It’s only a few weeks of being back in Ontario and I can already feel the sense of calm contentment slipping that had settled over me in New Brunswick.
It’s partly that I know more about what to do here, where to go, who to see and there is just more of those things and so little time to do them!
Thanks to my partner, we had taken a bit of a tourist’s view of New Brunswick and we are looking to bring that with us in London. If you only had a weekend here, what would you do? Where would you go?
So we are making plans to see more sections of the Thames Valley Trail. Walking has remained our foundational activity, rain or shine.
It’s low cost, low equipment and easy to just get up and go!
Natalie and Michel smile at the camera with a beautiful walking bridge behind them. There are young people enjoying the view in the background.
Last Saturday we accidentally walked 10 km of the North Branch so I could see the beautiful new path and bridges. It’s along the river and through the southern portions of property owned by The Sisters of St Joseph, Scouts Canada and the Ivy Leadership Centre. It’s beautiful.
I’m grateful we have both cultivated enough mobility to spontaneously go on a decent walk. Good shoes help as well as all the little walks we do each day.
My legs are strong and flexible, my feet feel good, it’s nice to be a pedestrian tourist and see new sides of the city I’ve lived in for 16 years.
So I’m working on staying in the moment, carefully leaving unspoken for time in my life and scheduling time with friends.
“I would give everything I own give up my life my heart my home….just to have you back again..”
This was the song (by Bread) playing during my 45 minute Yacht Rock Ride with Peloton’s Jenn Sherman, when I could feel the well in my chest. That moment when endorphins from the ride mix with cheesy 70s “yacht rock” and encourage a spontaneous release of emotions.
It’s a familiar sensation, while spinning, sometimes, while running, whether because of music or not.
It’s more common for me to feel that well in my chest when not exercising lately. What’s going on? I am not a weeper. I’m the one who doesn’t always cry at funerals. Not because I’m not feeling it, but it is more likely to hit me in private. When I’m walking somewhere – or exercising. But not so much lately. Seeing as PMS seems to be a 3 week/month event these days, tears are more common than usual.
Frustration can make me feel weepy. So can happiness. Telling the group of women I exercise with, that this might be the most fun of my day, as I head off to to work from home, can make me feel weepy as I walk away. My husband was cleaning out an old drawer and found a journal where I was apparently trying to summon up a soulmate. Seeing that journal and the reminder of how alone I felt at one time, how juvenile my words look in retrospect, made me feel weepy. Weepy can mean happy, not always sad or nostalgic or fearful or anxious.
Crying, whether because of sadness or because of happiness, can be beneficial, as it helps regulate emotions. Don’t believe me? This article says that: Crying is an important safety valve, largely because keeping difficult feelings inside — what psychologists call repressive coping — can be bad for our health. Studies have linked repressive coping with a less resilient immune system, cardiovascular disease, and hypertension, as well as with mental health conditions, including stress, anxiety, and depression. Crying has also been shown to increase attachment behavior, encouraging closeness, empathy, and support from friends and family.
I can use help with regulating emotions these days. As my hormones seem to be making me feel more inadequate lately. Less useful or competent. As they make me feel more angry sometimes. Or more resigned. Or more tired and unmotivated. More unsure if I can be honest about how I’m feeling, and whether it will be held against me (in the workplace). I’m grateful for exercise and movement more than ever. Even if the endorphins seem to wane more quickly post workout. Exercise seems more necessary for my survival, than ever. I’m grateful for every emotion that is heightened through movement. Including tears.
How about you? Can exercise bring out your tears?
Side note – certain songs make me weepy, regardless of what I’m doing:
Coming Around Again – Carly Simon Tell Yourself – Natalie Merchant Somewhere Only We Know – Lily Allen cover
Which songs do this to you?
Nicole P. lives in Toronto with her husband and two dogs. She enjoys moving in the form of running, group park conditioning and strength workouts, spinning on her stationary bike, walking around her East End neighbourhood and the occasional bit of yoga.
I went to Bulgaria in August, for three weeks. It was supposed to be a fairly epic solo bike trip, with some sprinkling in of time with my friends who live there. After two nearly impossible days of riding, I realized I had to flip the script — it became a train and seaside trip, with some riding. And that turned out to be perfect.
