The Perils of Entering Costco

Costco memberships should not be given to the masses for they can lead to broken relationships, bad decisions and a feeling of being run over by a Mack truck once you look at your credit card statement and see a big Costco sum accompanied by a feeling of “What did I buy and how did that happen?” feeling. It all starts when you enter the parking lot trying to get as close as you can to the entrance, while avoiding the zombie like creatures staggering around with heaps of bulk food and electronic gadgetry balancing precariously in their carts. They are unaware of the agitated motorists awaiting their spots as they are still in their post purchase “Look what I found!” shopping high. Yesterday, I found myself in Costco midday to buy a few essentials – poultry, bread etc. I took the little coupon flyer from the kind Costco employee after she verified my Gold Star membership and entered the arena. I simply cannot walk in a straight line in Costco. I zigzag back and forth enticed by the silly insulated drinking containers, thermal hiking socks of various colours, and the latest cozy blankets which magically appear right near the entrance at the first sign of a nip in the air. Gawd I love those…some with double lining, a myriad of wonderful colours….imagine snuggling up to one of those by the fire with one of those handy little tea sets that they have positioned nearby…After about spending 20 minutes in the first corner of the store, I attempted to make it down to the food section. Not to happen of course - you see, in MY Costco they have the clothing right in the centre of the damn store. You cannot avoid it. If you get there early, the brightly coloured garments are sitting in nice neat piles and are just waiting to be upturned by the early birds. Funny thing is – if something has been in Costco for at least a week, good luck finding your size. My behaviour and opinions are directly related to the state of the piles - if they are neat, I probably won’t find my size anyways, so I take a quick look and carry on my merry way. If they are strewn about, if gives me this wild sense that it must be some great, coveted item if so many people have rifled through it, so I should probably dig in and see if I may score something buried 2 feet down. I can just imagine how attractive I must look digging and pitching things from left to right in hopes of scoring some ridiculous, impulsive necessity.

When we go to Costco as a family, I always make the mistake of telling the 3 boys to go and look at whatever they want, and we will catch up later. Without fail, off they go with the cart while I do my quick visit to the garment section, then make my way to the boring food section. What  ALWAYS happens is that I start to perform this annoying balancing act,as I begin to collect more and more items, and there is surprisingly no cart with 3 boys running up to my rescue. The outcome is usually 1 of two things – I find myself stomping all the way back to the entrance to the electronics section where they are pawing at some new technological advancement, or I am calling out to them as they stand clustered about some food display tuning me out completely awaiting their rations.

This is why yesterday, I went to Costco ALONE.

“Goat Cheese and apples?” offered the first lady with her little paper cups nicely laid out with glops of this offering inside. “Hmmm…ok, why not?” I offered as I reached for the sample. It was a wee bit messy, and I am a very enthusiastic eater, so I mashed the whole thing into my face with sheer delight (there were no forks to be had) and made sure that I got every last bit of it. When I peeled the paper doily off my face, I noticed a small scattering of onlookers studying my actions. Some were concerned, others couldn’t wait to see what the hell I had just inhaled. With a job well done, off I went to pick up a few things and truly get the heck out of there. “PShuuuuuuuuh! Flip, flip!” “Oh what is this?” I asked politely of the bored young woman avoiding my gaze…”Taquitos and chili sauce” Well…that cheese sampler was a bit small, and I had not yet had lunch…”Thanks!” It was gone in a flash. Not bad really…ok...I needed to pick up my pace. This was silly. As I rounded the corner, there was a rather serious woman with nothing in her warmer. Only the bravest I noticed would approach her. I left her alone and carried on. The box that she had on display was that of some sort of quesadilla. Rounding the next corner, there was a rather athletic looking guy slicing up gluten free cheese pizza. I marvelled to myself at how obviously impeccable my timing was. I smashed it back in sheer delight and was on my way. As I was in the dairy section, a rather peppy employee marched past sporting a quesadilla as if it were a piece of gold. Where did she get that? I spun my cart around and went back to Ms. Bitter. “Do you have any of those?” I asked. 2 other women that were 10 feet back unsure of how to apprach inched their carts forward with trepidation. The woman let out a big sigh and said, “Uh…yesss.” She took one out and chopped it into a gazillion pieces so that we would leave her alone. I took my prize, threw it down the hatch all the while burning my face off. I wasn’t about to admit to her that it was both nasty and painful tasting all at the same time. She probably would have nailed me with her spatula. Ok…self- talk time. For heaven’s sake Stephanie this is Costco! What are you doing? What have you become? And where are you now? Ah yes! Back on task…I threw some dairy products in the cart and got ready to make a beeline for the cash area. Why is that man looking so intent over there? Wow…he is making that employee a little uncomfortable. You know that look a dog has when it is wanting you to toss some scraps from the dinner table? THAT’s the look her was sporting. Just ridiculous. Hmmm…what was that smell? Kinda Italianish…savoury…oooooo…MEATBALLS! I stood beside him and we both assumed the pose together. Gosh they looked good. The gal started stabbing them with a meat thermometer hoping that they would cool quickly so that she could launch them at us and send us on our merry way.

