Taking It All In

The PEI Marathon is next weekend

Sun, 12 Oct 2008 01:48:45 GMT

From the weekend PEI paper, on the PEI Marathon next weekend (which is expecting 1,500 participants in the various events -- not shabby for a wee Island)!

"Premier Robert Ghiz, who ran the half marathon last year despite nursing an injury, is set to tackle the 21-kilometre route again. He considers the marathon weekend a strong vehicle to promote both exercise and tourism.

“For myself, it’s a great way to stay in shape and to burn off some stress,’’ he says. The biggest challenge for the premier is finding the time to put in the training.

As for comparing a half marathon to a political race, Ghiz sees similarities.

“They’re both very challenging but when you reach the finish line hopefully they both will be very rewarding.’’"

Poem by Stephen Dunn

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 11:21:28 GMT

Dunn’s “Parable of the Fictionist”

PARABLE OF THE FICTIONIST

He wanted to own his own past,
be able to manage it
more than it managed him.
He wanted all the unfair
advantages of the charmed.
He selected his childhood,
told only those stories
that mixed loneliness with
rebellion, a boy’s locked heart
with the wildness
allowed inside a playing field.
And after he invented himself
and those he wished to know him
knew him as he wished to be known,
he turned toward the world
with the world that was within him
and shapes resulted, versions,
enlargements.
In his leisure he invented women,
then spoke to them about
his inventions, the wish just
slightly ahead of the truth,
making it possible.
All around him he heard
the unforgivable stories
of the sincere, the boring,
and knew his way was righteous,
though in the evenings, alone
with the world he’d created,
he sometimes longed
for what he’d dare not alter,
or couldn’t, something immutable
or so lovely he might be changed
by it, nameless but with a name
he feared waits until you’re worthy,
then chooses you.

The following is written in response to this poem by Loren Webster, who maintains the site "In A Dark Time":

Anyone who maintains a blog, is to some extent a “fictionist.” Otherwise they’d be unable to attract readers. Perhaps the very act of writing creates a fiction because it requires us to select details to represent our life. If one selects the positive details, as I tend to do, life will seem more enjoyable and exciting than it is. If one selects the negative details, which is not uncommon, life will appear more dramatic, and certainly less boring, than it may really be.

The concept wouldn’t be nearly as interesting, though, if all of us weren’t guilty of it to some degree. The everyday act of “putting your best face forward” (Google that) creates a “fictional” character, one we create because we hope it will help us to do better than we might otherwise do, especially with those of the opposite sex, since it makes us seem more interesting than “the sincere, the boring.”

The danger is that this fictional self ensures our relationships can never be “real,” and we can end up longing for “what he’d dare not alter,/ or couldn’t, something immutable/ or so lovely he might be changed/ by it”.

Valiant Efforts, and Flagging Immunity

Tue, 07 Oct 2008 20:00:36 GMT

It took a lot of fight, but I did get myself up and moving by 5:30am. The increased difficulty lay in the raw and sore throat which I found myself with this morning, something I had felt encroaching in previous days but which I had hoped I would avoid this season. I also felt a little wonky. I probably should have stayed in bed.

But I am a stubborn woman and I suited up just like normal for a short run. It did occur to me, as I stepped outside my building into the cold morning and noticed the darkness around me, that I might have actually gone mad at long last... but I was startled, even motivated, by a smattering of stars and by the outline of The Archer with Orion's Belt. Cold Schmold, I thought.

And the run mostly went well, at first -- run for five, walk for one, and repeat four times -- I've done this before. But I made it to the third rep and I had to stop just shy a minute because my head felt so heavy and my face so full. The word "thwacked" works here. I walked back to my building, and when I tried to say hello to someone else in the lobby I found I had lost my voice. The rallying bit of energy I had early this morning had evaporated somewhere out there along the way.

I'm still glad I did something active, but I ended up calling in sick today due to the cold's intensifying and the fact that my voice was not coming back to me even after tea and gargling with water and baking soda. It is only now starting to ease a bit, but I feel gross (like everyone does in a similar state). I wish I didn't catch these damn things so easily.

Running. Away,

Mon, 06 Oct 2008 02:10:40 GMT

I am habituated to running and walking in the city, and sometimes I enjoy having a "route" or familiar path around my own neighbourhood. Creature of habit, yes.

A real treat, however, is in changing this routine up with a run in another place, and especially in a more rural area. I might be turning into a city slicker in some ways, but I am at heart a country girl and I feel strikingly at home once I get into those settings. Maybe a little bit of this is psychological, but I do feel the difference: crisper, fresher air and richer surroundings. I breathe better on these runs, if only seemingly.

We were away this weekend about an hour and a half out of Toronto, near Lindsay, on a weekend visit with Mike's family. It was our early version of Thanksgiving, with perfectly baked ham and squash (apparently, not everyone's favourite although I adore it) and pumpkin pie... and it was our first time seeing the cozy new house that Mike's parents have moved into. I love that they have cows passing by in a field directly behind the house, and that they are a short jaunt away from a nature conserve and a shoreline -- and yet close to the needful things in Lindsay.

Less than two hours north-east of Toronto, and there is a marked difference in the level and intensity of fall colours. The reds and oranges pop and flame along roadsides, and thick columns of woods along the moraines are simply smoldering in the clear, crisp October light. This is, without a doubt, my favourite season for so many reasons.

I didn't run Saturday, as scheduled, due to being tremondously filled up (yes, I think this is a viable excuse as it is somewhat vital to be able to breathe through one's nose along the way)!

So, I bumped last week's long run to Sunday morning. It was difficult to get up after being in a cozier bed than usual (we stayed at my sister-in-law's place in Manilla) and being crawled over by four of the snuggliest, purringish kittens ever (yes, four kittens and a rambunctious golden retriever and two girls)... but, I did get up after all. Yes, the initial pain is worth the longer term pleasure -- remembering that point is always the hard part when one is comfy and it is early Sunday morning.