Here’s the thing: I’m a well known completist when it comes to physical activity. When I go out for a run, I run the distance I set out to run. I have ridden across entire countries by myself, and am the one who always has to set (and complete) a target like “150 km for the 150th anniversary of Canada.” I spent the pandemic winter grinding through nearly every route in Zwift (a few more await me for when the darkness settles this year, but I still have my little paper record I’m crossing off). Every time Sam adds a kilometre or two to a bike ride to get to a milestone number, she tags me. It’s a thing I’m known for: persistence, and doing what I set out to do.
And yet? When I realized that the bike trip I’d planned on paper (with the help of a local guy) in Bulgaria was, in real life, a painful, overheated slog that had actual risk of injury or heatstroke, I pivoted. I did the first two days as planned, and then, while sitting at a table on the cobbled street of a medieval town and eating an excellent breakfast, rethought my plan. I could keep doing it — but why?
So instead of riding far into the mountains on days 3 and 4 to meet my friends, I took a train. (Which was no easy task in and of itself! — loaded bike, stairs, sudden changes of train I didn’t understand? Not exactly chill). We rode through a delightfully flat city, ate lunch, then drove to the base of the mountain and J and I took this cunning, rickety chair lift up. (Also dangerous when my jacket got caught as I tried to jump off and I nearly got dragged back down). For the weekend, as planned, I hung out with my friends and a gathering of their friends in a covid-indifferent world, slept deeply in the thin air of the balkan mountains, hiked with little kids, watched the sun set over layers of peaks with my friend, thought about what to do about the remaining 10 days in the bike trip.
In the holiday village at the top of the mountain, there was a ropes course J wanted to do, along with another of her friends. I encountered my new, less persistent self here too. I dived into the course happily, but realized right away that it was harder than I expected. When Rosa got stalled and frightened on the third leg, I didn’t feel impatient — I was grateful for an excuse to move to a lower, easier course. It still took work — and it was fun.
It was a clue to rethink the rest of my trip. Now, I love the elemental essence of a bike trip where I’m alone, with all my stuff, pulling into a simple hotel room and wandering in a late afternoon sun in a strange small town to find some food. I love the complexity and the problem solving and the slowed down time of navigating a new place by bike. I love the kindness of strangers, just as Joy wrote about on Monday. And I love the sense of accomplishment and completion when I finish a planned ride, tick off another successful day, can say “I rode from Riga to Tallinn!” I had expected to be able to proudly say “oh yeah, I rode my bike across Bulgaria!”
And yet. On this trip, the plan wasn’t actually so great. I had decided I wanted to ride in Bulgaria, so I found a guy who does bike trips there. I randomly declared I wanted to ride from Sofia to the sea, then said, wait, I want to also ride ALONG the sea. He suggested a route across the south that he does often; I decided I wanted to ride through my friends’ town, which took me through the hillier north. Then my friend said, oh, come to our mountain village instead, which took me deep into the mountains. My bike guy did his best, but with all of these “needs,” I ended up with a route with very long days and ridiculous amounts of climbing. Because there isn’t actually a route along the sea that bikes can ride on, the seaside route was jagged and long and haphazard. I had decided to hire a bike instead of bringing my own, partly because I worried about successful shipping during COVID and partly because one of the reasons Deyan agreed to plan my trip was for the bike hire. Because the days were so long, he gave me the lightest possible bike, but which turned out to have nothing resembling the gear ratio for loaded climbing.
Oh, and it was also 40 degrees C. And a year of training inside, while going through menopause and lockdown constraint and anxiety, had left me heavier and less conditioned than the last time I got on a loaded bike, two years ago. Simple truths.
Like someone chopping off a mass of untamed hair that got too thick during the lockdown, I took the clippers to my planned bike trip. I looked more closely at the descriptions of each day. 18 km of gravel road? Onto the train. “Sharp long climb?” Skip the monastery and take a shorter route. Dangerous patch into town? Onto the train. Route that took me far away from the sea because there were no safe roads? Onto the train. Day ride to a town we wanted to see but on a route that involved the motorway for 6 terrifying kilometers? Into a cab for the return trip.
In the end, after the mountain hut weekend, I only actually followed the plan as written on one day. I skipped difficult bits in the middle of the country and took a train. I rode half the distance planned to the beautiful Sozopol, stayed my planned time, including some long day rides, and rode back another half-distance to Burgas. 40 km rides with the loaded bike were plenty — the roads were broken and weaving, the days were hot, and there were occasional terrifying forays onto the motorway, sometimes facing traffic. It was plenty. And the place was magical.