Nice Cheese appetizers, a couple of savoury mains…I could really use something sweet right now! Fantastic!! Grapefruit slices in a cheap, icky liquid! “Yes I’ll try one please.” I nodded poitely as she rattled off all of the amazing things you could do with the grapefruits – including freezing them, etc etc. Across the aisle, the Oigo yogurt looked inviting, but my ”moment of consideration” got zapped when the employee minding the station tapped another newbie’s hand for reaching over attempting to take one of the little containers. “No! You must not do that!! You are not permitted to touch the containers! You cannot do that!” Yikes, spell was truly broken for me.

Thank goodness my journey was winding up at the trash bags and dog treats cause no one was sampling any of those things or else who knows what the hell I would have done? I paid the unavoidable sum at the cash that I ALWAYS seemed to arrive at and started to stagger out of the store. No idea what was in the cart, but it was a pretty entertaining experience. Don’t you love it when the door guards at the exit put the slash through your receipt with the little marker as if they are really taking in EVERYTHING that you have purchased? Not even a little smilely face on my receipt. Oh well, I couldn’t feel too cheated as I had certainly had my fill and then some. Homeward bound to unload my boxes and begin a whole new discovery of what I had just collected J

 

Dad's Atrocious School Lunches and the Cherry Tomato Disaster

School lunches were always miserable for me. Especially when dad made them. This was coupled with the fact that I detested my lunchbox - a Barbie one that was given to me as a special gift. It was special alright, with its hard plastic and royal blue shell and a big Barbie sticker image covering the front. Yes Barbie with her blonde hair, plastered on grin and unimaginable endowments. The thermos was tall with strange mirrored glass on the inside. When you screwed off the top, it became the cup. If you dropped the thermos, the mirrored glass would shatter into a million pieces. It was kind of like this, except it was royal blue, and the box itself was hard plastic, not vinyl...

The contents of my lunch varied little from day to day and would be a sad combination of: cherry tomatoes, a Laura Secord pudding (the kind in the metal tin wrapped in yellow paper with pull back lid), a banana, a mini dessert such as a Wagon Wheel, or a Twinkie and of course the main course, which consisted of a sandwich on white bread with butter. We didn’t use Mayonnaise for fear it would go rancid by midday for lack of refrigeration and poison us. I went to Britannia Heights Separate School (now renamed JL Jordan) and we kept our lunch pails in a rolling wall of cubby holes. Other girls had the same lunch box as me, and on many occasions I was tempted to “accidently” snatch one of their lunchboxes and devour what treasures were inside. It HAD to be better than my daily lunchtime letdown. 

The Queen of fabulous lunches was my friend Danielle. Her mom was very creative and would do cool things like boil water, toss some hot dogs inside which would magically be ready once the lunch bell rang. She also brought hot soup in her thermos and potato chips for recess. I would report this back to dad, and he would listen, and then probably secretly curse Danielle’s mom. Despite my daily menu suggestions for dad, my lunch would be the same. I remember how this really nice guy in class never brought lunch on a daily basis, so a truck would arrive outside and he could pick whatever he wanted. To me, that seemed like a dream, but to him I don’t think he felt quite the same way.

The Cherry Tomato Disaster.

On one particular day, I popped open my lunch with my regular lack of enthusiasm that I had at every lunch hour. This lunch in particular was a real winner, and consisted of a white Wonder Bread sandwich with butter and a slice of processed Kraft cheese. To compliment this was a Laura Secord pudding, a handful of cherry tomatoes and a thermos full of white milk. My stomach still flips uncomfortably when I think of it. I sat at a big round table with my friend Jennifer and my other friend John. Per the normal routine, a teacher would walk around and supervise us to ensure that we were eating and not talking, and that we were consuming our nutritious offerings. I was probably around 6 years old at the time, and I had truly had it. Enough of this. No more. I began to devise a plan of how to escape from this ordeal, and get outside for lunchtime recess. I studied the objects in front of me, and it wasn’t long before the wheels were turning and I knew EXACTLY what to do. I wasn’t a huge fan of white milk, so I basically had to hold my nose and throw it down the hatch so that I wouldn’t be subjected to the taste. Next was the chocolate pudding – no sweat there. Gone. Sister Davis glided by and I smiled appreciatively at her lunch monitoring skills. She probably wondered why, for the first time ever I actually looked pleased about lunch. 

Soon it was time to execute my plan. White bread with butter on it was very easy to mash up and form into a putty-like ball due to its moist, cheap composition. I experimented with rolling larger balled-up pieces, and smaller ones to see which would work better. The larger ones were preferable, as I could make fewer of them and be done with it. The only major obstacle was that the mouth of the thermos was really small, so it was hard to bash the sandwich putty down and not draw attention to myself. Jenn looked on with curious horror, but said nothing. John was in lala land and minded his own business. It was better that way; I didn’t want to attract attention while I was working. I felt a wild rush of adrenaline likely comparable to what escapees from Alcatraz must have felt at the thought of freedom. I was almost there. Free. 

