Vancouver=Expensive Shoes and Cell Phones

So this week I made a little pilgrimage to Vancouver to do a some Christmas shopping. I spent 3 days and 2 nights wandering aimlessly and spending hoardes of money. And I’ve learned a few things about Vancouver I feel the need to share. These are not necessarily facts, but more my observations and opinions of this particular city after having visited for a few days.

Vancouverites are terrible drivers. This, I believe, is not necessarily due to the fact that they are actually bad at driving, but have become bad drivers because of the city in which they drive. The traffic here is insane. And it should be. There are millions of people living here. But in some cases there’s really no need for it. Here are a few things I’ve learned from the little driving I’ve done in Vancouver. You will get honked at. It doesn’t matter how well you drive, it will happen. People here are very fond of their horns, and like to use them often. My hotel was downtown and had very thin windows, and I don’t think an hour went by, at any time of the day, that I didn’t hear a car horn. I myself even used it once. But only once, and only because the guy wanted to turn left in front of me as I was going straight through an intersection. But many like to use their horns if you sit too long at a light that has just turned green. True enough, most people will honk if you sit too long at a green light after it has changed. But in Vancouver, the waiting period before the honk has significantly decreased. Normally you might get 5 seconds or so. If you’re ever in Vancouver, wait 3. I can almost guarantee you’ll get a honk from behind you. Because that guy behind you is very important and has important places to go, and if you don’t immediately mash your accelerator to the floor, clearly you aren’t paying attention and need to be reminded that a green light means you can go. And you must go. Now. Or they’ll honk. It is also impossible, mostly in downtown Vancouver, to make a left turn. There are no left turn signals, but rather many, many no left turn signs. Which generally means you have to make several right turns and go farther than needed to get where you’re going. Which is not as easy as it sounds, considering that some streets just like to end before you get to the spot where you can turn right to get around the block because you couldn’t turn left before. At one point I got so lost because of this particular problem I ended up going down a back alley and making a 20 block detour. Mostly because at one intersection I wasn’t allowed to turn left. After this I quickly decided that instead of driving to the big mall I wanted to go to, I would trek down 4 blocks and take the Skytrain. Best decision ever. It costs $3.25 to take the Skytrain from downtown to Metrotown mall, and it was $3.25 well spent. That’s $6.50 I probably would’ve spent on gas just sitting in traffic getting there anyway. And it saved me the headache of driving in downtown again. So if you’re visiting Vancouver, park your car and take transit. You won’t be sorry. (And it’s a little better for the environment, too.)

Being a pedestrian in Vancouver isn’t easy either. There seem to be certain things people downtown like to do that make little sense and are sometimes even dangerous. Like even though the walk-man signal has stopped, they figure they can start crossing the street anyway. And they then get a bewildered look on their face when the light turns green and some guy honks at them. When I was in Vegas, if the walk sign had changed, you don’t go. ‘Cause the cabbies will run you over. At least in Vancouver all they do is honk. They might swear at you, but you can’t hear that part because they won’t roll down their windows because they’re afraid of fresh air. And it might let a little more of that new car smell out of their fancy BMW. The other thing I noticed pedestrians do is line up right at the edge of the sidewalk and wait to cross. With their toes either on the road or very close. I even saw a few guys stand directly on the road and wait for the light to change. I don’t know about anyone else, but I value my toes too much to do that.

And Vancouverites love their cell phones. If you walk down the street, any street, just pick one, you’ll see someone talking on a cell phone. Or text messaging. Or just idly flipping their phone open and closed so everyone around them notices they have one. If I get brain cancer later in life, I’m pretty sure it’ll be because of those 3 days I spent in Vancouver and all the cellular waves that passed through my skull.

The ladies, and even some of the men, also clearly love their shoes. Stilettos, fancy work shoes for the guys, even shiny sparkly flats, all of them very expensive and very impractical. Stilettos, for instance, boggle my mind in that city. None of the sidewalks are flat. They’re all bumpy and uneven. How do these women not break their ankles just getting from one boutique to the next? And how do they manage to even walk at all? Well, that second one has nothing to do with Vancouver, just my own puzzlement over stiletto heels. I’m pretty sure my feet would fall off if I tried to do all the walking I did in stilettos. Even in my pink runners, which I wore because they looked slightly better than the Mizuno’s that have several hundred kilometres and a marathon on them, after a day my dogs were more than barking. They were howling like coyotes on the Alberta prairies. If you’re planning on going to Vancouver and walking anywhere, wear comfortable shoes. You’ll thank me later. Oh, and as a side note, apparently skinny jeans are still cool. I thought this craze had passed last season, but I may have mis-read that particular memo. It’s a shame, really, since no one looks good in skinny jeans. Even if they are a size 0.

There are a lot of “meterosexuals” in Vancouver as well, so there are quite a few guys walking around in fancy shoes. And it’s not just the shoes with the guys. They also dress pretty good. Given, there are the ones wearing fancy suits that likely cost more than my entire university education, but they have a reason for that: work. It’s the ones in the fancy jeans, wool coats and scarves that get me. If it was 1830, I’d probably call them dandies. But it does make for some delightful people watching. Especially if you’re a lady. There’s just somethin’ about a well-dressed man. And it’s constant eye candy in the downtown area. Just park yourself on a chair outside one of the cafes, position a drool cup under your chin and enjoy. In fact, I think April, Becky, Kristi and I need to plan a random trip to Vancouver just so we can ogle the men on Robson Street. Trust me ladies, it’d be worth the money.

The service in some stores can be confusing, too. I’m used to walking into a store and having someone ask me if I need help finding anything. Usually I just say I’m only looking and they leave me alone. But it’s nice to be asked, because sometimes you do actually need a hand finding something. But in most places in Vancouver, I didn’t get asked at all. And then when I really would have asked for help, there was no one to be found. Anywhere. I did find, however, that in some of the smaller, less expensive stores, the staff was much more friendly and actually did ask if I needed help finding anything. And I give mad props to all the little stores in Chinatown, where I think the service might be the best in the city. You might not be able to understand it all, but I found the storeowners so eager to please, one guy even offered to carry a couple pictures I bought several blocks away to my car, even though they weren’t very big or heavy, and I hadn’t paid very much for them.

I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I’d move to Vancouver for Stanley Park. Acres and acres of forest and trails. And kilometres of paved running trails uninterrupted by roads and stop lights. Sheer running bliss. And the Seawall’s flat, too. So there’re no hills to contend with. I used to wonder why anyone would move to Vancouver and now I know. Stanley Park.