The view from my balcony in Sozopol
I stayed in Burgas, a beautiful beach town, for five days, riding around the city, doing day trips with J, going to the beach with the kids, reading diverting novels under an expensive hired sunbrella, going for gentle runs along the seawall, eating things from the sea. Feeding random cats. Taking the kids to the little amusements in the park. Bathing in the “healing” lye ponds and slathering ourselves with black mud.
Then instead of navigating northward on the now creaking bike (everything needed de-sanding), I took a train. The changes were still complicated — at one station, I couldn’t know the right platform until the train pulled in, and there were stairs to change platforms; people stuck their heads out of trains and yelled incomprehensible commands at me where to put the bike — but it all worked out. It always does.
I came home tanned and rested. I came home grateful to have spent so much time with J and B and the kids, and grateful to have had a respite from the constraints of the past two years. I also came home with a cold, just like in the Before Times — but unlike the Before Times, I didn’t power through the cold, didn’t try to do all the things. I let my body recover.
Mostly, I came home with a much more mellow sense of what it means to be persistent. I love my persistence — it’s enabled many many things in my life. But I also appreciate the sense of discernment that is getting stronger as I get older — sometimes, persistence and completion, exactly what I need. And sometimes, it’s enough to ride, to seek, to climb just enough to move your body, see a new part of the world, be with someone who matters to you. Let your body rest when it needs it.
What’s your relationship to persistence and completion?
Fieldpoppy is Cate Creede, who is back in Toronto and remembering the sheer indignity and unpleasantness of fighting even the most benign virus.
Some days I run in my body. Some days I run in my head. It’s not a hard and fast separation, of course (body and mind are one). But, depending on the day, body or head dominates my run. The last couple of runs I’ve done have been in my head. My mind is busy writing a script and delivering its lines and it’s not until mid-run, or even post-run, when my mind notices that my body actually had a much better run than my mind was narrating.
Two examples.
On Sunday, I went out feeling unmotivated and more like watching Season 3 of the Danish television show Seaside Hotel. I reluctantly put on my running gear, laced my shoes, plugged into the audio book I’m listening to (Marshall Rosenberg’s Speaking Peace) and took off. The inner voices had a feisty script to deliver. Run a loop. Or not. If you feel like cutting off the top or bottom of the park, that’s fine too (that’s a thing in New York City’s Central Park, where there are clear options to take a mile off the top or bottom of the standard loop). Okay, I know said anything is fine and I meant it, but why not? So, I ran the whole loop, feeling neither super perky nor as draggy as I’d expected. At the 11th hour in my run, I ran past the last possible entrance to The Reservoir loop. That’s a dirt track around the reservoir in the middle of the park. As I ran past, a loud argument started up in my head. Girlfriend, you haven’t run that loop in ages. What’s wrong with you?Why are you being critical? She can run it when she feels like it. When’s that ever going to happen?Stop being so hard on her. She’ll do it when it feels good. And today is not that day. Whereupon, my body suddenly chimed in. Hold on, I do feel like running the reservoir loop. Do you really, or are you just saying that because you feel pressured? No. I don’t think so. Give me a moment. I’m checking in with the legs and feet. Yup. All parts are a go. I turned around, ran back to the reservoir and did the loop. My body was tired yes, but also in high spirits when I got home. My head was slowly dragged from doubting to cautious pleasure.
The Reservoir in New York City’s Central Park, a 106-acre reservoir with a dirt running and walking loop around the perimeter. These are images of the season-to-come, when every run won’t end drenched in the ambient humidity.
Second example. Yesterday, I woke up with a mild case of the post-Labour Day back-to-school blues, that feeling that everything should be starting fresh and yet it isn’t, those unaccountable blues that can’t just be ascribed to one particular thing. My body was not feeling springy. My spirit had even less loft. But I could see that it was a beautiful day and I couldn’t face a workout that involved a screen and being indoors. Again, I put on my running kit with unwilling resolve. Halfway up the first block from my apartment an argument broke out in my head.
I can’t do this. It’s boring. It’s too long. Oh for goodness’ sake, just get on with it. How about we compromise? Instead of the loop, let’s just run up to the north woods and do repeats on that short, sharp dirt hill. Okay, but I’m going to be slow. That’s fine. It doesn’t even matter. You can’t not get a good workout, no matter what speed you go. Plus, you get to be in the woods and on dirt. Fine. Just get on with it.