Once the sandwich was ‘gone’ I studied the cherry tomatoes…hmm…what to do with these? I couldn’t eat them because the acid would cause upset tummy as I had just consumed a thermos of milk and a chocolate pudding. They were so perfectly explosive and bulbous…and the thermos was pretty packed. I placed one of them in the thermos and gave it a wee push. “Pop! Splat.” Perfect. I proceed with the other four. It was quite impressive just how flat those little suckers could deflate! Once the 5^th victim had been squishedd, I screwed the cap back on the thermos.  I motioned for Sister to come and grant me my freedom. Note - you weren’t allowed to simply pack up your things and go outside – there was an inspection involved. I left the Ziplock bag inside the lunchbox and the pudding can toppled on its side to really stage the scene and make it look like a well-appreciated lunch. Soon I felt her looming over me. I slid the blue plastic box towards her. “You’re done?” she questioned. “Yes I am!” I said with a little too much enthusiasm. “Open the thermos.” She wasn’t laughing. The room began to spin, and my vision was going blurry. I could feel the colour draining from my face. I pulled the plastic box towards me and uncapped the now 10 pound thermos. It was truly very sad looking with the deflated red skins packed into the opening of the vessel. I was silent, avoiding her glare. Jenn’s eyes were like saucers, but she said nothing. “You will eat that before going outside.” I was wrought with wild, 6 year old humiliation, but refused to cry. This was after all dad’s fault and I wasn’t going to take the hit for it. I gnawed on a few of the tomato skins and took my time. There was no way that I was going to subject myself to the sandwich putty. At about the ‘5 minutes left of lunch hour’ mark, she released me. She probably knew that I had another thing coming to me once I got home...but that is another story. The vision of dad saying some colourful words, hunched over the garbage with long extraction tool inside the thermos is enough to make me feel numb again.

Menchie's is Evil

“Menchie’s…Men-chie’s…What is that place anyways?” I thought to myself as I first laid eyes on it. It looked like a daycare with its bright colours and happy-go-lucky feel.  Also, it was wedged between Winners and Mark’s Work Wearhouse, so I didn’t really think too much about it. What was it that used to be there? Oh yes – Bentleys, the luggage store. Just another establishment that would struggle to be seen, and heard and appreciated. That seemed to happen quite a bit in that location, so I dismissed it.

Then one day they had the seating area wide open with happy shining patrons inside. We had to pass by it on route home from Kai’s piano lesson, so we decided to wander in. Oh….it was one of THOSE places. Kinda like a Yogurty’s, but with more variety of soft serve yogurts/sorbets and with more confection and oddities to dump on top.

 

I never understood the appeal of ruining ice cream or yogurt for that matter by burying it in sugary garbage…We entered the store, “Hi! Welcome to Menchie’s! Have you been here before?” It was such a big welcome that I felt as though I should give an appreciation or acceptance speech. So much for sneaking in and checking it out. “No actually…” I muttered. “Well here are the sample cups! Feel free to try anything you like!” She motioned to a tray of empty white paper mini cups, so innocent, so empty. Kai and I launched into the discovery process. We had some work to do. Maybe I’ll try just one, after all, I felt in a bit of a fruity mood. Strawberry tart! Only around 90 calories! Pineapple tart! Same! Oh even the more chocolatey varieties had way fewer calories than I would have thought. For those of you who hate calorie counting, just go with it for now – ok? And look at this! Peanut butter and chocolate! What a treat! “She did say that we could sample whatever we wanted – right?” Asks Stephanie, the adult who should know better, of the 8 year old who could care less about rules. “Yup!” he gleamed with perfect chocolate ring around his mouth and ‘next flavour to sample’ strawberry running down his arm. After about 8 samples, I felt confident that I had made the right choice….es. You see, Menchie’s so generously allows you to ooze multiple flavours into one glorious bucket, cup, vat, thingy. “Mrrrrrr...” Out came the peanut butter and chocolate! “Mrrrrrrr…” Hello Vanilla! How fun this was? Now what to put on top? Hmmm…no gummy bears and sours for this this girl! “Kai…stay away from the brownies, they always try to entice you with those, and they are never fresh”. I poked the picker-upper tongs into them. Hmmm…these ones seemed ok. Perhaps I was being too hasty with that announcement. I plopped in one, then feeling as though the arrangement was looking imbalanced, I added a second one. “Ok, I think I’m done.” For good measure, I walked along the sugar and sauce bar to make sure that I was happy with my resulting treat. ‘Peanut butter crackle sauce’ and ‘Chocolate crackle sauce’ Eew. That sounded awful. I lifted the lid only to be engulfed in the smells of melted peanut butter and chocolate with little crunchies (crackles) dispersed throughout. Oh. Hmm. Well…it is important to at least give something a proper try before simply dismissing it. That would be rather close minded of me. Right? “Ooooze – glop! Ooooze – glop!” One of each for good measure J. Kai opted for a more sugary, gummy approach to his toppings, and wasn’t shy to get a bit of an assortment.