I walked for fifteen minutes, ran for fifteen, and walked for fifteen. The highlight: hearing the collective cry of dozens of geese flying south, and hearing nothing else but their voices, but not actually seeing them for several minutes. I also happened upon a large flock or large pheasants rambling in someone's back field.

I actually like running on these slightly cooler fall days because the chill is refreshing. I don't miss the humidity in the least.

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 00:42:47 GMT

You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen

to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.

And anyway it's the same old story -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.

Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.

And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
- Mary Oliver
from her poem Dogfish

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 00:57:31 GMT

This week and last week, I have three elements to factor in (a small, a medium and then a longer one), and after this I will be be looking at four times a week. The darkening evenings and later sunrises make the timing more challenging than in summer, but it is all doable (so long as I stop working too late too often)!

I am turning more to earlier mornings -- I can definitely fit in a good moderate-length run in the morning if I dress properly and still leave lots of time to eat and get ready for work. I may also consider going into the city earlier, and making use of sweetly-priced access to change rooms and showers within a block of work. The catch is getting up very early, but I think I can suck it up!

After work is a doable time as well, but I found it nicely energizing to get up early, exercise and then face the day knowing I could go straight home and relax in the evening (which is my key time with Mike, who tends to be too sore/spent to run after work). My commute is just so long after work, that I feel three times as tired after it as I do when I am at the end of the actual work day. I went with mornings for two of my three elements last week, which admittedly were short enough to let me ease back into it. We'll see how the month goes...

I like that running for twelve minutes straight feels pretty good -- still a workout, but not difficult and without any wavering of spirit. The minutes fly by. When I was new to this, time stretched out and stretched me out.

In other news... in my ongoing work to volunteer for lots of varying things (I'm looking into Frontier College again, which was something I worked with through Students for Literacy back in PEI), I volunteered for the massive Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Marathon today. I was with the medals team, as all marathon and half-marathon runners achieved medals for finishing this year. I don't think I have ever seen so many people converged in such a relatively small chunk of the city, as when the race began at Nathan Phillips Square -- and so much potential energy in that same small space just within the hour before the start!

I found myself in the very untypical role of a team lead for my area of the medals, simply due to age difference between myself and what were mostly teenagers. I do have a "bossy" side, but I never do like waiting for something to happen if I can find a job to do right away. The manager, Fred, also remembered my name right away and would call me out to take care of certain things, but I found myself just jumping in anyway regardless. This is the whole point of the volunteer experience -- getting braver and more confident, and far more experienced with a range of activity and skills and pressure levels. It reminded me of being crew for a stage production, except that it was only for a few hours instead of every moment of spare time over a few months!

There was simply no better job than placing the medals around necks or in the fists of finishers and congratulating them -- some of the elites were pretty standoffish (maybe been there, done that too often) but most were so pleased to be within sight of refreshment, rest and completion that their pleasure was transferable.

I was scared for this one fellow, a marathoner, who walked sideways towards me and looked near collapse -- he straightened himself out and shouted jubilantly about qualifying for the Boston Marathon, so I think he was fine in the end! I'd probably let out a good barbaric yawp too!

I also spent a lot of time delivering armloads of medals to the kids standing near the front, since they would hand them out so quickly (that, and water as the sun got stronger). I even had a couple fifteen year olds tag along with me much of the day, talking my ear off. I know too much now about last year's basketball season in York Region, however.

I went directly to Word in the Street with a friend for a couple of hours, so I've done solid time on my feet today and that 4:30 am wake-up call is hitting me now.

Charlottetown, PEI Man claims election is illegal and will not vote this time.

Sun, 28 Sep 2008 01:12:59 GMT

From today's
"The Guardian" -- PEI has an extremely high voter turnout compared to the rest of Canada, and elections are like major sports events for some. So, opting out is a big move for lifelong participants!

27/09/08

For first time, city man won't vote, contending election is illegal

JIM DAY
The Guardian

Neil Harpham takes his right to vote seriously. The 64-year-old Charlottetown cab driver has marked the ballot each and every time a municipal, provincial and federal election has been held.

He has always subscribed to his parents’ view that if a person doesn’t vote, he or she can’t complain about the results or the resulting actions of the elected government.

Yet his long, unbroken streak of fulfilling his right to vote will end on Oct. 14 when millions of Canadians head to polling stations across the country to mark their choice in the federal election.

He feels he has no choice but to stay at home. The election, in his view, is a fraud. Prime Minister Stephen Harper broke the law, Harpham contends, when he got the Governor General to dissolve Parliament, triggering a general election.

The move flies in the face of a law with Harper’s own signature, said Harpham.

One of the first acts after Harper became prime minister in 2006 was to introduce legislation to provide for a fixed date for the next election.

His legislation provided that, unless government was defeated on a confidence motion in the meantime, the next Canadian general election would be held in October 2009.

Harper, at the time, heralded fixed election dates for their ability to prevent governments from calling snap elections for short-term political advantage.

“They level the playing field for all parties and the rules are clear for everybody,’’ the prime minister said back then.

Harpham feels Harper decided to not only change the rules, but break the law, by calling an election a full year earlier than the fixed date.

And the cab driver doesn’t want any part of it.

“I don’t think it’s legal for me to vote because I don’t believe that the election was legal to begin with,’’ he said.

“This will be the first time that I don’t vote and hopefully the last time that I don’t vote.’’
Harpham is upset that the other federal parties did not challenge the Conservative’s election call.

He would like to see the legality of this election taken to court.

His decision to stay away from the polling booth, however, is not so much a protest as it is a
moral stand.

“In my understanding, it (this election) is illegal,’’ he said.

“In which case, if I were to vote, I would be taking part in an illegal act.’’

A new starting line drawn up

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 02:13:33 GMT

Still on the run...

Mike and I have registered for another 5K running event in late October, a larger-scale event in Niagara Falls (there is also a 10K, Half-Marathon, Marathon, and fitness expo included in the larger weekend event).

This time, I want to run the distance without walking. And I would like to edge my time a little closer to 30 minutes, but I will accept 35 minutes.

