I caught a virus over the weekend, stayed home from work on Monday, went in to work yesterday (mistake) and was sicker than ever today. Stayed in bed half the day, then spent another few hours lying on the couch reading.
I'm glad I went Chapters shopping before I got sick. Today I cracked the spine on The Art of Fielding, Chad Harbach's debut novel. I was holding onto it until I had time to give it a proper read. I like this part - a very true thing he writes about coaches...
" Schwartz knew that people loved to suffer, as long as the suffering made sense. Everybody suffered. The key was to choose the form of your suffering. Most people couldn't do this alone; you needed a coach. A good coach made you suffer in a way that suited you. A bad coach made everyone suffer in the same way, and so was more like a torturer."


I got bored of reading mid-afternoon but, feeling like a bag of poo, didn't feel like going anywhere. God, my hair and skin are dry. I remembered there was half an avocado going brown in the fridge - no good for eating but perfect for a honey-avocado face mask. I put the leftover in my hair and wrapped it in cling film. I ransacked the baskets in my bathroom, pulling out all the scented gift products I've received - SPA DAY!! After a jacuzzi, I feel much better, softer, smoother and my house smells like shea butter and coconut.

I was talking to Chrissy and she's sick too. I would think that we caught it at Melissa's wedding on Saturday except that it's been going around our office. This week there've been at least four people off sick every day.  Anyway, we both cancelled out of Pilates so Janet is proposing to the group that we go Sunday evening instead. I hope everyone goes for it because I hate to miss a session. I'm going up to Collingwood for the weekend but was coming home Sunday night anyway. You know, I was hoping my flu shot would protect me from stuff like this but I guess not.

Very sad news, KC and Marianne's Mom passed away suddenly. Funeral is set for Glen Oaks Memorial on Saturday at 3:30.

Melissa is getting married on Saturday at 2:30. Unfortunately I'll miss the ceremony, at which her brother will preside, but I will be out there for the reception. (fyi, there'll be a J.of P. on the side to make it official)

Cool stuff...Matt Abbott on a German tv show. Two twenty-somethings apply for jobs; a girl trying to become a waitress in a UK restaurant and a guy who wants to work rescue in British Columbia - Silver Star to be exact. The show flips back and forth between the two subjects. The segment for Silver Star begins around 16:34 but Matt's not in it until a little later, closer to 28:40 (he's the patient in black).

A beautiful, sunny day - I was thinking a trip down to Queen West would be a good plan but Ryan was working and the shopping trip just wouldn't be the same without my Q-West sidekick. I decided that downtown Oakville would suffice. When did they dial down the speed limit along Lakeshore Rd, west of Southdown? It's still 70 at the bottom end of Southdown but as soon as you round the bend, it drops to 60.

Oakville didn't disappoint. House Warmings was having a HUGE sale. So big, in fact, that I was concerned they were going out of business. Nope, even better news, they are just making room for the spring shipment. I don't think I've ever spent less at that store. And I came home with more than I usually purchase.

I could have sworn I saw Adam in town but he was across the road, a little too far to catch his attention and I was headed in the opposite direction. I thought he was in Florida but with the Grand Finale of Gold Medal Plates happening in Kelowna next weekend, it's very possible he stopped home on his way there.

At least one pair of petrocan deer have become pets of a sort. They were hanging around at the fence when I went out and when I came back 2 hours later. I imagine they're a good selling feature for the realtor having an open house across the road!

I seriously want to go dancing tonight. A few years ago (okay, a decade), if no one was up for it, I'd have just gone to a giant club around 11pm and done my thing - nobody would notice. But 52 is 52. The last time I went to see a live band at the Hideout , I was just hanging, leaning up against a wall enjoying the music. A guy who was completely stoned and reeked of weed was fascinated with me. He kept asking me who I was, he was guessing along the lines of Chrissy Hines or some ex-Toronto band front-woman. I told him I was no one, I just liked live music, but he wouldn't let it go. It was kind of crazy. I had to go to the ladies and wait a few minutes before I could go back to my wall pillar unmolested. Still, I saw him pointing me out to his friends. Actually, I was fine with that.  Another time I was in a club enjoying the band, I was with friends this time, and a guy asked if I was a narc. I was like, really?? No, not a narc. So what was I doing there? Looking for my kid? I just shook my head and walked away. Anyway, guess I'll be dancing in my living room tonight.

I went on a Port Credit pub crawl on Saturday night. We started in the Cue (nice to see both Conor (tending bar) and Donal (working the door)) and then moved to the Stable, Pumphouse, Harp and Spice. We ran into a few friends along the way. It was a great time! I bailed after Spice - couldn't drink any more.
On Sunday, I spent most of the day on the comfy couch in my pyjamas. Watching tv. So...relaxing. I liked it a lot.

Work in progress...


I'm committed now. I've said yes and booked a hotel room in Rarotonga. Not that there was ever any question about me returning to competition. I've missed it. Dropping off the map in 2007 left a big hole in my life. A hole that filled up with grief and worry for my dying parents and made me angry and lonely. I don't mean that I was alone. My son was back in Toronto, I hung out with friends, went on the occasional date, worked out at the gym and in my outrigger, I took up tennis and stand up paddling... Reviewing the checklist in my head, I was convinced that I was moving forward and getting on with life. Instead, I was just getting four years older.