We sat down and proceeded to indulge. I normally don’t care much for ice cream. I can take it or leave it. Normally. Enough said. I looked across at Kai, and it was rather disgusting to watch him. Those long gummy worms once covered in ice cream became quite slippery and impossible to pick up with a spoon, so he was picking them up with his hands, tipping his head back, and downing them. Kind of like a baby bird feeding itself. My more civilized self would have told him to stop, but I didn’t see a better solution, so I just sat there a bit grossed out. We were having such a good time that I really didn’t give a damn.

So there you have it…yah…Menchie’s. Definitely not for the weak, and they make you feel so damn welcome it is hard not to feel like family and just wanna hang out there for a while. So go there. Have fun. And here’s the kicker MONDAYS ARE 2 for 1!

The Snowsuit, The Key and The Car

When it snows, people become brainless. It is funny that such beautiful, delicate little morsels of chilly fluff can cause such inexcusable, baffling behaviour. It was on such a picturesque, gorgeous new snowfall day in February that I awoke to the sounds of wee Emerson babbling away in his crib. He always started out in a cheery mood sucking on his thumb and cuddling his Uh-Guy (tiger).  Every morning, when I would go to retrieve him, his little cherub face would turn up into a beautiful, edible smile, so happy to be cuddled and lifted out of his little rectangular wooden prison. He could have scaled over the side if he was that kind of child, but he wasn’t. THAT child wouldn’t be born for another 2.5 years.  I had to carefully plan out my mornings to ensure that I would have enough time to get him ready to go to his daycare, while also allotting enough time to stuff him in his snowsuit. He despised that snowsuit so much that he would screech and writhe to the point of hysteria as if he were being beaten. Usually, what would result is that I would of course win the battle, and he would be covered in saliva and snot, zipped up on the floor like a navy blue starfish and peering out at me with disdain from his little hood with ears on top.