Again, my friendly senior adviser (the venerable "G") has kindly devised a new training program to get me from here to there. Mike comes running when he can and he certainly loves joining me along the way. All this support aside, it is by and large a form of racing myself. So far, it is an activity which has given me a rare sense of personal power and measurable progress -- and I love that.

The track record in my youth has been to give up too easily on things. This is especially true when I'm not quickly "good enough" at something, although that definition has always been very subjective and my own spin on things.

I vaguely remember my short-lived soccer career, which began and ended over a few weeks when I was 5. I could not keep up with the other kids. Basically, I followed the pack around because I knew that was what I was supposed to do, but I had a hard time wanting to bother over a ball I could never get a kick at (as if I could actually kick it far anyway)!

Of course I told my parents that I wanted to quit after two practices. I was never signed up for anything like it again and I certainly never volunteered. But I was always envious of those kids/people who were at the forefront of any match, the ones who were stronger or faster or more coordinated.

Funny how attitudes change. I am keen on the fact that every participant in the Niagara Falls event receives a medal. I never believed I could ever earn a medal in anything, even just for trying. The fact that I am TRYING at all is a big thing.

So what if I turn out to be perpetually trailing the pack. That isn't the point.

I'm running with it. And I am somehow kicking it my own way, clear across the field.

Lucy Maud Montgomery and "The Depths of Despair"

Tue, 23 Sep 2008 09:15:24 GMT

Kate Macdonald Butler reveals a long-held secret about her grandmother, one of Canada's most beloved authors, Lucy Maud Montgomery

From Saturday's Globe and Mail

September 19, 2008 at 11:42 PM EDT

For many years, my family has kept a troubling secret. What has made things even more difficult is the fact that the person it involves was not only my grandmother, but one of Canada's most beloved authors, Lucy Maud Montgomery.

Her most famous novel, Anne of Green Gables, is still a bestseller after 100 years. In addition to Anne, my grandmother wrote 19 other novels, personal journals and hundreds of short stories and poems. As well, she has been the subject of several biographical studies.

Despite her great success, it is known that she suffered from depression, that she was isolated, sad and filled with worry and dread for much of her life. But our family has never spoken publicly about the extent of her illness.

What has never been revealed is that L.M. Montgomery took her own life at the age of 67 through a drug overdose.

I wasn't told the details of what happened, and I never saw the note she left, but I do know that it asked for forgiveness.

After having read the poignant Breakdown series on mental health in The Globe and Mail during the summer, I was inspired to reflect upon my own family's history with depression.

Additionally, the recent focus on my grandmother's creativity – this is the 100th anniversary of the publication of Anne of Green Gables, with events around the world celebrating Anne and her creator – has encouraged me to end our silence.

I have come to feel very strongly that the stigma surrounding mental illness will be forever upon us as a society until we sweep away the misconception that depression happens to other people, not us – and most certainly not to our heroes and icons.

Obviously it can happen to anyone. The public faces of such prominent Canadians as Roméo Dallaire, James Bartleman, Valerie Pringle and others who supported mental-health awareness during the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health's recent publicity campaign have also had a powerful effect on me.

But, most important, the legacy of L.M. Montgomery, and my grandfather, Rev. Ewan Macdonald, and its related responsibilities and joys, are taken very seriously by my family. I spoke with them before writing this essay and we agreed that it was important for us to share our family's story.

I never knew my grandmother. She died in 1942, before I was born. My grandfather, who also suffered from serious mental illness, died the following year. I got to know them through my father.

After my two older brothers married and left home, I had my parents all to myself for a few short years before my father, a physician at St. Michael's Hospital in Toronto, died in 1982. I became closer to him while I studied at the dining-room table – a time when we had a lot of conversations together. We developed a deeper connection during his last years and I am grateful for those memories of our time together.

When the last volume of The Selected Journals of L.M. Montgomery was published in 2004, I sobbed through it and, in fact, I couldn't even finish it – there was such a profound sadness for me in imagining how my father must have coped with two such depressed parents.

For a young man in the prime of his life, it must have been an overwhelming responsibility. I remembered our late-night conversations and how he shared many memories, yet rarely talked about the burdens he must have felt during his young adult life.

My heart aches for my father, who was left behind to deal with the grief of losing his beloved mother. He carried the secret of the circumstances of her death and maintained the façade of a proper and well-adjusted family because of his desire to protect them and their reputation in the community.

Reading between the lines

L.M. Montgomery's most famous character, Anne Shirley, declared, “My life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes,” and readers find it one of Anne's more endearing sayings. That particular lament has always been especially significant to me as I imagine my grandmother must have felt the same sadness at times in her life. The fictional Anne went on to happiness and a life full of love and fulfilment. My grandmother's reality was not so positive, although she continues to inspire generations of readers with her books, which reveal her understanding of nature – both in matters of the heart and the world. Although she was a very successful author, her life was overshadowed by her depression, coping with her husband's mental illness and the restrictions of her life as a clergyman's wife and mother in an era when women's roles were highly defined.

Even though I never met them, I've always regarded my paternal grandparents with great affection because of their influence on my father and, therefore, on me. I grew up admiring their achievements, both professional and personal, through my father's stories and reminiscences.

My heart aches for them, as well, because I know they were part of a generation that simply did not acknowledge personal dysfunction, let alone seek help.

I have great admiration for my grandmother, for her contribution to Canadian literature and culture, her strength of character, and the love, pride and sense of responsibility she gave to my family.

I am proud of her courage, given how isolated and lonely she must have felt during certain periods of her life. I wish that her family or community had had some of the tools that are available today. I expect that most families continue to be bewildered about how to help loved ones who suffer from debilitating depression.

I hope that by writing about my grandmother now there might be less secrecy and more awareness that will ease the unnecessary suffering so many people experience as a result of such depressions.

An encouraging light

The recent Globe and Mail series certainly sheds an encouraging light on the notion of the “perfect” family, acknowledging that it may include the reality of depression and other mental illness, and suggests that the shame surrounding these subjects may be lifting.