So that, in a nutshell, was my little trip to the giant metropolis known as Vancouver. It’s really not a bad city. That is, if you can chill out, don’t need to get anywhere too fast, and have a lot of patience for hearing car horns.

21 km isn't Really That Far...

Greetings avid readers! Well, it has been a while since I updated this here blog, but it’s also been a while since my last adventure, so forgive me for my absence. Today’s topic will be the Royal Victoria Half Marathon, which took place on October 6, 2007. As you may have previously read, I have in fact participated in a previous half marathon, in the Comox Valley earlier this year. And unlike my foray into extreme distances in Vancouver, this particular race was a mere half marathon.

When I say “mere”, I am referring to a distance of 21.1 km. To many of you this may seem far, but to me, after having run my first full marathon only 6 months ago, half the distance doesn’t really seem that far. In fact, it seemed almost easy. Sure, I was tired after I finished, but I was also thinking “is that it?” Which leads me to believe that I may need to run another full marathon at some point, as the half left me feeling somewhat unfulfilled.

So for the numbers. As previously mentioned, the distance was 21.1 km, or for those of you who think this is still 1970, 13.1 miles. My previous time from the Comox half marathon was 2 hours and 4 minutes, which works out to about 6 minutes per kilometer. In Victoria, my time was 1 hour and 59 minutes, which works out to around 5 minutes and 40 seconds per kilometer. To the non-runners out there this might not sound like a big deal. So I beat myself by 5 minutes. Big whoop. Well, yes, it actually is. My “natural” pace (that is, the pace I run at when time is not a factor and I’m just out for a leisurely jog), is about 6 minutes and 20 seconds per kilometer. This means that in Victoria I ran every kilometer 40 seconds faster than the speed my body seems to like best. Big deal, right? 40 seconds isn’t a lot of time. Really? Well try doing it for 2 hours! That 5 minutes might not seem like that big a deal, but it is. Coincidentally for those keeping track, I ran the full marathon doing about 6 minutes and 30 second kilometers-which is damn slow compared to 5:40/kilometer. So yes, beating myself by 5 minutes IS a big deal. I’ll stop lecturing now.

As for the race itself it wasn’t particularly eventful. I ran for 2 hours. There were other people. So I’ll try to recount a few of the little things I remember.

Early in the race I was concerned that I would chicken out and decide not to keep the pace I had set for myself, so I decided if I could, I would find a person or group running the pace I wanted and just tail them for the rest of it. And it worked, for the first half. I found these two older guys who were running between 5:40/km and 5:30/km consistently, so I tried to keep up with them. One of the guys had an almost handle-bar moustache and looked a little like the Monopoly guy. Do not pass go, do not collect $200, go directly to jail. At about half-way I lost them on an uphill (damn those infernal uphills!), so I was on my own for the rest of the way. I was a little irritated for some of the race, because there we so many people I had to keep dodging around. There were around 5,000 in the half marathon. This might not seem like that many, considering there were twice that many in the full marathon in Vancouver, but with the shorter course, we didn’t get the chance to thin out as much. Which left me dodging the walk/runners when they were walking, and looking back over my shoulder every now and then to make sure if I swerved I wasn’t going to get beaned by anyone that came screaming up behind me.

Victoria has a beautiful course, though. It started in downtown and led us through a park, then down to the water. As we were coming back the sun was rising so there was a (and this one’s for you, Beau) pretty sunrise to look at for a few km. And the sun even came out for a few minutes near the end. Though a few minutes after I crossed the finish line it did start to rain again. Which made me a pretty happy I hadn’t decided to go for the full. Oh, and about 15 km into the race there was, and I’m not joking here, a beer station. Really. It was just someone outside their house handing out half-full cups of beer. And it was actual beer. I didn’t have any, but I saw them opening the cans. How cool is that? I’m sure they would’ve had a lot more takers if they were at to the finish line, though. It’s hard to run and drink at the same time, and when it’s beer you don’t want to spill.

I ran this race with a cold. Glen managed to give it to me about three days before the race and I spent those 3 days cursing him. Ask him, he’ll tell you. Though that morning I did feel much better, it probably wasn’t the best idea for me to be out in the chilly morning air trying to run fast for 2 hours while I was also trying to get over a cold. I went downhill in the health department for a few days after that. I’m just now starting to feel normal again (a week and a half later). So why didn’t I just not go? Well, number one is I’m far too stubborn to let a little illness stop me. Or stupid. I’ll leave that one up to you. Second, I worked my ass off for three months for those 2 hours. Third, I had already booked the hotel room, registered and paid for the race, and finagled several trades so I could get the weekend off work. So short of a nuclear holocaust, I was going to run. And I managed what is known as a “personal best”, so there!

After the race Glen felt the need to point out all the salt that had precipitated on my face. And it was a lot. I hope it comes through in the picture. I theorize it may have been because of the cold I was sweating a little more than usual, and with no rain to wash it off, it just stayed there. In a gross, crusty ring around my cheeks and ears. Yummy.

So that’s my experience running the half marathon in Victoria. Stay tuned for my next adventure!

The Epic Hike that is The South Boundary

For those that I forgot to tell or just don’t really talk to much, I recently came back from a two week backpacking trip through the Jasper wilderness, on a trail known as the South Boundary. It starts at Medicine Lake on the road up to Maligne Lake and goes south, and skirts the south boundary of the park as it heads towards the Icefields Parkway. The last day it actually leaves Jasper National Park and comes out at Panther Falls in Banff, about 10 minutes south of the Columbia Icefields. I went with my sister (Jana) and our friend Charlene (or Slacker, as she is better known). Sounds like a good way to spend a holiday, right?

So the South Boundary Trail is a long walk through the bush. Really. That’s pretty much it. But since elaboration is obviously necessary, I’ll lay out the “highlights” of each day, as best I remember them-with a little help from the trip log book I kept. The whole trip was 14 days long, and we covered 172 km of trail.

Day 1: Jacques Lake Camp (the camp we stayed at that night), 13 km (the approx. number of km we hiked that day). A hike on relatively flat ground to get to delightful camp with picnic tables, designated tent pads, and one of the famous “green thrones” Jasper is so famous for (for those who don’t hike the Jasper backcountry-a molded plastic toilet with no walls but an actual seat). I would later learn that that last amenity was few and far between on this trip, and quite a luxury. Not much happened on Day 1, really. Jacques lake is quite beautiful, though. I would go back there for an overnight or a day trip if I happened to be in Jasper for a while and needed something to do. Oh, and we had one of the more filling meals of the trip this day, 2 boxes of Kraft Dinner between the 3 of us.