This particular morning was no exception. The snow had fallen hard the evening before, so I had to leave even more time to get the morning routine complete and avoid having to deal with a demon baby.  Also, given that we were on a side street, the road was NEVER plowed. I pondered the thought of how our regular and questionable neighbours from the building complex in behind us would be able to push their ‘borrowed’ No Frills shopping carts down this now well-concealed roadway. I peered outside, and our little black Honda Civic was covered with about a foot of snow. I deliberated over this sad little snow covered lump, thinking of a game plan of how to uncover it in the most efficient way possible. It was a very basic model of Civic with not an OUNCE of modern electronic offerings – no automatic start, no automatic locks, BUT well-equipped with a top-notch cassette player and AM/FM radio. Given that I couldn’t leave the wee baby inside on his own, I came up with an awesome plan that would be sure to entertain him. We would simply play “peek-a-boo!” Mommy would let him stay warm inside the car, while I would slowly but surely remove the mounds of snow from it and eventually reveal myself. That way, he would be within view at all times. Feeling pleased with my quick-thinking and ingenuity, I sported my finest winter wear, ready for the task at hand. Some would probably have mistaken me for a hobo with my over-sized grey fleece Man jacket with big black buttons, Multi-coloured toque with massive pom pom on the top with braided stands coming down from the sides to allow you to tie it up under your chin, bright green mittens and bright red sweatpants. Truly a sight to see. I picked up my navy blue starfish, and we trudged out to the car. All of the neighbours had left for the day, so it was really peaceful on the street. Did I mention that he hated his car seat as well? After about 20 minutes of trying to push his pelvis down into the seat, I finally had him secured. From a distance it probably looked like I was furiously trying to pump someone’s chest to restart their heart.  I started up the car, and put some music on to make Emy happy and more comfortable as I set myself to task. Awww….so cute was my little Cherub, occasional demon baby. I then began my ridiculous performance as any parent would do -  popped up on different sides of the car to surprise him, tapped on the windows to make him giggle, all the while making goofy “must please the baby” sounds. He showed his delight with wee legs kicking happily and stiff snow-suited arms waving in approval. Who needed a man? I just proved myself a Super Woman, able to take on even the most burdensome of tasks. Ok. Time to go. I reached down on the passenger’s side to open the door and put the snow scraper inside. Up. Down. Up. Down went the door handle. No click. Huh? Oh! What was I thinking?! I went around to the driver’s side to get in. Up. Down. Up. Down. No click…OH NO!!!!!!! I felt a dizziness start to overcome me and a wicked adrenaline rush start to overtake me all at once. MY BABY BOY WAS LOCKED IN THE CAR WITH THE ENGINE RUNNING! I ran back to the house to call for some help. Oh gawd. I had locked the door behind me because it had a tendency to not close properly. I knocked on the neighbours’ doors, but they were all gone. I felt sicker and sicker as the moments ticked by…What the hell was I going to do?! I did a quick check on Emy and he was absolutely delighted to see mommy running around in circles. Wasn’t she just the funniest most hysterical mommy ever? This next part still makes no sense to me to this day…I thrust my hands into the pocket of my jacket as they were starting to get cold. My right hand quickly met a hard, metal object – What the?...A cell phone! Eric must have used the jacket and left his cell phone inside. I could NOT believe this. I never carried a cell phone in those days. I frantically dialed 911…”Hello this is 911. Fire, Ambulance or Police?” “HELLO THERE. I HAVE NO IDEA WHICH ONE. I HAVE LOCKED MY BABY IN THE CAR WITH THE ENGINE RUNNING!! PLEASE GET HERE IMMEDIATELY!” The woman on the other end of the line was really nice, and very calming but still had a sense of urgency about her. “Don’t worry mam, stay calm, we have dispatched help to you immediately”. I was absolutely beside myself. I needed someone calming at this point, so I called my good friend Wanda. “HI WANDA!! YOU WON”T BELIEVE THIS! I HAVE LOCKED EMERSON IN THE CAR! I AM SO FREAKED OUT RIGHT NOW!!!” “Oh my god – are you ok?” Wanda was a naturally very Zen kinda girl who could always put me in a happier place with her even tones, and level-headed ways…but not on THIS particular morning. “OH I JUST CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!! I bellowed. It was one of those mornings that kept first responders and tow truck operators scrambling to keep up with everything. “WHAT A CHAOTIC MORNING THIS IS TURNING OUT TO BE!” I continued… ”AND HOLY SMOKES!!! SOMEONE IS IN TROUBLE REALLY CLOSE BY!!” I could hear the sounds of sirens whirring in the distance…it was all just a big mess in Toronto that morning. “THEY PROMISED TO SEND HELP RIGHT AWA………” I paused in mid-sentence, dumbstruck by the sight of the MASSIVE red fire truck, creeping and bumping precariously down our narrow road and heading in our direction. Sirens a blaring at full-force. “OH NO…Wanda? I gotta go…” I stood rather frozen in place, with my stupid pom pom toque now askew atop of my head. I was firmly gripping the snow scraper in hand with it poised in the air like a pathetic torch. I peered up sheepishly into the window of the truck as a few sets of eyes peered back down at me with curiosity. The big red fire truck door popped open, and out they came with their lovely little jackets with names displayed along their backsides. Had anyone been home, I’d have been the ENVY of the street. And what a collection they were! Jackpot! Good lord this was too good to be true! I cursed myself for having been in such a rush that I hadn’t even thought to put some lip gloss on. “You’ve locked your baby in the car?” “Huh? Baby? Oh yah! YES! He is there. In the car!” I blathered. I motioned to Emy, who continued to coo and chuckle with delight inside the car. I feared that he had lost half of his body weight by this point giving all of the aerobics he had been doing in his massive fleece outfit. Then the verbal diarrhea set in and I couldn’t stop. I was so damn nervous and grinning so hard my lips were sticking to my teeth. They studied the situation with the car for about 30 seconds and proceeded to slide a long skinny thing with a hook at the bottom down the side of the driver’s seat window. After quite a few attempts, they began to consider other alternatives. “You know?” I offered, turning on as much charm as I could muster, and wanting to be of SOME sort of assistance, “You should try that thing on the passenger’s side. It seemed to work like magic the last time on that side.” “oh REALLY?” said one of the fire gods. “YES!...uh yes.” I responded, deflated at how I had just reinforced how dense I truly was. It took all of 10 seconds and up popped the lock. CLICK! I was over-the-moon that this ordeal was over but at the same time cursing myself for giving away the solution so quickly. Em was obviously ok, so there was no reason for them to hang around - and it wasn’t lunch time and I didn’t have any groceries on hand, so I couldn’t invite them in and whip up some culinary delights to show my extreme gratitude. Soon they were climbing their lovely selves back into the shiny red beast and teeter-tottering back down the road. I cuddled wee Emy and smothered him with kisses for being such a brave boy through that ordeal. My only regret was that he sat trapped in the Civic while this wondrous machine was parked neatly beside him, and he couldn’t even enjoy it like I could.

I mean…isn’t it every young boy’s dream to be so close to a fire truck? ;)

Never Dead Air: A Non-Runner's Perspective on Running: It's All Ab...

Never Dead Air: A Non-Runner's Perspective on Running: It's All Ab...: Running is supposed to make you feel better about yourself. You are supposed to sail along being carried by some imaginary endorphins th...

A Non-Runner's Perspective on Running: It's All About the SWAG

Running is supposed to make you feel better about yourself. You are supposed to sail along being carried by some imaginary endorphins that give you this mythical “runners high”. Personally I think you need to be high to even take this up for fun or for sport. I was just picturing how I must have appeared today, bumbling along in my flashy purple and black outfit looking like an out-of-season snow girl the way my tights were carving so unapologetically into my sides. Oh yes! I mustn’t forget to mention that these lovely tights that held me in so ungraciously like a freshly packaged sausage were INSIDE OUT.