I'll never know if my grandmother might have been inclined to seek help if she had lived in a less judgmental era or if she had had access to supportive therapy or the medications available today. I would like to think so.

I long to tell her how I wish her family could have known how to help her and how proud we all are of her accomplishments. I also wish that, while my father was still alive, my family could have helped one another more by talking more openly about our feelings around her death. We realize now that secrecy is not the way to deal with the reality of depression and other mental-health issues.

Kate Macdonald Butler is the daughter of Stuart Macdonald, who was the youngest son of L.M. Montgomery.

"For those who are too gentle to live among wolves"

Mon, 22 Sep 2008 00:26:08 GMT

"I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us. We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content. We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret. We continue to explore ourselves, hoping to understand. We like to walk along the beach, we are drawn by the ocean, taken by its power, its unceasing motion, its mystery and unspeakable beauty. We like forests and mountains, deserts and hidden rivers, and the lonely cities as well. Our sadness is as much a part of our lives as is our laughter. To share our sadness with one we love is perhaps as great a joy as we can know - unless it be to share our laughter.

We searchers are ambitious only for life itself, for everything beautiful it can provide. Most of all we love and want to be loved. We want to live in a relationship that will not impede our wandering, nor prevent our search, nor lock us in prison walls; that will take us for what little we have to give. We do not want to prove ourselves to another or compete for love.

For wanderers, dreamers, and lovers, for lonely men and women who dare to ask of life everything good and beautiful. It is for those who are too gentle to live among wolves."

~James Kavanaugh

Creative Every Day is one of my favorite stops along the web, and she posted this beautiful excerpt recently.

A ‘miracle tree’ that could feed sub-Saharan Africa

Sun, 21 Sep 2008 02:18:11 GMT

The moringa’s leaves and seedpods deliver extraordinary nutrition, advocates say, but aid groups await a formal study.

By Vijaysree Venkatraman| September 19, 2008 edition, The Christian Science Monitor

Cambridge, Mass.

As a child growing up in India, I greeted the appearance of one particular vegetable on my plate with exaggerated distaste: tender seedpods from the moringa tree, locally known as “drumsticks.” Imagine my surprise when I heard a health worker from sub-Saharan Africa describe this backyard tree as a possible solution to malnutrition in tropical countries – he called it a “miracle tree,” no less.

Ounce for ounce, says Lamine Diakite, a Red Cross official from French Guinea in West Africa, moringa leaves contain more beta carotene than carrots, more calcium than milk, more iron than spinach, more Vitamin C than oranges, and more potassium than bananas. Its protein content is comparable to that of milk and eggs, and its leaves are still available for harvest at the end of the dry season, when other food may be scarce. Malnourished children gained weight when put on a timely dietary supplement made from the leaves, Mr. Diakite says. He passed around pouches of the green, hennalike powder at a recent international summit in Boston.

Until a decade ago, moringa was not widely known in Africa. Its leaves (boiled like spinach) were an occasional vegetable. Immigrant Indians prized the long, slender seedpods (stewed or cooked like green beans) as a delicacy. “But its nutritional value, newly ‘discovered,’ has been known for a long time,” says Lowell Fuglie, an international development administrator who has been instrumental in popularizing the moringa in Africa for the past 10 years. Laboratory analysis has corroborated traditional knowledge about the plant. It now awaits further validation by western science.

But even those who know moringa is edible don’t always exploit its nutritional value, particularly beneficial to those eating a carbohydrate-heavy diet (meat is often costly in Africa).

Senegalese people using moringa leaves to make mboum sauce, for example, discard the cooking water, which contains many nutrients, Mr. Fuglie says. His interest was sparked by research findings collated by the nonprofit Educational Concerns for Hunger Organization (ECHO). “Seeing moringa described as the most nutritious of all tropical vegetables,” says Fuglie, whose father worked for USAID in Africa, “I wondered why there was so much malnutrition in regions where the tree is easily grown and used.”

Species of moringa are native to the Indian subcontinent and pockets of Asia and Africa. One species in particular, Moringa oleifera, which has especially edible leaves, has become naturalized in other regions, says Mark Olson, an evolutionary biologist. Moringa growing wild on Mexico’s Pacific coast probably arrived long ago via the Philippines when Spanish galleons sailed between Manila and Acapulco, he says. He has traveled to remote areas to document the dozen or so species of the diverse, hardy native of the dry tropics. “It’s very hard to kill the moringa with drought or heat,” he says. Protein-rich plants like soybeans and legumes cannot survive such conditions or thrive in poor soil.

The fact that the leaves – and not just the seedpods and seeds – are edible makes moringa a desirable crop. The seeds also yield oil that could be used as biofuel, and ground seeds can help purify water. Parts of the tree are used in traditional medicine. It also grows rapidly (good for reforestation), reaching a mature height of 30 feet, though often it’s pruned annually to be as short as five feet, to keep leaves and seedpods within easy reach. It would be difficult to find a low-maintenance tree that offers more, says Fuglie.

In the 1980s, development workers began to hear of the tree. Its popularity grew by leaps when Fuglie began to promote the shade-dried leaf powder as a food supplement, says Martin Price, director of ECHO. Reports from Fuglie’s pilot nutrition project were persuasive.

Still, there have been no clinical human trials to quantify the moringa’s role in fighting malnutrition, says Jed Fahey of Johns Hopkins University. He is a volunteer for Trees for Life International, a group that promotes planting moringas. Based on centuries of human consumption, however, a strong case can be made that eating the leaves causes no harm, says Dr. Fahey, a phytochemical researcher.

But because there is no definitive dietary study on the moringa, the scientific community and relief agencies still have reservations. Fuglie predicts that more moringas will be planted once aid organizations are convinced of the leaves’ nutrition. Fuglie needs no persuading: If you had to design an affordable source of enriching supplements for the dry tropics, he says, “it may be impossible to come up with anything better than the moringa.”