Day 2: Grizzly Camp, 11 km (I’ll mention at this point that none of the distance markers on the trail were right-they didn’t even agree with each other. One would say it was 12 km to the next camp, but then you’d get there and the sign would say you’d just gone 14 km. And though my sister tried to estimate the distance, she was off by a few km most days, though we don’t blame her, since getting any information on this trail was extremely difficult.). It rained through the night, so as we walked through the bush for the first part of the morning, none of us wearing our rain pants, we got completely soaked from the brush overhanging the trail. Then we ended up in a burnt area that a forest fire had ripped through a couple years previous. There were signs before we got there warning of unstable trees that could fall at any time. One of the tips Slacker liked was to “spread out to prevent multiple casualties”. I actually didn’t mind this day so much. There was a little up, a little down, and the lack of trees meant you could see the surrounding mountains and scenery. Though the trees did creak rather ominously when the wind picked up and pieces of bark kept flying off them and hitting us. We also had to climb over a few fallen burnt trees, effectively covering our pants and hands in a lovely layer of black soot. One nice thing about this day was that fireweed had grown up in most of the area. So there were pretty flowers to look at, and as an added bonus, they don’t hurt when they whack you in the face like tree branches do. The campsite was another story. A fire pit plunked down next to the river, with a small cleared area to pitch your tent. The “privy”, as they were now being referred to, was a log nailed between two trees with a hole dug underneath it. Classy.

Just a note here, after the first 2 days my memory gets a bit fuzzy, so I’ll be relying on the log book to try and remember it. It’s not that I have a bad memory or anything, but with a total of 14 days hiking through bush that all looks the same and staying at campsites that are all basically the same, it all really starts to blur together.

Day 3: Climax Camp (or pleasure camp, as Jana calls it), 12 km. It rained the night before, so everything was wet again. The only really eventful thing that happened today was when we came to a river we thought we had to cross without a bridge. There was some significant profanity from Jana when we got there and didn’t see any bridge, or even any remains of a bridge. And it was a raging river, people. We’re talking one of those sub-zero, super fast flowing mountain rivers. Since I was the biggest, I had a go at crossing it with my sandals on. Yeah. I got about ½ a metre from the bank and it was suddenly at crotchular level. And when the water’s that cold, crotchular level is not good. Plus it was going way too fast and there’s no way I would’ve made it, since the damn thing was probably 6 or 8 metres across, I had only made it ½ a metre. So after some serious studying of the map I decided we had to go farther up the river, since it looked like the bridge went perpendicular to this one ridge, and where we were trying to cross we were parallel. So the boots went back on and we walked up the river-and hallelujah, there was a bridge! Thanks to the Flying Trail Crew of 1992 (there was a sign), we had a bridge to cross over. A rickety bridge with gaps between the boards big enough for Slacker to fit through, but a bridge nonetheless. That was pretty much our excitement for the day. After today we didn’t see people for 8 more days.

Day 4: Rocky Forks Camp, 10 km. This is the day I started to lose my ambition for hiking through the bush and the total boredom that comes with it. On this trail the actual trail itself is a deep rut-2 feet deep in places-through the bush. So you spend most of the day staring at your feet trying not to trip over tree roots and rocks. Super fun. This is also the day the conversation died a little, so there wasn’t much talking on the trail for the rest of the trip. One of the main reasons for this, though, is that the trail itself is really narrow, so you have to hike single file. And when there’s 3 of you all spread out, it’ hard to hear each other, no less carry on a conversation. So we didn’t do much talking after this. Rocky Forks camp wasn’t exactly stellar. The only water source was a really scungy looking, stagnant pond. It was as though they just picked a spot and plunked the camp down right there.

Day 5: Lagrace Camp, 18 km. Today was the longest day, but we had a break planned when we got to Medicine Tent Camp about halfway through the day’s hike. When we did get to Medicine Tent we felt pretty cheated. It was one of the nicer camps, it had benches, a rather comfy privy log, and it was next to one spot in the river where it went deep into a pool off to the side and the current wasn’t too strong, so you could’ve had a bath there if you wanted. But we only stopped for a bit to dry a few things out in the few minutes of sun we had and have a quick granola bar. Then it was on to Lagrace Camp, which wasn’t too bad. It started to rain just as we were starting dinner, so after we cleaned everything we got into the tent for shelter. I should say now that we had a crib board and cards to pass the time, and Slacker and I played quite a few games of crib and lying-down war. Lying-down war is when you’re both lying in the tent and too lazy to actually sit up, so instead up putting your cards down you hold them up above you so you can lie down and play. I don’t know what the final tally for wins and losses was between us for the trip, but I think it ended up fairly even in the end.

Day 6: Cairn Pass Camp, 12 km. Today I really started to smell the stench that is 3 unwashed people. The last night was easily the worst, but even today when I crawled into the tent I could smell us. It’s now wonder we didn’t see any animals, they probably smelled us a mile away. What’s that you smell Bob? I think it’s unshowered human. Maybe we should avoid that particular area today… Anyways, today we went over Cairn Pass, which is 2250 metres in elevation. It wasn’t actually too bad a climb, in my opinion anyways. The view was good from the pass, though it would’ve been even better if the cloud cover had been higher. It rained the night before, so everything was completely soaked, including us when we got to camp. There was a big fire pit at Cairn Pass Camp, though, and we decided that the rainy, miserable nature of the weather warranted starting a fire if we could actually get one going with wet wood. Well Slacker managed to get one started and we kept it going for a bit with some already chopped wood someone had left there previously. We dried out most of our socks, burnt a few of them, and this is where I burnt Glen’s camp towel. It still works, there’s just a brown spot on it that won’t wash out now. It was quite a sight to see our socks draped over the edge of the fire pit with steam coming off them. This was also the day I discovered that the hiking itself isn’t nearly so boring when you get a good daydream going. After today I didn’t have too many days where I was totally bored. Tired of trudging through the bush, yes, but not bored. Today was also the day Jana started whipping out songs from “Annie”. It’s actually quite fun belting out “Tomorrow” at the top of your lungs in the middle of nowhere.

Day 7: Cairn River Camp, 14 km. Half-way done. Finally! It had rained through the night, but we decided we didn’t want to wear our rain pants today. Big mistake. The trail was overgrown with bushes, so we all ended up totally soaked. And not just wet, but totally soaked, the kind of wet where your pants start sticking to your legs. Then we came to a river we had to cross. Not a very big one, easily crossable. Jana took her boots off to cross, but Slacker said hers, which actually had “waterproof” stamped right on them, were so wet there was no point taking them off. So she walked right through. I took one boot off and tested the rocks, but they were pretty slippery, and at that point all I wanted was to get to camp and crawl into my sleeping bag. Plus my boots were pretty wet already, so I put my boot back on and tromped through the creek with my boots on. It wasn’t so bad, actually. I poured the puddles out of my boots on the other side and we continued. We then crossed another creek and found camp. I decided that today was finally the day to wash my hair, since it had now been 7 days since I had done that. Plus my scalp was getting wicked itchy. So in the arctic fresh river I washed my hair. I swear it’s never felt so good to have clean hair.