I ran. I repeated. I listened to my book. I got home feeling decent, if still bluesy. Then, I had breakfast with my partner and he asked how my run went. I told him what I’d done and he said, “And that didn’t feel good?” His question made me realize that my mind hadn’t caught up to my body yet. Because, yes, my body was happy with the run and my head hadn’t taken the time to note that fact.
Running in my head can be very noisy. Running in my body is quieter. The quiet doesn’t mean faster or stronger, as I used to think. It just means less blab-blab-blab. When I try to fight the blabs by telling them to be quiet, they just get louder. I am learning, ever so slowly, that taking my head and body where they are at and running with whichever one wants to take the lead on any particular day, is more easeful. Letting the voices roll, allowing them to caution, berate, encourage, argue and generally raise a ruckus is more fruitful than trying to quiet them. When I can resist the urge to pile on to their tirades, to spin myself into their vortices of whatever feels hot to them that day, when I can just be present to their narratives, give them a respectful listen as I run, I notice there’s a calming effect on their vociferous need to get as many words in edgewise as possible.
The most important practice when I’m running in my head is to be mindful of checking in with my body, because she may have a different story to tell. I want to listen to her, too. And I don’t want to miss an opportunity to express my gratitude to my body, for all her hard work and all the pleasure she has given me and continues to give me over our many miles together.
I first ‘met’ Ann Douglas around 20 years ago when my information-seeking pregnant self picked up her Mother of all Pregnancy Books at Chapters. I loved her writing – she wasn’t the expert talking down to the novice, she was the experienced friend giving you some perspective on whatever you were dealing with right now.
We started chatting back and forth on blogs back in the day and I volunteered to be interviewed for some of her other parenting books, and, in the process, we’ve become good friends. I’ve only seen Ann once in person but we have stayed in touch with phone calls, Zoom chats, and email.
A few years ago, Ann took up the habit of long daily walks and it has been life-changing for her so I thought that Fit as a Feminist Issue readers might enjoy hearing about her routine and about her other projects and interests.
Ann Douglas and her husband, Neil, on a boat ride this summer. Image description: Two middle-aged adults in life jackets smile for the camera. Ann, on the right, has curly grey hair. Neil, on the left, has short grey hair and a moustache and he is wearing sunglasses. The deck of a boat and some lake water can be seen behind them.
Ann Douglas is the author of numerous bestselling parenting books and she is currently writing a book for and about women at midlife. She lives on a lake in a rural area outside of Bancroft, Ontario.
What are some of your current projects (fitness-related or otherwise)?
I’m hard at work on a book for and about women at midlife, I’m doing a lot of volunteer work related to electoral reform, and I’m taking full advantage of the precious and time-limited gift that is a Canadian summer. For me, that means going for twice-daily walks on a rural road and paddling in my kayak a couple of times each week.
I know that walks are an important part of your daily life. Can you tell me when that started, some details about your routine, and what benefits you have found from incorporating walking into your routine? Does it help your peace of mind? Your feeling of well-being? Your writing?
Walking is a key ingredient in the recipe for a happy, healthy me. I started walking back in 2013, after being completely sedentary for most of my life. And when I say “sedentary,” I mean sedentary. Even a 15-minute walk around the block triggered debilitating foot pain. (I was morbidly obese at the time and my feet were having difficulty dealing with the additional weight I was carrying.) The clock was ticking (I was about to turn 50) and I knew that I needed to find a way to be physically active on a regular basis if I wanted to reduce my risk of developing some of the serious health problems that tend to run in my family, including heart disease and diabetes.
When I started walking, I had physical health goals in mind. What I hadn’t counted on was the impact that regular physical activity would have on my mental health. My twice-daily walks not only help to put the brakes on my anxiety: they also help me to sleep better at night which, in turn, helps to control my anxiety and boost my mood. This has proven to be a complete gamechanger for me, in terms of my mood and my overall quality of life. (I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder 18 years ago.) Getting enough sleep and physical activity are the glue that holds everything together.
Walking has also helped me to manage another major health challenge. Four years ago, I was diagnosed with Meniere’s disease: a balance and dizziness disorder that, in my case, is characterized by really acute attacks of vertigo (the kind where you end up throwing up for a couple of hours straight). I quickly figured out that walking as soon as possible after a vertigo attack helps to reset my vestibular system; and that walking regularly helps to maintain the health of my vestibular system. Walking is a key strategy for minimizing the impact of my Meniere’s disease (along with getting enough sleep; minimizing my intake of salt and caffeine; and avoiding alcohol). I also try to minimize stress, but that can be a little hit and miss.