Downtime on a Friday Night

Sat, 20 Sep 2008 01:50:15 GMT

I've figured it out -- if I have to write, and if I set myself up in a regimen of near-daily writing (eg. the blog to follow my every running venture), then it becomes a chore and something I put off. If I let it go and don't push it, then the itch comes back on its own but always, of course, when I'm stuck on a bus/subway and conveniently without anything to write with.

Then the commute is done, and here I am ready to bring the ideas back up to write them, but the freshness and passion is already faded. The whole thing feels less energetic, like I'm missing something and not really able to capture whatever it is I've witnessed or felt or experienced.

I was out directly after work this evening, meeting up with one of Michael's old friends and her coworkers at a sports bar around Midtown. About an hour in, and after only a pint, my eye started to feel as though there was something in it. The harder I tried to ignore it, or fix it with eye drops, the worse it felt. I don't tend to keep my glasses on me, so I felt stuck and distracted and more tired than I actually was.

So, I bailed. Mike stayed to enjoy his evening, and I trekked home to get the bloody things out of my eyes and my arse in comfy clothes and in my own space. I don't often have home alone evenings, so it feels quiet but I like the silence after a week of sometimes noisy change (my new desk is in the more open concept part of the office).

It was a long wait to get home. The interesting people, of course, are venturing out in the early Friday evening, between 8 and 9pm. The night is young. And I am entertained.

There is a group at the back of the bus, a seat behind me. I gather they've all run into each other at Finch station but are heading in separate directions. The two girls, who say "omigod" lots and loudly, get off at their stop for a party. They both have nearly identical Chanel logo bags.

One of the guys reflects to the other one, "Those are two fine chops" -- the way he says it sounds put on, like he's really feeling for his friend's thoughts.

The other guy sounds put off and, maturely for a 19-20 year old male, says, "Well, I've known them since they were young -- I've known them well enough in other ways and I've never seen them that way".

Right away, the other guy is getting off at his stop, and when he turns back he looks even younger than I thought. He looks tough in dress (have baggy over-sized pants ever been out of style? I can't remember when they haven't been) but not so much in any other way.

Cigarette in hand at the ready, he turns back and says, "Hey, if you need anything, lemme know -- you know, I'm around the Countrystyle (the coffee stop) and I'm around whenever you need, 'kay?"

He is concerned and genuine and vulnerable.

The other guy, wearing expensive-looking sunglasses and therefore unreadable in expression, says yeah. And gets off at the very next stop, one before mine.

These things stick with me, like I'm catching a part of a narrative without the context, but definitely catching something worth telling again.

Mission Accomplished (or, Erin completes a 5K run/walk and is not at the back of the pack)

Tue, 16 Sep 2008 00:52:41 GMT

So much for tracking every step along the way ... I seem to recall being terribly idealistic about carefully and mindfully journalling every single element of training.

Most practical people probably just write point form, factual notations on their running, if at all, and keep it simple. Not me! I had to make it descriptive and more involved.

This was fine while I experienced all of the initial novelties and sensations in the first few weeks, but my dedication to the creative extension of my fitness drive just did not prove so strong. As I mentioned before, writing for fun tends to wax and wane in my passions. Yes, I am inherently lazy.

Luckily, I actually kept up with the running part of the running program and, rather quickly, eight weeks was gone and the day of the event was imminent.

I shall hereby reward the small, observant subculture of this blog with a lengthy, detailed account.

Mike and I traveled early Sunday morning to Etienne-Brulé Park, along the Humber River and just north of the Old Mill subway station. I had never been there before -- a beautiful wooded spot hugging both sides of the heritage river, with a gorgeous stone bridge arching gracefully over the swollen river. Along the route, the old mill of Old Mill -- now an elegant hotel, spa and restaurant (that day, the site of a wedding).

There were a few men in rubber hipwaders, fishing in the river just at the foot of the bridge.
I don't know what they were fishing.

I have attended two other running events as a support person, but this was the first where I queued up at a registration tent and collected bibs and safety pins for myself. #5212 (I have the bib on my fridge now).

I am not always the most outgoing person and, seeing some very serious-looking runners in he parking lot stretching, chatting and prepping, I felt self-conscious and hopeful that I was not out of my element.

The race started on the bridge itself, and we consciously placed ourselves to the back and side of the pack. Some studious-looking lone-wolf male runners did elaborate stretching rituals in the lead up. Other people congregated in packs, knowing each other from other runs or social clubs -- I particularly picked up on the conversation of a few.

One girl, wearing a Longboat shirt and sporting some tattoos on her shoulders, described how she had run 14K in an hour on a treadmill the day before and felt so good that she drank like a fish the night before -- and still, technically, felt she was drunk. This girl would later place third over all among women in her race. I don't think I could pull that off...

So we start, and I set my watch and we run by the Old Mill Inn -- and the first thing we smell is bacon (we didn't really have much to eat for breakfast).

I was proud of this one woman, who was obese and struggling but had a friend or personal trainer pacing her all the way with a video camera. She was behind us, walking and jogging, and he was giving her excellent advice about how to handle hills -- don't look at the top, just a few feet ahead of you. I followed that advice. I think she did a 2.5 walk/run.

Back to me -- after some clumsiness with a new gift, a proper running watch, we got into a rhythm and made our way along the first stretch -- the course was essentially "out and back".

I was conscious that we were definitely not in the middle of the pack, but that we were not the last by far and were doing well considering we were not running the whole thing continuously (we ran for 5 minutes and walked for one the whole way, in intervals).

I also watched some people, the top finishers of the 5K and the more experienced runners, zooming back and lapping us less than half way along. Humbling.

We hit the water station at the half-way mark, and the guy was a little patronizing about our pace ("well, that must be the last of them" - we so were not) but I ignored him.

The way back was tough as I felt blistering on the sides of my feet, but we kept along and tried not to feel the humidity of the day or the ache of watching another approaching hill in the not-so-distance.

Somehow, whenever we passed route marshalls cheering us on, we were on that one minute walk mark and probably looked pretty pathetic. These were, however, among the more polite and mature, non-condescending preteen males I have ever witnessed in public.