Day 8: Southesk Camp, 9 km. Paradise. That’s how I would’ve described this camp the day we strolled into it. But I’ll get back to that later. It rained on us during the night and stopped just as we were straggling out of the tent in the morning. We hiked for a bit in the bush and then ended up in another burnt area, which we followed for quite a while. We then crossed a river, merely guessing that the trail continued on the other side. This was based on some ancient signs Jana spotted on the other side. Then we followed a sign that said “foot bridge”, hoping it would take us to a bridge so we could get across the bigger river. This trail wound up a hill, through the burnt area, and actually led us outside the national park boundary and into an area that had obviously been used by many, many quads. So there were a lot of trails to follow and not a lot of signs to tell us which to take. Thankfully I can read a map half-decent and we actually managed to make it to the foot bridge and across the river. Where our next challenge started. The bridge took us across the river, but the trail just sort of ended. And we were still in one of the burned parts, so it was even hard to guess. Then someone saw an axe mark cut into a tree just ahead. So far we’d seen them on trees just next to the trail-we figured they were for the parks people so they could find the trail after winter. So, like breadcrumbs, we followed the axe marks and finally caught up with the trail. At that point it turned into a clear-cut line that had been made as a firestop, which seemed to stretch forever. But then we made it to camp. Camp was a little piece of land that jutted out into a little shallow lake, and it had a pretty nice view. It just happened to be warm and sunny that day, so Slacker and I decided we were going for a swim. 8 days without a shower and you’d be thinking the same thing. It wasn’t too bad, actually. And the night we spent at Southesk was one of the 2 that it didn’t rain on us. As an added bonus, we also got to start the next day out with dry socks and boots, courtesy of the sun.

Day 9: Issac Creek Camp, 13 km. Just before we got to Issac Creek is where Jana had actually drawn in a part on the map, because it wasn’t actually there. Up until this point there’d been an actual dotted line that came on the map itself, but now we were basically guessing where the trail actually went, on the map anyways. I blanked out a good chunk of this day, since it was mostly through the bush, and boring as hell. Just before we got to camp we had to cross another creek, this one was a bit bigger than the ones that came before it. I was wandering around looking for a spot when Jana got tired of waiting and just gum-booted it right through. But it worked and we got to camp. Issac Creek was also a horse camp, thus there was a delightful green throne that I enjoyed a little too much, and benches to sit on. Well, the sitting wasn’t so great since they’d left the logs round, so they were a little hard on the arse, but it beats sitting on the ground.

Day 10: Arete Camp, 17 km. It rained on us during the night. There were actually 2 trails leading from Issac Creek Camp. One was pretty wide and well-used, the other was narrower but still well-used. The narrower one of the national park hiker/horse sings pointing to it. So two roads diverged in a wood… We discussed which to take, but I was pretty sure the parks people wouldn’t put that sign up for no reason, and I managed to convince Jana and Slacker of the same thing. So we took the road less traveled. This was still the part of the trail the map didn’t have on it, though this was the day we came back onto the established part of the map. The hike itself was mostly flat that day, but I was a little on edge since I wasn’t sure we had taken the right trail, and if we ended up having to backtrack, it was basically my fault. So I felt much better when we finally came across the Arete ranger cabin and I knew we were going in the right direction. And when I knew Jana and Slacker weren’t going to lose it on me. It sprinkled for a good portion of this day, and most of the time we were actually in camp, so we spent the better part of the day inside the tent. It was starting to get pretty cold today, and I think this is the first day the toques came out. This was also the day we decided would be good for the chicken noodle soup we brought. And for future reference, one packet of Lipton’s chicken noodle soup is not enough food for 3 hikers.

Day 11: Brazeau River Camp, 13 km. I had rained again during the night, so once again Jana was packing a wet tent. The hike to Brazeau River wasn’t so bad, though I though at one point Slacker was going to lose it when one sign said we still had 3 km left when we should’ve been almost there. Just before we got to camp we went by the Brazeau ranger cabin, and does that guy have it made! Stockpile of chopped wood, outhouse with walls, warm cabin, and to top it off, a nice little fence around his yard. It almost makes you want to become a park warden. Anyways, the sun broke through the clouds for a few hours once we got to camp, so Slacker and I managed to do a little washing in the river while it wasn’t too cold. Brazeau River Camp was pretty deluxe-2 picnic tables, actual tent pads and a green throne with a nice view to boot. We even managed to play a few games of cards on the picnic table before the weather turned and started to rain on us again.

Day 12: South Wolverine Camp, 9 km. This, in my opinion, was one of the two best days of the trip. It started out really terrible. It rained all night and as we were leaving in the morning it was so cold I think it may actually have been snowing. When we did get to our stop for the night we could see a fresh coat of snow on the mountains. And given that the cloud cover was pretty low but we could still see the snow from the valley, you can guess it was pretty cold. As we were nearing camp, Slacker pointed ahead and said she saw people. After 8 days, the sight of other people was actually quite strange. It was almost like, what are you doing out here? I thought we were the only ones out here in the bush. So we kept going, and it kept raining. We were so miserable when we got to camp that we set up the tent and crawled into our sleeping bags to warm up. After a nap we got up and made dinner, and as we were finishing, four guys strolled into camp, dripping wet. That was when the clouds started to break up and blue sky began appearing. It widened out over the whole valley, and soon we were literally basking in the sunlight. Literally. Jana has a video of the basking. Then, the guys managed to get a fire started, and invited us to enjoy-so we grabbed our wet socks and boots and dried everything as best we could. And at that point, dry socks were a luxury we thought we’d never get. And then, the piece de resistance, the icing on the cake, one of the guys offered us chocolate. That’s right, chocolate. After 12 days in the bush, chocolate. The look on Slacker’s face was priceless. We went to bed very happy that night.