However, the walking helps with that, so even if I’m more stressed than I’d like to be, at least I have a strategy for dialing back the level of stress.
I’m really lucky that I live in a naturally spectacular part of Ontario, so walking automatically means spending time in nature, because I’m surrounded by nature the moment I step outside my front door. That’s a huge benefit: being able to nurture my life-long love affair with nature while I’m nurturing my body at the same time.
You were asking about the impact of walking on my writing. I deliberately take the first of my twice-daily walks at lunchtime, midway through my working day. It’s a way to recharge my mental batteries, just as they’re starting to lose their charge. And often when I’m out for my walk, a solution to a writing-related problem will pop into my head. (“Wait a minute: Chapter 4 should actually be Chapter 1!”) It’s pretty magical, how that works.
A scene from one of Ann’s walks this past winter. Image description: a rural road extends around a curve. The ground is covered with snow and there are snow-covered trees on either side of the lightly-plowed road.
How do you feel about fitness as a key element in self-care?
It’s a huge deal for me. My younger self would be amazed to know that I grew up to be an adult who is an active living evangelist. I hated gym class when I was a kid. Like really hated it….
Being physically active on a regular basis has also given me some newfound body confidence. I’m willing to try new things that I simply wouldn’t have been willing to try before I became physically active. Two years ago, I bought myself a kayak and now I love kayaking. Younger me would have been convinced I wasn’t athletic or coordinated enough to go kayaking. Midlife me knows better!
You are writing a book about women at mid-life and the founders of this blog, Sam & Tracy, have written a book called ‘Fit at Mid-Life.’ I’m interested to know if fitness came up in your research as an important element for women at mid-life. If so, could you tell me a bit about that?
It definitely came up a lot—and a lot of these conversations were about guilt: the guilt women felt for not being able to be as physically active as they wanted to be. Midlife is crunch time for a lot of women—a time of life when they’re asked to juggle an impossible number of responsibilities and to live up to sky-high expectations of what it means to be living well at midlife. Sometimes important things fall off their to do lists, simply because there isn’t enough of them to go around. That isn’t something that they should be feeling guilty about. It’s something our culture should be feeling guilty about—for asking so much of women that they don’t always have the capacity to take good care of themselves.
As a parenting author, did you find that fitness was a concern for the parents you interviewed or who sought your advice? If so, could you share a bit about that, too?
This definitely came up in the research for my most recent parenting book, Happy Parents, Happy Kids. Once again, there was a lot of guilt as well as frustration with the very real barriers that can prevent parents from exercising as often as they’d like, and for some parents more than others. For example, if you don’t live in a safe and walkable neighbourhood, being active can be a huge challenge. Ditto if you’re a single parent who doesn’t have anyone else available to give you a break so that you can go for a walk by yourself. (Sure, you can walk with a child, but research shows that exercising with kids doesn’t necessarily reap the same fitness benefits as exercising on your own, as anyone who has ever tried to go for a walk with a toddler can attest. You’ll get to see a lot of dandelions, but you might not get a very robust workout.)
But back to the guilt—both guilt for not being able to take time for yourself so you can exercise and guilt for actually taking that time.
I think the best way to deal with that guilt is to simply ask yourself, “What’s reasonable and sustainable for me right now?” and to look for a way to start with something. It doesn’t have to be a big commitment. It doesn’t have to happen every day. And maybe you can mentally frame it a way that actually feels good: as a nice thing you’re doing for yourself as opposed to yet another obligation to add to an already too long to do list. (“I get to go for a 10-minute walk around the block” as opposed to “I have to….”)
Ann’s kayak awaits her next paddling adventure. Image description: a bright blue fibreglass kayak is tied up at a small floating dock on a lake. The kayak cover rests on the dock and we can see the water all around the dock and the kayak.
The name of this blog is Fit is a Feminist Issue. Does the connection between feminism and fitness resonate with you? If so, how?
Yes, and on so many levels! First of all, in terms of body love and self-acceptance. Being physically active on a regular basis has allowed me to feel good about my body in ways that I didn’t even think were possible, given the toxic cultural messages women are given about their bodies. A lot of the women I’ve interviewed for my book have been quite explicit about the need to break up with the patriarchy—how that is a path to liberation for them, both personally and politically—and I couldn’t agree more. Gender roles as prescribed by our patriarchal culture make it more challenging for women to find the time or to have the other resources necessary to take good care of themselves. And, of course, those challenges are intersectional, with some women being impacted so much more than others. My rage about these issues intensifies as I grow older. I just want things to be better, and not just for women like me (a cis, heterosexual, white middle class woman). I want things to be better for all women. Because we deserve nothing less.