We ran a little faster in the last stretch, and the finish line was a simple blue chalk line between two pylons. Someone called out our time and I watched it flash on the large digital clock posted near a van. In minutes, charts of the results were taped to the side of the van.

We were under 40 minutes, as hoped. I was 38:55, with a pace of 7:45. Not bad, first time out.

What amazed me is that I was damp but my face was not as flushed, blazing red as it has been in longer runs and, generally, I felt fine and not extremely exerted at the end. I scarfed down the fruit and the mini baguettes offered at the finish line, but I felt generally refreshed and nonachy. This bodes well for future attempts at the 5K.

Oh, yes, there will be future attempts.

But I did nap well that afternoon. And I've been ravenous since.

Fri, 12 Sep 2008 02:24:42 GMT

Yes

It could happen any time,
tornado,
earthquake, Armageddon. It
could happen.
Or sunshine, love,
salvation.

It could, you know. That's
why we wake
and look out - no
guarantees
in this life.

But some bonuses, like
morning,
like right now, like noon,
like evening.

- William Stafford

Wed, 10 Sep 2008 01:44:29 GMT

This is an exquisite truth:
Saints and ordinary folks are the same from the start.
Inquiring about a difference
is like asking to borrow string when you've got a good strong rope.
Every Dharma is known in the heart.
After a rain, the mountain colors intensify.
Once you become familiar with the design of fate's illusions
Your ink-well will contain all of life and death.

Hsu Yun

Running through the week

Sat, 06 Sep 2008 21:31:44 GMT

So much for writing about every element and every running expedition. I can't say that it is because the novelty wore off -- more that the actual experiences are enough without need to narrate each one postmortem. I have been told that I reside too much in my own head, in my need to think and analyze and capture things (like I'm doing now) in words. Sometimes, sometimes, I just need to stop thinking and do it, and experience things within my body and beyond the mind.

Poem Du Jour: "To The Light of September"

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 18:49:27 GMT

Hello September... (I've always liked late summer/early Autumn, especially now that it no longer has "back-to-school" associations)!

To the Light of September -- W.S. Merwin (link to Merwin's bio at bottom)

When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later

you
who fly with them

you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew

- W. S. Merwin

Getting Closer -- Two Weeks to a 5K

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 01:36:20 GMT

I've decided that, even when I feel a little ill or out of sorts, I need to ensure that I get "out there" anyway (even if I scale it back to a walk). Unless I have a severe pain or actual violent illness or a clear inability to get up, I ought to try.

I spent most of yesterday experiencing strong headaches and sinus pressure in my face, especially behind my eyes. I felt like I had an elastic band tightening around my brain. We were supposed to go to a cocktail/birthday party last night, one I had been looking forward to for nearly a month, but I just knew I couldn't do it.

When it was almost 8pm, however, I decided that I could at least go for a walk -- I figured it might help to clear the head. I dressed as though going for a run. And, somewhere along the way, I decided to do the shorter element anyway (walk for 5, run for 5, walk for seven) just to do it, since I was out. I decided I could always stop running if I felt woozy. But I didn't have to. I was beat after, and dehydrated (which is mystifying considering the amount of water I'd consumed all day), but I got it done.

The headaches are still here today, but not as bad.

With Mike alongside, acting as my human stopwatch and coach, I completed a good long element this evening in the local park (12 minute walk, 17 minute run, then 15 minute walk). Having him with me means that we always "up the stakes" a little -- we ran up a couple of fairly steep hills along the route, and we climbed up the seventeen flights to our apartment immediately after the run/walk. We also had a surprise when Mike challenged me to take everything in me and sprint for the last bit of the run -- no idea where that little surge came from! Funny, it took his egging me on to find that.

I love the way it feels when my heart rate is really gunning it, and my face is flush and every tingling, working bit of me is put into the one thing. No multitasking required, unless you count conversation.

Incidentally, I am finding that having my running buddy with me is essential for the longer stints.

A Slightly Off Week, So Far

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 14:35:30 GMT

I haven't had the greatest week, running-wise, so far.

It isn't all my fault, entirely. Thursday, after remaining fairly steady, I chose to push one element another day because I got home late after spending impromptu time with a friend (I chose to reschedule my personal time over my time with friends). Friday, I was nursing a bad headache all day (right behind my eye) -- I thought I would be fine in the afternoon, and intended to be good last evening but the headache surged with a vengeance (I even felt a little nauseous) and I felt all energy and alertness sap out of me.

I could have tried at least a walk, but basically I ate something small, tried to relax, and ended up with a very early bedtime.

This morning, I've awakened slowly with the same headache/eyeache and I'm trying to get more water into me than usual so I can make some effort in the afternoon with a mid-sized run, bare minimum. Even though tomorrow technically is the start of week seven, there are only three elements to the week and I could do my longer week six element in the evening and plan the rest of the week from there accordingly (I like to set the longest interval for the week's end, like I am passing a certain bar before entering the next cycle).

Meh. Not terrible -- I think I'll only be short one element -- but not great. Funny how, when I was on vacation, I had no issues scheduling all of my elements and keeping myself on track as per the plan. This week, back to work and struggling to make sure I get it all in with a good flow to it.

The run I am aiming for, the goal at the end of this eight week stretch, is two weeks from tomorrow and I am hoping that this sort of setback is okay. I mean, life happens and "shit happens" and the schedules we impose on life sometimes have to be tweaked along the way. Yeah...

Another poem or two, for you and you and you

Sat, 30 Aug 2008 14:11:13 GMT

I love Muriel Rukeyser's poems...

Sometimes, the part of me that is/was an English Major feels I ought to be discussing or at least making some comment about the poems I post, or the books I read or whatever. Mostly, I have my thoughts and impressions in here (*tapping of head and heart*) on the inside, and I simply want to share the piece in of itself for someone else to think upon. So here (so there).