Day 13: Boulder Creek Camp, 10 km. We woke up to frost and below zero temperatures. It was bloody cold, and really hard to get moving. Charlene’s boots, though drier than they’d been the previous day thanks to the fire, were basically frozen solid. The sky, however, was clear and blue, which gave us hope that the day might not totally suck like the many that had come before it. After some cold cereal (which paled in comparison to the feast the men brought), we went on our way. That day I decided not to wear my rain pants. I should have. I was soaked in seconds, and since the soaking agent just happened to be ice crystals, I was freezing. Not since I moved from Alberta have my thighs been so cold. The guys had warned us the day before that the trail disappeared and basically turned into a stream, and they didn’t lie. At one point, it was no longer trail, but us hopping between high points in a marsh, trying to figure out where to go next. We did find the trail again. The mountains, I might add, looked particularly nice that day because of their pristine new coat of white snow. The hike wasn’t too bad after we got out of the marsh, though it did start to go uphill in a big way. Boulder creek campground was a little windy, but not too bad. We had the one dessert we brought that night-a freeze-dried concoction called cherry blast. It was really more like goopy pie filling. I thought it wasn’t too bad, but Jana and Slacker didn’t really like it. Today, I might also mention, was gorge day. By that I mean that all the food we’d been rationing the whole trip because we didn’t want to run out we could eat. So we basically gorged and ate everything there was to eat except what we knew we weren’t going to need the next day on the hike out. It was awesome.

Day 14: Home. 10 km. This was one of the days it didn’t rain on us the night before, and trust me when I say Jana was ecstatic she didn’t have to carry a wet tent up over Nigel pass. We had breakfast at lightning speed and away we went. I might also mention this was probably the only day I was actually ready to go before Jana. The trail up the pass was just that, up. Up in a big way. There was no pussy-footing about it, you had to get over the pass, so you hike straight up the really steep hill. But it was worth it. Even though there were clouds there was a nice view and I may have gotten a little picture happy at this point. After the pass it was pretty much downhill through meadows and bush to the end. There was a few km’s of trail where we could hear the highway and almost see cars, but we were going parallel to the road. It was very frustrating that we could hear the cars but we weren’t there yet. Slacker almost had a breakdown from hunger, but once she got her fruit-to-go out and had that she was better. And did we get some looks from the tourists when we waltzed out of the bush. I think they may have been able to smell us. Let’s just say the bridge over Panther Falls cleared off pretty quick once we got there. Then we managed to convince Dad to go back through Jasper, and we had Jasper Pizza and beer, and everything was good again. Ahh, sweet civilization…

And now for everyone’s favorite, the little tidbits I feel the need to elaborate on:

Breakfast. Jana and Slacker had come up with this fantastic idea of putting cereal in a Ziploc bag with a tablespoon of powdered milk for breakfast. That way, it was just add water and voila, breakfast. It was actually pretty good most days. I found the Lucky Charms a little too sweet, but Slacker happily traded me for her share of the granola cereal. This carried the added bonus of being a really quick breakfast with no need to set up the stove or even do any dishes. Just rinse off your spork and the Ziploc bag and away you go. It was brilliant, really.

Food. I was hungry almost the entire time we were out. My stomach was making noises I haven’t ever really heard before. Strange grumblings, and pretty much all the time, not just when I was actually hungry. I think it may have been all the Lipton’s Sidekicks we were eating. Which, with the exception of some rice and mashed potatoes, was pretty much all we ever ate for dinner. Near the end I was actually missing meat. Me. But the up side of that would be that I actually lost 9 lbs on that trip. Granted, at least 3 of those were water weight from dehydration, but that’s still 6 lbs of actual weight. So there’s your answer for quick weight loss-go hiking in the middle of nowhere. But it’s not like we didn’t bring much food. When we left, we had 3 10 litre drybags and one 20 litre and they were so full we were almost having trouble closing them. This also made the first few days of pulling the food up to the bear pole on that skinny rope Jana brought a little unnerving. It also took 2 people pulling on the rope to hoist everything up until about 4 days from the end, when Jana managed it by herself.

Jana the camping nazi. So I realized after a few days that while hiking, my sister gets a little annoying. And here’s why. When Jana wakes up for the day she jumps out of her sleeping bag, packs all her stuff and has everything out of the tent before I even have time to roll over. After a while she started to whine that I took too long in the mornings. But what’s the rush? We got to most camps before 3 in the afternoon, so it’s not like we were pressed for time. And I’m on vacation. I’m allowed to move slow. I need time to lie there and just be thankful I didn’t get eaten or otherwise violated by a bear in the middle of the night. Is that so wrong?

TP. At one point in the trip I realized if I kept going the way I was with my toilet paper, I was going to run out. We had each brought 2 full rolls with us, and we figured that would be plenty. It wasn’t. Near the end, I was down to using maybe 3 or 4 squares in the hopes that the last little bit left on my roll would make it to the last day. It didn’t. But luckily Slacker doesn’t use nearly as much TP with each visit to the privy as a Damgaard, and she had a sizeable amount on her roll the second last day when I actually ran out. So she was more than generous when she said I could borrow for the next day if I had to go. Never before have I needed to “ration” my toilet paper. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. And I don’t want to experience it again. Though it did make me very grateful for a while afterwards that every time I went to use the facilities I could use as much as I wanted.

So there it is, my 2 weeks in the bush, summarized as best I can.

Two miserable days on the Juan de Fuca Trail.

A warning to my avid readers, this post is very long. So if you're at work, make sure the boss is in a meeting or on a break, `cause it’s going to take you a while to read it.

Today’s little foray into my life will consist of my experience hiking the Juan de Fuca trail on the west coast of Vancouver Island. As many of you know, I have occasionally enjoyed the hiking, so I thought for our first wedding anniversary this would be and interesting thing for Glen and I to do. We planned to park our car at the north end of the trail and take the shuttle to the south end, thus hiking back to the car. We were going to take 3 days to hike, staying 2 nights at campsites along the trail.

We caught the shuttle and were on the trail at 10 am. Everything was peachy as we came out onto Mystic beach. That was the last time anything could be referred to as peachy. The terrain got significantly worse from there. Here’s how it went: up a steep hill, down a steep hill, over a creek, repeat several times until exhaustion sets in. Then continue the pattern until you wish you were back at home. We were planning on staying at Chin beach the first night, which was 21 km from where we started, so after about an hour of this we knew we were going to have to go like stink. Plus when you realize it’s taking you about 30 minutes to go a mere 1 km, you start to think you might be in over your head, and that making Chin beach is just wishful thinking. But we hiked on.

We got to Bear beach and stopped to use the outhouse and have a snack. As we were about to leave, I realized my camera had fallen off my backpack somewhere along the beach. After searching for about 45 min, we gave up. In the process of searching, I tripped on a rock, fell onto a rock, and took a healthy chunk of skin off my right knee. With a lost camera and a bleeding knee, I decided I wasn’t having fun anymore.