I dare not call myself a runner, as it would be an insult to those who take this seriously. Admittedly, my whole intrigue with running started quite a few years ago as I sat on a plane, wearing a cute black suit that was cutting off circulation to my brains because it was so tight around the waist. I have NEVER enjoyed anything about running. I would run if needed – ok fine. Touch my wee babies? Yes – this mama bear will run after you and tear you to shreds. If I needed to escape from some form of threatening wildlife or natural disaster – ok fine. I would run – but it’s not fun. One of my friends suggested that I just keep signing up for races to keep myself motivated. To me, that sounded dumb. A RACE? Subject myself to an event with sympathetic onlookers and hecklers no doubt? Gee what a novel idea! NOT.

It wasn’t until I actually started investigating potential running races that the flood gate of possibilities opened up. A fancy new running shirt? A reflective new running cap? Wow…you mean I could get a shiny bad-ass medal just for making it across the finish line? Things were certainly looking up. I just had to figure out how to travel a distance of 8 to 10K concealed neatly among throngs of spandex-clad individuals, and I would be golden.

The Races…a couple of worthy mentions

Harry Rosen 8K run in High Park
I was entering the week in which I would attempt to complete 8K for the first time in my Running Room class. What the hell! Why don’t I just sign up for the Harry Rosen 8K and see how I would fare! This race, incidentally was known for its vertical DEATH CLIMB at the end. I picked up my swag bag with wild anticipation. Terrific! A stiff lime greenish shirt with boxy arms and an ill-fitting hat to match! Fantastic! After the gun went off, I dipped and swirled and slipped along with the rest of the crowd. This race was notorious for always having bad weather. As I was rounding my first bend I was told to “Keep to the side!” for what I believe was a flash of Kenyan runners heading for the finish line. Yes. The FINISH LINE. The scenery was quite beautiful, as everyone said it would be. It was High Park after all! Oh and how lovely! Drink stations and a lovely band playing at the mid-point of the race. How considerate. After hauling my unconditioned form and contorted face up said Death Hill, I hyperventilated my way through the finish shoot. Surprisingly, I didn’t keel over from the weight of the medal as these were truly WWF looking adornments. The highlight of the day was cheering Eric and Emerson and Kai on as they completed the 5K race…this involved Eric pushing a 45 pound stroller with one hand (with a 35 pound child riding inside), while hauling along an almost 5 year-old calling him every name in the book…not to mention that I do believe that their resulting race time was comparatively way better than mine. The site of this somehow made my finisher medal (only given to the 8K people) seem a little sad.

The Nissan 10 Miler: Distillery District
I had been spying this event online for quite a few months wondering if I would be capable of running 16K without making a complete ass of myself. Sorry for the expression… but let’s be honest. I had only started running in January, and this race was in mid-July. At about the 1.5 week stage before the race was scheduled, I bit the bullet and signed up. After all – that was a pretty sweet looking running shirt and what a lovely medal yet again! I’m sure a lot of work went into making those, so I felt the need to do my part and support the event. The most I had ever run was 13K, so in my mind, what was the big issue with just tacking on another 3K? Piece of cake. On the morning of the race, I woke up with sick anticipation. What have I done? Oh! And what’s this? What great timing. A special gift from Mother Nature. Perfect. Just the way I wanted to start my day. Not only was I concerned with even being able to finish the race, now I also had to contend with feeling like a beached whale with raging hormones. Nice. Soon the gun went off and I waited for all the real runners to take off so that the rest of us could amble politely behind them. I must admit that the first 8K were pretty sweet with all of my kms clocking well under 6 minutes per kilometre. For a new runner, this was pretty good. To ensure that I would have enough gusto to finish the race, I popped back a recommended, disgusting, gelatinous block in the so-called flavour of key lime. Blech. At kilometre number 11, the magic began. Suggestions of light bodily protest started to overcome me. This wasn’t good. My game plan was to have an awe-inspiring kick over the last 3 kilometres of the race and to finish strong. It was one of those races in which I somehow got “stuck” to someone who kept appearing and disappearing from my side the whole time. Not to mention she had a running companion who ran leisurely alongside her as they effortlessly discussed favourite recipes. By kilometre 14, I became hateful. I felt like tearing down the obnoxious little arch that the 5K people had happily pranced through hours before. It annoyed me. At this stage it became an out-of-body experience. My arms were swinging wildly trying to propel me forward while my legs shuffled along like two gigantic tree trunks. I literally looked like I was running with clubbed feet. I wanted this hell to end. I couldn’t tell if the onlookers were trying to encourage me to keep running or if they were trying to usher me to the first available St. John’s Ambulance station. Not soon enough, in the distance I could detect the finishing shoot. I hobbled towards it with maximum rage and sheer determination. As my sorry feet went over the sensor, I threw my arms up in exhausted elation. I did it! And what an enthusiastic crowd! I locked in on a wide-eyed woman screaming at me to KEEP GOING. It was all in slow motion…NOOOOO….the finish line was still another 50 metres ahead. Seems like nothing to most…but not when your body has completely shut down. Sadly, I would have to sign autographs later. Dry mouth, unsightly swagger, I had a race to finish.

