. Maybe it is noticing that everyone else on the train is ignoring this woman’s quiet sobs. Maybe it is that if I were her, entirely alone, I would want someone to see if I was going to be all right. Maybe it is just me being me. Either way, I walk over towards her and put my hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” I ask, hesitant. I don’t want to intrude and offend her for being so up front.

She nods her head, trying to compose herself.

“I’m fine…” but she can’t finish her sentence because she is afraid that by doing so she will become more vulnerable than she must already feel.

“You just had a bad night, didn’t you? It’s okay,” I say to her, now moving my hand over her back to console her. She nods again. I tell her everything will be okay, that when she gets home and goes to sleep, and wakes up in the morning, she will be fine.

I’m not sure if it’s a lie, or if I’m telling the truth, but I tell it to her anyways. Because at any moment people can become vulnerable. Because, whatever the reason for her being upset – whether it be a date gone horribly wrong, a friend kissing the man you came with – we are all confronted with bad things and they happen at the wrong times.

This was her bad thing and it happened at her wrong time.

I sit down with Ben, the ever-happy boyfriend, and though some people may feel triumphant for having just comforted a stranger, I feel even sadder.

Why was I so hesitant at giving out the simple phrase, “are you alright?” Has it come to this? Where people may visibly see someone extremely upset, angry, frustrated, lonely, and do nothing about it?

There is no doubt in my mind that others saw this woman on the train. There is no doubt in my mind that these people noticed she was upset. And yet even I was contemplating whether or not to soothe her.

How many other people out there wish, while traveling home late at night by train, taxi, bus, that someone would notice their sadness and offer a few comforting words? And is that all it takes… a word here, a hug there? I think if we all took the time to observe and tried to be less embarrassed to offer help, the world and those living in it might feel a little less sad. They might feel like I hope this woman felt after she got off the train – still sad, but comforted that there are people out there that still want to care.

midnight cravings

Sometimes, when I should really be sleeping, at a late, late, too late hour, I get a hankering for mini-wheats. Because they taste so good, they can't be beat. Right now, I want mini-wheats. So that is exactly what I am going to have.

Sometimes, when I should really be sleeping, I shouldn't really be sleeping at all. Because life is too short to pass up a bowl of mini-wheats because you are too afraid to wake up tired.

much more than just a run

I said I would run 5 kilometers this morning at the Terry Fox Run. At least, that was what I said. And with pride when I decided it. But when I reached the 2.5 km turn around sign I kept going. My legs didn't do a 180 degree turn around and I didn't head back to the finish line. Not yet. Because I decided, within a few minutes, that I was going to run the 10 km run.

The reasons are plentiful. I woke up this morning entirely excited and nervous to do my first run. I had been 'training' - if you would like to call it - running just under 5 km and thought that I could handle that distance. But as I was getting ready for the run, I had a small breakfast and turned on the news. I was doing my stretches and on CBC they ran a special about Terry Fox.

He ran a marathon a day. He ran 42 km per day, for 143 days. And he ran it with just one leg. If I can just interject math into this for one second, Terry Fox ran over 5,000 km in less than 6 months. And all the while he did it without complaint - a 22-year-old man who faced cancer head on and decided that it would not hinder his dreams. I know this sounds cliche, but in all seriousness, it is blatantly true.

After listening to what the news was saying about him, I couldn't imagine not completing the full run. I have both of my legs, I don't have cancer in my lungs or in my body, and I am not held back in any way other than by laziness.

And as I passed the 2.5 km mark, and then the 5 km mark, and back around to the 8 km mark, and finally to the finish line, picking up speed just to pass under the sign that reads 'Terry Fox, Marathon of Hope' I felt entirely overwhelmed and happier than I have felt in a very long time.

I raised $145, and my legs felt like rubber, and the second I walked under that banner I felt weak and ready to fall straight to the ground, but I ran. And I would do it again without any hesitation.

A 5-k run

I can't believe I haven't written this before, but last week, after repeatedly running past signs labeled "Terry Fox Run, Sept. 13" for the past six days, I decided I am going to raise money and run in the Terry Fox Run.

I've never done it before. Independently, I mean. Of course every high school student is required to run - or in most cases, trudge slowly down the main street with a sullen look upon their face - but I've never voluntarily run for a good cause.

So I signed up for the run, and for the past week I've sweated and practically hoped that I wouldn't trip over a rock and end up flattening my dreams of running for a purpose that has nothing to do with getting into shape.

But I believe it's more than just that. There is something... encouraging, even inspiring, about running for someone or something other than yourself. Because I don't feel any sense of selfishness. I feel like, for all of the people I've known that have suffered from cancer - the friends, the family, the acquaintance - I'm actually doing something that is a little productive.

And I don't mean to sound boastful, or egotistical. I am just happy because next Sunday, when I run 5 kilometers, I'll be doing it for my grandparents, and my uncles, and for my mom and dad, who have seen so many of their loved ones taken away because of cancer. And of course, I'll be doing it for Terry Fox.

a new home

The last week and a half have been... intense. First, my sister and I had to pack up all of our belongings and take a leap of faith, heading back to Vancouver and Victoria for school. Sister is going to UVIC, I am going back to Kwantlen to finish my degree.

My mom and dad helped us in the move, and I am now finally sitting in my own place, on my own couch, in front of my own television and cooking in my own kitchen. And I don't think anything has ever felt so good, so independent.

I've never been on my own. If i wasn't living at home with my parents, I was renting a room in someone else's house. If I wasn't renting a room, I was bunking with my boyfriend's parents. I've never fully been able to appreciate the quiet, the personal space of my own place. And now I am!

It feels great. I baked my first pie the other day, I've decorated how I want to decorate, and no one can come in and tell me to change it, to move this here and suggest I do that. It is liberating. And furthermore, I can't wait for the day I actually come to own a home, I can only imagine that independence would increase.

For those of you who read my blog, thank you, because I'm not sure too many people do. But I will still write!

cry, why, cry

It's a funny thing, when sadness hits you. Sometimes your not sure where it came from, which direction - which instant brought it on, how long will it last... what is it that makes us feel it, and so strongly?

Well, tonight, for instance, for me it was a number of things. An argument, followed by a fairly sad movie (The Time Traveler's Wife), which was then followed by a series of "mellow" playlists on my iPod that should be renamed "depressing tunes," while lying on my bed and writing nonsensical messages to my long-distance boyfriend.

But it is also a funny thing, because at times it feels like crying, or being sad is the only way to work towards being happy again. How do we know what happiness even is unless we sometimes feel downright awful? So awful that a good cry tends to cure all that boggles our minds. I know that is what happens to me. I cry, get all that was bottling up inside my heart out on the plate - or the 30 odd tissues that have now been pulled from their home and re-deposited into the trash bin - and then I realize how silly I was being.

Thing post really has no direction, except now that I've welled up some salty tears in my eyes, wiped them away, and wrote about it, I feel... better.