We kept going down the beach and got to the end, and as we were looking for a sign to figure out where trail met beach, two fellows came along behind us. Glen asked them if they’d found a camera. Praise whatever god you pray to, they had found our camera! Things were starting to look up again. The next problem was finding the trail again. The map we had been looking at wasn’t very helpful, and we thought maybe it was farther along the beach. So the two Czech guys and us took our boots off and waded through this pool at the end of the beach, figuring the trail started again on the other side, and that the tide was just coming in. It wasn’t. We were lost. After some discussion and walking back along the beach again, we spotted a sign. It was through a creek and up a steep hill, but that’s where the trail went. So our next obstacle was crossing this stream. The bed of said stream was actually rock, which would’ve been fine, except there was this delightfully slimy moss growing on the rock, thus making the streambed extremely slippery. So you hold onto the rope and walk through the stream. Thankfully the water wasn’t very deep, and we were at least smart enough to wear our waterproof boots. However, the moss was very slippery, and I nearly lost it about halfway through. Thankfully I made it, and up another steep hill we went.

So many more exhausting hills later, we rolled into Chin beach at 7 pm. We pitched our tent and made dinner. One nice part of this trip was the other people camped at Chin. They helped up find a nice campsite, and as we were cooking dinner, invited us to join them at the fire they had going on the beach. That part of the trip was lovely, sitting near a nice fire with some good company and the waves crashing in the background.

Another cool part was the suspension bridges. They were a good 50-60 feet across, and suspended around 100 feet from the bottom of most of the ravines they went over.

The next morning we decided that we’d rather spend our next night in a hotel in Victoria, rather than camped in the bush somewhere. So we headed for the car. We made the excuse to ourselves that we would get to the last campsite and decide then if we would go all the way, but who were we really kidding? After all the bloodletting and near loss of camera? To make a long and painful story short, we got out of the bush at 9:30 that night, a full 12 hours after we walked off Chin beach that morning. For anyone doing the math, the trail itself is 47 km long, and our car was parked in Port Refrew, 3 km from the end of the trail. So we covered 21 km the first day, thus leaving about 26 that we covered the next day. Yes, we are insane.

We got lost twice the second day. Once, when we followed the wrong trail, ended up on a deserted beach, and had to backtrack to find the real trail again. The second time was basically the same, involving a beach and a serious lack of signs. Both times we wandered around for nearly an hour, trying to figure out where the trail started again. The first time I even started to freak out a little, since we were losing time and, well, completely lost. But we did eventually find our way.

So now I will go into detail about the little parts of the trail that I remember and that were the bane of my existence at the time.

The mud bogs. Every hiker’s seen them, and every hiker’s done the “dance around the edge” bit, to avoid having their boots sink up to their knees in muck. Well there were a lot of these. And when I say a lot, I mean one every few steps. No, not every few hundred steps, but every few steps. You’d just get around the last one, and take two steps and be on the next one. This is one of the reasons the going was so slow on the trail. So you might ask, why didn’t you get fed up and just start going straight through them after a while? Well, you do. For some of them. But others are so deep in the middle that you literally would sink up to your knees. So you continue the dance.

This was one of the more mild looking mud bogs. Note the unpleasant look on my sweetie's face.

The bloody tree roots. Freakin tree roots! The ENTIRE trail was like this. I know on some trails the tree roots seem cool, and provide good stairs to climb up. But after 47 km of them, you start to get really sick of clambering over tree roots. And these aren’t your ordinary tree roots. These are west coast tree roots. Thus they are much, much bigger. You end up climbing 5 feet up one side of the tree root to climb right back down the other side. I clipped my knee on one the first day (the already injured knee, by the way), and the root almost made it bleed, and gave me a good bruise. One of those bruises that turns a beautiful purple and then goes yellow as it’s fading. And, similar to the mud bogs, the tree roots occur ever few feet. So you feel like all you’re doing is climbing over tree roots. Some of them are so steep you end up grabbing the nearest root or branch to help pull yourself up. And you know other people have done the same, since the branch you just grabbed has been worn smooth by other people grabbing the same spot. The tree roots slow you down, too.

A rather "easy" section of what the tree roots look like. Glen and I could teach a course on climbing around tree roots now.

The stairs. The actually flights of stairs that have been built on this trail are fine. Actually, in parts they have used a previously fallen log and just chainsawed steps into them. Those steps are pretty cool. It’s the places where the park guys have taken a fallen log, driven two pieces of rebar into either end, and piled dirt up behind it on a slope that get to you. Normally, this is just good trail maintenance. It prevents erosion on slopes and makes it a little easier to hike. Not so on the Juan de Fuca. They’ve made all the steps too tall. I’m 6 feet, and I was having trouble getting up some of these. Now put a 40 lb pack on your back. Yeah. After a couple, I proceeded to whip out the “put one foot on the step, use your hand on your knee to help push yourself up” technique. Now do this several thousand times and you’ve got about half the trail.

The fallen trees. In some places, over the years, trees have fallen across the trail. Sometimes they have turned these trees into steps, bridges and whatnot. Other times they chainsaw through the whole thing. Most times, though, the tree is simply too large to chainsaw all the way through. What they do then is chainsaw steps up one side of the trunk and down the other. So there’s more steps you need to walk up and down. And they don’t make the steps small, either.

The underbrush. The Juan de Fuca trail is built in a coastal rain forest. And with this comes certain vegetation. And piles and piles of thick underbrush. The parks people have not cleared this underbrush from the trail. So for a large majority of the trail, you can see where the trail goes by looking at your feet, but when you look up, all you see is bush. Thick, leafy, tick-containing bush. After several kilometres I took to complaining about the bush. After several more kilometres, Glen asked me to stop, since it was getting annoying hearing me whine. I don’t blame him. Because of all the brush, there wasn’t much to see for the whole trail, so there wasn’t much to do other than complain.

The sweat. The trail is on the coast. Thus the air is extremely humid. And it was warm that weekend. So going up a steep hill (by now you know there were many of these), you break a sweat almost instantly. So after about 15 seconds, your clothes are soaked and you’re pretty much dripping. It was on this trail I decided fisherman’s hats are good, because once you sweat enough to soak the part that’s up against your forehead, you can turn the hat and the next part’s dry. It’s like having 4 hats in one. I have never sweated so much at one time in my life. And I`ve run a marathon.

I hated the two days I spent on this trail. We hiked it too fast, we didn’t expect the terrain we were on, I nearly lost my camera, we got lost twice, and I got hurt. It was a horrible 2 days. But Glen and I decided the next day, in our comfy, warm, clean Victoria hotel room, that to properly appreciate this trail you’d need to take your time. You’d have to stay one night at each camp and really, really take your time going between them. Then it might not be so bad. So to anyone thinking of hiking this trail, make sure you take your time and plan to spend almost a week there. Trust me, you’ll have a way better time.