After this anti-climactic end to this ordeal, I found everything to be strangely calm and surreal. I looked down at my Garmin to note with astonishment that I had burned over 1,000 calories during this hateful[SK1]  experience. Was it worth it?...well…despite the gawd-awful, homely new running shirt, and the feelings of complete and utter desperation I was forced to endure, I gotta be honest…it was totally worth it.

The comeback…

In my first year of running, I actually managed to knock off quite a few races…The Achilles 5K, the Harry Rosen 8K, the Sporting Life 10K, the HBC Run for the Olympic Athletes 10K, the Nissan 10 Miler and the Oasis 10K Zoo Run. I had to unfortunately cut this blossoming new career short due to some health reasons, but after recovering, I was raring to go. Maybe I could actually be kind of good at this…

During my road to recovery, training was truly off and on as I had to take certain precautions and not push myself too hard as I re-entered the running arena. That said, I decided upon a race that was a little more obscure and did not involve chip timing. The last thing I needed at this point was to have my miserable results plastered all over the internet by some well-meaning race organizer. The first race I entered was a sweet little 5K called the Run and Walk for Huntington Disease. My decision to sign up for such a race proved that I had really matured as a runner – that I was really fine-tuning my running outlook and motivation. See, there were no shirts or medals to be given out at this one. You were simply running for a great cause, and for the love of running. No sweet swag bag. Ok. I guess that made sense somehow. The night before the race, the sick feeling of butterflies were overtaking my ability to get a good night’s rest. I had to drive all the way from Ajax to Sunnybrook Park, so that only added to my stress that I might actually not wake up and miss the damn thing. After about 4 hours of restless sleep, I awoke to the sound of my nasty alarm. As I reached to turn it off, I noticed that my little iPod was propped neatly beside it. Hmmm…I didn’t remember putting it there. Eric mumbled to me to make sure that I didn’t forget it for my race. Ok. I should really mention at this stage that real runners do not run with music plugged in to their ears on race day. It is not considerate of others, and really – you should be in-tune with the whole racing experience and with how you are feeling. That said, I chose to be horribly selfish that day. I really didn’t want to hear myself gasping miserably along a path and sounding as pathetic as I would be feeling. While in the car, I hit ‘play’ on the iPod…hmmm…there appeared to be music loaded on. I clicked along to get a sense of what was on it, but then felt distracted and tucked it away. It was affecting my pre-race mental prep. When I checked in for the race, they handed me my drawstring bag with a bottle of water and some other coupons that I was unlikely to use inside. I gently tipped the bag upside down hoping some fun, unannounced treasure would come tumbling out. No luck. At the start line, I noticed that people around were pumped up, CHARGED, truly excited about this race. I wasn’t. I was secretly dying inside. “Don’t forget to hit ‘start’ on your iPod at the beginning of the race” were Eric’s last words to me as I left that morning. “SSSHHHH – POP!” We were off! As requested, I hit start on the iPod. “I can’t break away!...I can’t break away!” Well thank you Eric. This was very encouraging. This was just the song that I wanted to be hearing as I was being elbowed and trod upon out of the start gate. Weren’t we just off to the most amazing, encouraging start! Oh yes! And it was by a band called Big Pig. Didn’t I just feel like a real winner at that moment...Along came the next song, ”Pour some sugar on MEEEEEE!” Huh? What’s this? Def Leppard? I didn’t get it….not to mention I hated that song. Sugar? What the…??? The next song was the soundtrack to the Transformers….the lyrics to this? “So let mercy come, and wash away – what I’ve done! I’ll face myself, to cross out what I’ve become!” This was torture, just plain wrong. I was married to a truly twisted individual. This was followed with, “G-L-A-M-O-R-OUS” by Fergie. For real?! Now?! At a time like this? Was this some sort of sick joke? By the title of the song itself, I began plotting on how to do away with my husband. I supposed I could have simply removed the headset from my head and been a much happier camper, but the whole experience was too much for me. Logic and happiness were simply out of reach at this point. Nearing the last quarter of the race, when I was really trying to find my groove and press on with as much determination as I could muster…the whole soundtrack came winding down to a ridiculously soothing tempo. “Time after time….Time after time…” Well thank you Cyndi Lauper, but I need a bit more of a pick me up than this right now. It is not a time to being “Lying in my bed hearing a clock ticking!!” At about the 500 metres to the finish line mark, I could hear some familiar awesome beats drumming through my headset. “Gotta get that! Gotta get that! BOOM BOOM BOOM!...BOOM BOOM BOOM!” Hooray!! A breakthrough! He was forgiven! What a great way to end my race! I LOVED this song! Boom Boom Pow by the Black-Eyed Peas. What a great choice. This little engine that could was ready to finish strong…”BOOM BOOM BOOM!....BOOM BOOM BOOM!...” Yahooooo!!! This was fantastic!...”BOOM BOOM….CLICK!” What the?....NOOOOOO! The song cut-off. Yes. Stopped dead. 50 metres to go and nothing. Nada.  I hobbled across the finish line in an over-heated, breathless, irritated heap. I tried not to meet the gaze of the concerned onlookers, as that would have just added to my complete and utter misery. Plus, if looks really could kill they would have gone up in a cloud of smoke upon meeting my gaze, so I spared them.