Myth

Long afterward, Oedipus, old and blinded, walked the
roads. He smelled a familiar smell. It was
the Sphinx. Oedipus said, "I want to ask one question.
Why didn't I recognize my mother?" "You gave the
wrong answer," said the Sphinx. "But that was what
made everything possible," said Oedipus. "No," she said,
"When I asked, What walks on four legs in the morning,
two at noon, and three in the evening, you answered,
Man. You didn't say anything about woman."
"When you say Man," said Oedipus, "you include women
too. Everyone knows that." She said, "That's what
you think."

- Muriel Rukeyser

"Muriel Rukeyser's poetry is unequalled in the twentieth-century United States in its range of reference, its generosity of vision, and its energy," writes Adrienne Rich. "She pushes us, readers, writers, and participants in the life of our time, to enlarge our sense of what poetry is about in the world, and of the place of feelings and memory in politics."

More on Muriel Rukeyser and her work.

This poet is from PEI ...

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 02:41:34 GMT

So You Say

It is all in the mind, you say, and has
nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold,
the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world.
You take my arm and say something will happen,
something unusual for which we were always prepared,
like the sun arriving after a day in Asia,
like the moon departing after a night with us.

- Mark Strand

Diary of a Lapsed Blogger

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 01:40:30 GMT

Sometimes, I am a creature of habit. Sometimes, I fall out of habit. This seems to be, in of itself, a habit...

Writing is one of those things which I seem to wander to and from depending upon mood, timing, laziness, etc. Vacation doesn't help -- somehow, the computer was not where I wanted to be while I was back in PEI last week and, somehow, I couldn't get myself back to staring at a computer too long except when required, like at work (which is different). And, sometimes, there is just TOO MUCH to write about.

But then I got a couple readers telling me, in person for that matter, that they hadn't seen my blog. And reminding me, more than once, of this fact. Who know that my regular old writing could be habit forming for anyone else? Go figure!

The running/fitness thing, incidentally, I have not fallen away from. This is something I want to keep up, long term. There are just too many positive ways in which this will pan out in the long run (sorry to pun), and I do love the natural old adrenaline/serotonin boost that comes with sustained exercise.

Here are, in point form, highlights from a week and a half of running, etc. (yes, I have to condense -- none of these are in order of import, only in order of recollection):

** Suddenly, for my second and shortest run on PEI, Mike wanted to come with me. Sensei had told me, before I started this program, that I would want a buddy but I shrugged it off. I can be a solitary kind of person by habit, and this is a habit that isn't always the best thing for me at all times. It felt wonderful to have Mike with me, just to talk with along the way and to pace me and to pep talk as well. The experience made me feel much more motivated to push. He has come on many runs since, including the long one on Saturday (12 min walk, 15 min run, 15 min walk). He keeps up just fine (well, with me, that isn't tough).

** Michael's quote: "When you hit the wall, you've just got to jump over it".

** I've talked before on here about not carrying anything iPod-like (if I had one), and trying to remain "mindful" and alert to the actual environment, sights and sounds of the route, yadda yadda, as I go. Getting into longer runs, however, I get sick of my own consciousness and thoughts pretty fast. I think listening to music would, in fact, be a lovely soundtrack to the running. I'm one of those people who craves, or even "needs" music all the time anyway, and it certainly is an outside "voice" or track that I could align my focus with so I don't find myself stuck on time elapsed, or any soreness, or things which hamper my concentration on the actual goal. I suspect none of this passage makes any sense to anyone but me.

** I tried my mom's treadmill one day while back home, for a mid-sized interval (walk for five, run for ten, walk for 10). I loved it, and it felt "easier". Again, some of that was the music I had playing on the stereo... but some of that was the fact that something else was keeping track of the pace, time and miles elapsed. Not something I want to get into the habit of because my 5K in 2.5 weeks will be outdoors, and conditions on a treadmill do not equate with the realities of an actual run outdoors. For example, when the ground is physically moving at a certain speed, this rather keeps the feet forcibly moving unless you press a switch or jump/fall off. Outdoors, I must keep my own feet moving by my own stimulus.

** I think I will have to get a bicycle again. I had too much fun on my old mountain bike back in PEI, just like old days. I love it and I've missed it dearly.

** I was so happy to run/walk/bicycle back in Stanhope, PEI. Never mind that it is my childhood home and full of emotional memory for me -- it is simply a beautiful place, and the trail/boardwalk which wraps around the Covehead Bay and connects to the National Park bike trail is perfect. In fact, being wistful is precisely why I've avoided writing in the past tense.

** So, this is week six. I'll try harder to keep at this part of the program.

Makes sense

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 00:44:16 GMT

Dr. Irving Oyle's Guide to Good Health

1. Eat when you are hungry.
2. Sleep when you are tired.
3. When nature calls, answer.
4. When it's cold, go inside.
5. Don't think of anything else while making love.

- Irving Oyle
The New American Medicine Show

Sat, 23 Aug 2008 01:03:39 GMT

My younger brother played in this program years ago, armed with an alto saxophone, back in his high school days

A note of confidence

After 10 years, the City Stages Youth Festival in downtown Charlottetown is going stronger than ever

City Stages

SALLY COLE
The Guardian

Chris Budhan gets excited when he talks about the first time he performed on Victoria Row.

In 1998, he and some musical friends from Colonel Gray High School in Charlottetown formed a seven-piece band called Los Guapachosos, won a Battle of the Bands contest and busked that summer on the popular pedestrian street where people sit at outdoor cafes.

“It was my first experience performing in front of a large audience outside the school system. And I got hooked.

“That summer I became interested in becoming a professional musician. I also became interested in my own artistic development. And I started a summer tradition,” says Budhan, now a doctoral student in music education at the University of Texas.

Everything about that summer seemed to strike a chord with him.

“It was the high of playing in front of a live attentive audience who gave feedback in their comments and their gratuities.

“It was also mentoring with drummer Guillermo Valle from El Salvador who taught us how to play Latin jazz,” he says.

Budhan also made some amazing friends.

“Through the band I met musicians Ian Toms and Ross MacDonald. Later, all of us would go to McGill University to study music together,” says Budhan.