Surfing, the return.

Well, I am back from another surfing expedition, and I made it alive, though with one or two new bruises to show off. Let me start off by saying that I am a terrible surfer, and I will likely always be a terrible surfer. But I'm okay with that.

We arrived in Tofino this long weekend to rain and cold. It was just getting dark so we put up a tarp to hide under, pitched our tent and went to bed. It poured all night, even when I had to get up to go to the bathroom. The morning came and I finally convinced Glen to try and start a fire with the soggy wood from the campground. It wasn't easy, but he managed to get it going and we dried out a good amount of wood for burning later in the day and hid it under our picnic table so it would stay dry. After finally warming up by the fire, I decided that I hadn't driven for 4 hours down those windy roads for nothing, I was going surfing, raining or not. Glen opted not to, he was a little tired and I think laziness may have played a small role too.

So we went into town and I rented a wetsuit and board. We got to the beach and I arrived at my first challenge. Putting on the wetsuit. This particular wetsuit had an attatched hood, to keep my head warm, or annoy me, I can't decide which. The zipper for the ridiculous thing was in the most bizzare spot-right across the collarbone and down both biceps at the top of the suit. This means that there was even more wetsuit that had to be yanked on before the zipper would go anywhere near closed. The thing was damp to start, so it was cold as I started, but they warm up quite quickly. Well, after you get this thing past your knees, it gets difficult. Most people know I'm not the strongest person around. I almost needed Glen to help me pull this device over myself. I decided the best way to go about it was to get it straightened out and then pull it up similar to the way most women would pull up their nylons. Pull a little up around the leg, then work it the rest of the way up 'til the top moved. This continued for about 20 minutes until I finally had the thing in the right spot at my neck. Then came the hood.

It was built with 2 collars, an inside one and an outside one with the hood attatched. The inside one slipped on easily over the top of my head from the front. The one with the hood squashed my face into an unrecognizeable mash as I was attempting to yank it over my hair. It actually hurt to put it on. But I managed to squeeze all of me in the wetsuit, and off I went to the ocean.

The actual surfing itself was still as difficult as it was before, and to my surprise, I hadn't gotten any better with the complete lack of practice I've had since the last time I tried. It is very tiring, though. I only managed to last 2 1/2 hours before I was so tired I almost couldn't carry my board back to the car. But I did have an idiot grin on my face the whole time, and for several hours afterward.

The next day wasn't much better, weather-wise. Still cold and rainy, so we packed up camp and headed to the beach so I could tire myself out for the ride home. Trust me when I say wetsuits are even harder to put on when they're wet than when they're just damp. You pull on the material to get your leg in, and nothing happens. It doesn't move an inch. So I ened up doing this delightful little shimmy for about 1/2 and hour to try and get into this silly piece of clothing in the parking lot of the beach.

And all in full view of the delightful, rippling biceps, muscley guy surfers. If anything, the weekend was worth it just for that particular eye candy. April, I know you enjoy a man with well-built shoulders...well you should visit Tofino sometime. Just sit in the parking lot and watch these guys change. And they do. Right in the parking lot. I even witnessed a full monty. From the back, anyways. And they like to walk around with their wetsuits half off, so they're shirtless. Give me a second to wipe the drool off my keyboard...

So I must describe also the process of removing the wetsuit, because it is nearly as amusing as the getting into the wetsuit. I decided the easiest way would be to peel it off, banana style. Again I'd like to bring up my aversion to bananas, but I digress. So after mashing my face yet again trying to get the silly hood off (my lips actually hurt for several hours afterward), I tried pullling it off. Well, it's really hard to get our of a wetsuit when you can't really move your arms, 'cause they're pinned to your sides from trying to get out. I actually needed Glen to help me get my arms out. Keep in mind that the suit is now wet, thus making it impossible to slide at all. So you get it to about your knees, at which point it gets so thick around your legs the banana doesn't peel anymore. So you wriggle for a long time until finally you can free one leg, at which point getting the other leg out is comparatively easy.

I've decided getting the wetsuit on and off is nearly as difficult as ths sport itself. They should have wetsuit changing olympics. The first person to get a wet wetsuit on and off first wins. It could even be a spectator sport. As Glen will attest to, it's quite funny to watch. I will give the wetsuit credit, though. It kept me nice and warm the whole time, and wasn't completely uncomfortable once you're actually in the water. I also noticed it's relatively hard to look bad in a wetsuit. It smooths out all the lumpy bumpies and holds everything in quite nicely.

Despite the rain and cold, I did enjoy the weekend. Though next time I think I need to drag Glen into the water with me whether he likes it or not. Mostly so he's too busy trying to get his own wetsuit on that he doesn't have time to laugh at me struggling with mine.
PS-Kristi-I think I've almost got that beach bum look down.

42 km is, like, far!

Just a note before you start reading. This blog is going to be very long, so make sure you have enough time to read it all before you start.

This past weekend I ran the Vancouver marathon. A marathon, for those who don't know, is 26.2 miles, or about 42 km for those of us who grew up with the metric system. And let's just say that that distance is, well, really freakin' long! It doesn't really look so bad when you plot it out on a map. But if you were to get in your car and drive 42 km at 100 km/h, it would take you just over 25 minutes to go that far. That's bloody far, man! But back in January when I signed up for the full marathon clinic, it seemed like a good idea. Don't get me wrong, I was ready for the race. I had done most of my long runs, the farthest being 34 km three weeks before the race. But there's still 8 km left after you pass 34 before it becomes a full marathon.

We checked into our very swanky resort hotel, right on the waterfront in downtown Vancouver. It was the official host hotel for the race, so it had the whole expo and registration right at the hotel, and a shuttle to and from the race, so it worked out quite nicely. We ended up getting a room with two double beds, and Glen's parents stayed in the same room as us. I checked us in and as Glen and his parents were getting parked and organized, I picked up my timing chip, race number and wandered around the expo for a few minutes. It was then that I remembered how much I love free stuff. They were handing out everything from McDonald's fruit & yogurt parfaits to fancy hair elastics. And you can bet I took everything that was handed to me. Never before have I felt quite so in my element. I was surrounded by runners. My people. People who understood what it was like to get up and feel the need to hit the sidewalk with a good pair of Mizuno's on. It was awesome.