So did anything good come of this day? Well! I think it is only fair to mention that there was a prize draw…Weekends away! Electronic paraphernalia! You name it! And yes…as a matter of fact my number was displayed very sweetly on the winner’s board. With trembling hands I offered my ticket to one of the race organizers. With as much enthusiasm as he could muster, he handed me back a black men’s large cotton t-shirt with a gaudy 4 leaf clover on the front which read, “Are You Ready To Party?” Done. Thank you for completely destroying me in one fell swoop. The sick irony is that Eric loves the shirt…sports it around as if he has somehow EARNED it. I truly need to calm my rage within every time he has the nerve to wear it. After about a week, when I felt that I could speak with him again, I asked Eric what his seemingly sadistic motivations were. Apparently, I was SUPPOSED to start the iPod on Boom Boom Pow and then the rest would have all fallen into a logical sequence. Oh.

So those are just some of the highlights…I could go on forever, but I won’t. Don’t get me wrong. Yes, there is value in running. It can be a wonderful life-longish kind of sport if done properly and if you treat your body with respect. I have recently tried to take it up again, now that I have a new dog to help keep me motivated…but that is another story. I have to go now and check out the lineup of races for the balance of the year. Hopefully they have improved the cut of the women’s shirts… ;)

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 [SK1]

Confessions of a Shopaholic. First Entry.

So I have been requested by a number of my friends and family to create a blog. To essentially provide them with a regular giggle or anecdote, so here goes. I feel it only proper to start my tales with a topic upon which I would consider myself well-seasoned. An expert really. Shopping. I KNOW the ins and outs. I have LIVED the ins and outs. I worked in retail establishments for years, and also, unfortunately, continue to frequent them. It summons the Call of the Wild in me. The thrill of the chase. The thought that I am going to “beat all those retailers” and truly find the best deal. Find THE coveted object for less than anyone else...to coin the phrase, “only you know how little you paid!” The idea of buying such a treasured jewel at a store such as Winners or a thrift shop can instill a feeling of owning the ultimate possession that only YOU (and a few CHOSEN others) have discovered. The fact that it is “so last year” or really not on the "A list" bares little to no matter in cases such as these. It is the thrill of the chase.

One memory that I must share happened on my honeymoon, many moons ago in Sienna, Italy. My new husband Eric and I had found our way to this charming outdoor market on the outskirts of town. It was a kaleidoscope of beautiful fabrics and colours – beautifully tailored jackets and funky tops – you name it. As I rounded the corner of one of the stalls, I saw her. The goddess of all handbags laying atop of its lesser cousins – like the princess and the pea atop her many mattresses. The only obstacle to obtaining my desired possession was this svelte serious woman who kept gently picking it up, laying it across her undeserving frame, and then placing it gently back atop the heap. I played the tiger in the Serengeti tactic…stealthily gliding along watching my prey and the other predator just waiting to make my move. It was just a matter of time. Eric could see that I was slowly falling into a trance, and that my eyes were glazing over as I took in my prize. “What’s the matter?” He chimed, somewhat breaking my spell. “Oh nothing…don’t worry, I have this under control. See that beautiful bag? I am just waiting until she leaves it alone.” “HUH!? He offered, obviously oblivious to the rules of the game. “Finders keepers losers weepers!!” At that instant he plunged forward in a disastrous heap, arms and fingers outstretched in a wild, desperate looking pose. The whole thing was lightning fast. Like a mouse being thwacked in a mousetrap. As his inexperienced hand went for the bag, and he actually started to elevate it. She singed him with her eyes. “I am taakeeng zat!” Cold. Abrupt. Decisive. He did not move. He formed no words or comeback. He knew better. Now that her decision had been validated, she trotted off with my prize. Had I not been in shock, I would have grabbed that snooty ponytail and swung her around by it.

The balance of the afternoon is a bit of a blur. I remember it being rather chilly (or perhaps it was just me summoning all of my powers not to haul off and pummel my newly beloved). What resulted was a rather nice jacket and two “2^nd best” apology bags that were meant to make it all better. This all happened in September 2001, just 12 years ago, so thank goodness I have gotten over it...