By the time that summer was over, he wanted to share his experience with others.

So in 1999, he founded City Stages Youth Festival, which has been providing student participants with gigs on Victoria Row, as well as instruction and mentorship from professional artists ever since. It’s part of the Always on Stage program, which includes shows a couple of blocks away at the Visitors Information Centre at Founders’ Hall, as well as at nearby Fishbones restaurant.

The festival has also become a summer tradition for drummer Matt MacEachern.

“Each summer I look forward to playing on Victoria Row. This program has inspired me to keep playing and get deeper into jazz music,” says the Colonel Gray graduate who is entering the music program at McGill University this fall.

Last Thursday night, he was playing with artist-in-residence David Restivo.

The jazz legend was thrilled when he heard MacEachern’s news about his education plans.

“It doesn’t surprise me that Matt has been picked up by a major university. When I hear the level that someone like Matt is playing at, it doesn’t surprise me at all,” says Restivo.

The award-winning jazz pianist has made it a tradition to teach and mentor at this summer festival.

“The way that artistic disciplines perpetuate themselves is through modelling — passing on the information from one generation to the next.

“I can remember being a young musician and seeing people whom were a bit older than me performing at a very high level. The inspiration and the education that provided for me was wonderful.

“Now I’m in a position to give that back. And P.E.I. is a wonderful place to come in the summer to do that,” says the Toronto resident.

Although the City Stages Youth Festival has become a tradition, it is not staid. It’s ever evolving, says Budhan.

“We want to expand the scope of the program to represent multiple musical genres.

“So this summer we invited Stephen Pate to co-ordinate the singer-songwriter series,” says Budhan.

Working with five slots and six musicians, Pate, who is active in the Charlottetown music scene, selected some Island singer-songwriters to be part of the program and then endeavoured to give the artists opportunity to perform.

“It’s a great opportunity for the singer-songwriter because you get to play a lot more of your material than you would at an open mike. And if you have a fair amount of material, you can put it out and see what other people think about it,”?says Pate, who also performed during the series.

“I watch people’s feet and if their feet are moving, tapping to the music, then I’ll assume it’s a successful arrangement. If they’re not, then I’ll rework it over the next week,” says Pate, reflecting on his performances.

He shared the afternoon performance slot with Andrea MacDonald, Another Colour (Josh Kilbride and Evan Ceretti) Jessica Palmer and Ted Simmons this summer.

MacDonald, who is a folk singer, loves her weekly Victoria Row gig.

“For me it’s good practice and a good experience,” she says.

That’s exactly what Budhan was hoping to hear.

“The songwriter series has been a wonderful addition. It’s one of the genres that we want to represent,” he says.

Information: www.jazzstudent.

com.

Hmmm

Mon, 18 Aug 2008 12:48:02 GMT

Stigma of mental illness pervasive: CMA head

10% of Canadians think those who are ill could 'just snap out of it' if they wanted to, new survey finds

From Monday's Globe and Mail, August 18, 2008 at 4:00 AM EDT

MONTREAL — Almost half of Canadians believe that a diagnosis of mental illness is merely an "excuse for poor behaviour and personal failings" and one in 10 thinks that people with mental illness could "just snap out of it if they wanted," according to the startling findings of a new opinion poll.

The survey, commissioned by the Canadian Medical Association, shows that the stigma of mental illness remains pervasive, making it the "final frontier of socially acceptable discrimination," Canada's top doctor says.

Brian Day, a Vancouver orthopedic surgeon and president of the CMA, said the survey "shines a harsh, and frankly unflattering, light on the attitudes we Canadians have concerning mental health."

But he added that it is best to expose such views and tackle them head-on rather than allow stigma to fester. "It's important that these data be out there and we discuss them," Dr. Day said.

The survey of 1,002 Canadian adults, conducted by Ipsos-Reid, also found that:

One in four Canadians is afraid of being around someone who suffers from serious mental illness.

Only half of those surveyed would tell friends or co-workers that a family member was suffering from mental illness. By contrast, 72 per cent would openly discuss cancer and 68 per cent would talk about diabetes in the family.

Only 16 per cent said they would marry someone who suffered from mental illness, and 42 per cent said they would no longer socialize with a friend diagnosed with a mental illness.

Half of Canadians think alcoholism and drug addiction are not mental illnesses.

One in nine people think depression is not a mental illness, and one in two think it is not a serious condition.

Canadians are split as to whether the increase in the number of people with mental illness is because of better diagnosis, or the result of increasing stresses of modern life.

Jean-Bernard Trudeau, director of professional and hospital services at the Douglas Mental Health University Institute in Montreal, said the attitudes found in the survey are "deplorable but not that surprising."

However, he said, such views are not malicious, but rather the result of ignorance. "People are afraid of what they don't know. It just shows that we have to make a lot more effort to educate the public about mental illness," Dr. Trudeau said.

According to the new survey, three in every five Canadians think that mental-health care is under-funded. And 72 per cent think financing of mental-health treatment and prevention should be on a par with that of physical health.

About one in four Canadians will suffer from a diagnosable mental illness at some point in their lives. Contrary to popular belief, however, the vast majority recover. Mental illness costs the national economy $51-billion a year. according to research from the Centre for Addiction and Mental Health.

The survey on mental health is part of a larger National Report Card on Health Care, which the CMA publishes annually. This year, two-thirds of Canadians accorded the overall quality of the health system a grade of A or B, up slightly from last year. A failing mark was given by 7 per cent.

What doctors say

86 per cent of family doctors say they provide care for patients with chronic mental illnesses.

64 per cent of family doctors rate access to psychiatrists for their patients as being fair or poor.

Only 19 per cent of psychiatrists can see an urgent case within one day.

Psychiatrists are the worst-paid specialists in Canada, earning on average $175,444, about half as much as dermatologists.

The average waiting time to see a child psychiatrist is 5½ months; for adults, it's slightly shorter.

Sources: National Physician Survey; Wait Time Alliance; Canadian Institute for Health Information