The next day was race day. The race started at 7:30, so we planned to be downstairs waiting for the shuttle by 6:30, to avoid the rush. It was a cold, dreary day in Vancouver, but it wasn't raining. Everyone decided they were going to come and see me off, which was nice since then I could bring my sweater and just give it to Glen before the race started, and I wouldn't freeze to death. I lined up between the 4:15 and the 4:30 pace bunnies. Apparently in most marathons they have pace bunnies to tell you how fast you're going. They're just runners with a lot of experience that have watches and know how long they take to finish a marathon. The bunny part comes in because they have foam rabbit ears sewn to their hats, that stick up and have their expected finish time written on them. It's quite hilarious, actually.

About 3 minutes to start time, and it starts to sprinkle. Not rain, just lightly sprinkle. I ordered no rain that day, but as previously mentioned, apparently I have angered the weather gods. The starting gun went and we were off. Sort of. After slowly walking for about 4 minutes, I finally reached the actual start line. But it wasn't so bad, because they give us each timing chips that we zip tie to our shoes. So our time doesn't start until we actually cross the start line. I crossed the start line and started with a very slow jog. About 1/2 way down the block I saw Glen and his mom wave as I went by. There were a lot of crowds cheering for the first few km, and it started to dwindle after that. It also continued to sprinkle.

The first part of the race went well, and about 17 km in, I passed Glen and his parents again, right near our hotel, waving and cheering. Then the race headed into Stanley park, where I was meeting my coach, who was switching me for a full set of fuel bottles at the halfway point. He was right were I expected. He even said I looked "fresh" still. And I'm sure at that point I did. But it was a quick deterioration after that. After the little tour of Stanley park, the route headed back through downtown Vancouver, where I saw my cheer team again. And much to my surprise, Glen actually came out onto the course to offer me chapstick, a dry pair of socks, and some water. I quickly remembered why I married him, and took the socks. My hands had been cold since the fifth kilometer, and socks make excellent mittens when your hands are cold and wet. It was still raining. That's right after this picture was taken.
It gets a little fuzzy after that point. All I really remember is feeling very tired and very sore, and praying for the finish line. Oh, and thinking, when it this road going to turn around so we can go back towards the finish line? All I could really think was, don't stop don't stop don't stop. The road seemed to go on forever. Then as I rounded one corner, a glimmer of hope...1 mile to go. But let me tell you, that was the longest mile I have ever run. It just wouldn't end. Both my knees were burning, and I was almost limping from the pain. I was so thirsty. And then I saw it. The finish line. The best sight I have ever witnessed. I nearly burst into tears I was so happy. And when I finally crossed it and my timing chip beeped I was done. I have never been so happy to be finished something in my entire life. Some wonderful volunteer hung a medal around my neck, another was handing out water, and a third clipped the timing chip off my shoe. Then we headed into BC Place for food and warmth.

They gave us plastic sheets to wrap around ourselves to stay warm, and kept us moving so we wouldn't pass out. And then we got to eat. Yay for food! Milk has never really tasted so good. I got my finisher's t-shirt and met up with my cheer team, who were all very proud of me.

Now I'll break it down into numbers for you:
Total time: 4:30:51
First half: 2:17:26
Second half: 2:13:25 (that's right, I ran the second half faster than the first)
In the 25-29 year old female division, I was 779 out of 1304
Out of all the women in the full marathon I was 2162 out of 3114
(To check the numbers yourself or to see the pictures taken of me by the official marathon photographers, Google "Vancouver marathon"-I plan on ordering one or two official pictures, so if you want one let me know and I'll get them all together)
That's me crossing the finish line. And you can't see it, but I have a smile on my face.

Now comes all the good little tidbits I remember.

The water stations. At first I just passed them by, since I had my own drinks. But near the end of the race I was so thirsty for straight water that I took a cup here and there. Trying to run and drink water out of a cup is not the easiest thing in the world to do. The cups are waxed paper, and they have cold water in them. So they're squishy. You grab it and it squishes half the water out of the cup. Then you try to bring it to your mouth to drink, but you're moving, and it splashes all over your face and shirt. I'm sure it was quite funny to watch me trying to drink water from a cup as I was running for the first time.

The relay teams. I was cursing the relay teams for almost the entire race. They would switch off every 10 km or so, thus peppering the crowd with people who, at 30 km, were fresh and just starting to run. And there's nothing more depressing at 30 km than having some perky little twit girl passing you with her dry shirt and bobbing ponytail. Especially when you're soaked, tired, smelly and half dead from exhaustion.

The walk/runners. A good chunk of people had the strategy where they would run for a few km, then walk for a bit, then start running again. This was very irritating to me, since I managed to finish the entire race without stopping to walk. To be fair, a good number of these people probably had far better times than me. And had I done the same thing, I would have likely finished with a better time. But then it begs the question, can you really say you "ran" a marathon if you had to stop and walk every couple kilometers?

The pain. I have never been so sore in my entire life. Many of you are familiar with what's known as hiker's walk. Well, marathoner's walk is very similar, just with more groaning and intensified about 15 times. For the day and a half after the run, I had trouble bending my knees without some accompanying yelp of pain. And I hobbled everywhere instead of walking. Sitting down has truly never felt so good. But here I am, 2 days post-race, feeling pretty good. And almost walking normally.

The chafing. Many are familiar with this problem. You do something for long enough, and your skin will break, blister or rash at a certain contact point. Body Glide was invented just for this reason. You smear it in the chafe-prone areas and it theoretically prevents the chafing. This would be great, except that it rained all bloody day! So after about 10 km, the stuff had managed to all wash away and my planning was for nothing. 15 km in, my thighs were chafing. At the end of the race, I could not walk normally. Not because of my muscles or joints, but because if my thighs touched anything a burning, almost unbearable pain would result.
This is a picture of my chest, taken today (2 days after the race). Apparently my sports bra was chafing around the neck, and I didn't notice until after the race. This is similar to what my inner thighs look like right now. But for obvious reasons, I didn't post a picture of them.

The signs. My race number had my first name on it. At first I wasn't sure why. But at 38 km when you're really tired and sore and it would be so easy to just stop and walk for a little while, someone, even a stranger, yelling "keep going Sara", is the best motivation in the world. 'Cause that's you they're cheering for. You don't know them, and you'll never see them again, but just having someone cheer for you is the best feeling you can get at that moment. And it kept me running. It's the same way with the signs. One guy was standing about 2 km from the finish line holding a sign that said "Nobody quits today". He wasn't cheering or yelling, just quietly standing there holding his sign. But I will never forget that sign. One sign I remember had someone's name, and underneath it said "eye of the tiger". And even though it had someone else's name, it still helped.

So in the end, it's going to be a long while before I run another full marathon. But like one of the signs said, the pain is temporary, the glory is forever.