Last year, in an attempt to regain some competitive spirit, I joined an outrigger club and completed my goal of racing in 2 events. I also did an adventure race with some guys from work that required me to paddle 12km and run a 6.5km leg through the York Forest. I felt a little like my old self but training was hard. In the intervening years I'd developed a taste for pinot grigio and shiraz and rediscovered my old friend, Cheeses. I'd hung a giant flatscreen tv in my basement and gotten used to doing what I wanted, when I wanted; sleeping until noon on weekends, lying on the couch watching hours of recorded programs, eating bad food and drinking every night. (I also suddenly had insight into the mind of every single guy I've known from my teens 'til now.)


I'd gained 20lbs and, because I hadn't really looked in a mirror for 4 years, it was like I'd gone to sleep one night weighing 135 and woken the next day at 155. It was a shock but, on the plus side, I'd finally gotten those C cups I'd wished for when I was 14! Compounding the weight issue, pronounced bunions now twisted my feet painfully. Ugh, I don't even want to talk about it. Just standing up first thing in the morning became a challenge.


Okay, so obviously things had to change. I was hoping for some external catalyst to come along and transform me. When that didn't happen I had to admit that all the hackneyed psycho-babble was right. When you can't change your circumstances, you have to change yourself. 


Trying to get back into some kind of routine, I started running again. It's always been my go-to activity. It requires minimal equipment and you can do it anytime, anywhere, in any weather. Plus, I genuinely enjoy it. But you try strapping on a 20lb fleshpack and see how enjoyable it is! In fact, everything is more difficult; riding a bike up a hill, moving an outrigger against the wind. And forget body weights! Push ups + 20lb fleshpack, body row + 20lb fleshpack, chin ups +...who am I kidding? I just stopped doing chin ups altogether. I used to like that gyms had mirrored walls reflecting your progress back at you. Now I just resent it.


The funny thing about life though, is once you start taking responsibility for yourself, the universe responds with gifts to support and promote your efforts. Gifts, I have to point out, that wouldn't be noticed or appreciated while you're feeling sorry for yourself.


Deciding to rejoin the world seemed to be the hardest part. Once I'd done that, it was like I flicked a switch. I received an email asking if I'd like to be part of an OC-6 crew planning to race in the Cook Islands in November 2012. There's no waffling on a decision like this. You're in or you're out. If I said yes and bailed later on, I'd be burning an important bridge and no one would ever consider me a serious racer again. I said yes and suddenly realized that it was true. I absolutely and unquestionably wanted to commit to this crew. And just like that, I stopped filling the void with food and wine and started getting up at 5am every day to go to the gym.

Okay, of course it never actually happens 'just like that'. The tools and support systems have to be in place if you're going to accomplish your goals. And I have that in spades. Over the past 18 years, I've trained with amazing coaches and athletes. The things I've learned from them form a solid foundation upon which I continue to build. I constantly refer to my training logs from those years, for workouts, inspiration or reminders that it wasn't always easy. I review the workouts and tips I find in books and on the web pages of athletes I admire and work them into my routine. On top of that, I'm fortunate to be surrounded by some truly impressive people. Continually inspiring and supportive, they provide the impetus for all kinds of endeavors.

One of the most important springboards for my personal transformation was the Christmas gift I received from my friend, Marisha. It's a framed magazine article about a women's OC-6, the winners of the 1990 Na Wahine o Ke Kai. When she tore it out of Shape magazine in January of 1991, Marisha didn't even know what an outrigger was. It was those women, propelling a 400 pound boat 41 miles across the treacherous Kaiwi Channel, that impressed her so much. She'd stuck it on her fridge as motivation when she took up rowing and it's hung there all these years, helping her stay focused on her goals while she put herself through law school and won a boatload of medals and awards in various sports. Now she was passing it on to me, saying she hoped it would inspire me in the same way.

Until I got this gift, I'd forgotten the importance of touchstones in the process of achievement. When you're about to let fatigue, pain or inertia get the best of you, there has to be a timely reminder that you're better than that, to switch your attitude to "GO"! Do the work, stay focused and, as Winston Churchill said, "Deserve Victory!".

I've hung the photo in my kitchen where I see it every day; walking down the stairs in the morning, preparing meals, getting my coffee, sitting on the stairs tying my shoes or gathering my things to head out the door. It's encouraging on so many levels. I'm inspired by the words printed on the page, by the accomplishments of those women and by those of the friend who gave it to me. When my brain tells me to skip a workout because I'm sore or tired or I just feel like having chicken wings, its a  powerful token of what I hope to accomplish 10 months from now, or next year or the year after that.


And because it was a gift, I know there are people who believe I'm capable of big things, even when I question it myself.


I don't know anything about the conditions we'll face in the South Pacific. I've never raced on the open ocean or heard anything about the crews against which we'll compete. What I do know is, I have everything I need to do the work, put in the kilometres and prepare myself to compete at the highest level of my ability. I'll be ready.

I've never really been a fan of the Oxford comma. Even before advances in technology promoted the compression of language, I thought it was extravagant. Seriously, how many commas and conjunctions do you need to get your point across? Context has to count for something.
I haven't written it off completely because so many of its proponents are people or journals I respect. Lately though, I find myself edging closer to partial acceptance because of this...

A couple of things referencing 1988 dropped into my mailbox today. They made me smile...