Is there anything you would like to talk about that arose from other questions but that I didn’t directly ask about?
I guess I’d just add a quick note about self-compassion. There’s a lot of research to show that women who treat themselves with self-compassion are more likely to recover from an exercise setback (for example, an injury, a family emergency, or something else that disrupts their plans to be physically active). Instead of beating themselves up for having to put their workouts on hold, they simply treat themselves with the same kindness as they would show to a friend who was facing a similar challenge. Instead of feeling like giving up, they feel like they can re-engage with their exercise goal. Learning about self-compassion was life-changing for me, which is why I’m always talking about it.
If you substitute “biking” for “walking” (which given the state of my left knee, I have to do) I think our long weekend worked out pretty well. We rode bikes, raced sailboats, and connected with friends. It’s the weekend before the university opens to students and classes and so it wasn’t all leisure. But I feel like the work/rest blend was pretty balanced.
On Friday after work we biked in Prince Edward County with our friend Alex. The trip included three of my favourite things–connection and conversation, observing alpacas, and eating ice cream. The Millennium Trail is pretty wonderful. This time we rode from Wellington to Bloomfield and back, just over 20 km all told.
Pretty skies
Alex on the gravel trail
Sam’s bike at Slickers
Sam selfie
Alpacas, blue skies, and pretty clouds
Alpacas
Alpacas
Gravel bike trail
Noble Beasts Alpaca Farm
And then on Saturday Sarah and I raced our Snipe in the Guelph Community Boating Club flat water race. Usually it’s out to the damn and back but the wind died and the course was cut short. We’re getting better and working lots on our boat speed. We finished in the middle of the pack, 5th out of 10 boats.
Racing on Guelph Lake
Getting ready to race
And then we snuck in a short 15 km ride on the riverside bike trails in Guelph with our friend Rob who stopped by for a bike ride and pizza.
Sam, Rob, and Sarah riding bikes
Sunday was a fun day on campus for me. I was part of the team greeting parents and first year students moving into residence. I rode my pink Brompton. My sparkly bike helmet got a lot of positive attention. The bike allowed me to move between residences saying hi to a lot of the new University of Guelph students.
Sam’s pink bike and sparkly helmet in front of Zavitz Hall at the U of G
I know the next few weeks will be much less balanced. More work and more stress as we navigate our way back onto campus for the fall semester. It’s a time of vaccine mandates and hybrid meetings and long work days. But it sure felt good to get outside and have some fun this long weekend.
How did your weekend work out on the balance front?
It’s the beginning of September and back to school for students and academics of all ages. It’s also the season for Zwift Academy Road.
I struggled last year but I made it–see here and here. And I’ve signed up again to get in racing shape for Zwift. I started out with the Baseline Ride and I’ll start the workouts this week.
I didn’t Zwift much during the summer. The biggest issue was the hot steamy weather and our lack of air conditioning. But I also started to have issues with our Wahoo Kickr trainer and calibration. In the end, I just put Zwifting aside and enjoyed a lot of outdoor riding, mostly gravel trails but some road riding too.
Truth be told though I missed it. I’ve bought a new trainer to start the Zwifting season–a Tacx Neo 2T. I’m hoping the wheel off trainer is more accurate and less fussy. It’s also supposed to be quieter. I’ll report back on both the new trainer and on Zwift Academy.
On September 5th, my trip tracking odometer rolled over to 501km as I reached the boarding dock for the Chi Cheemaun. Such a great feeling… and a very cool spot to reach that milestone too!
Celebrating 500km into my trip while waiting to board the Chi Cheemaun!
Throughout this trip there has been no shortage of challenging situations where the kindness of strangers made my day far easier. Here are a few of those highlights:
Emergency phone charge at Seaforth Mini Storage when I made a wrong turn on my way from Exeter to Bayfield. I now have two robust charging blocks!
Frozen water bottles from beach goers at Port Albert when I asked about a place to buy water.
Help lifting my fully loaded bike up when it fell over. This has happened a few times, but was especially notable when I arrived in Kincardine feeling exhausted, ravenous after running out of protein bars, and maybe a bit dehydrated too… it was a hot day with temperatures in the 30s. I missed my aim when I went to prop my bike against something and it went down. All I wanted was food and *cold* water. I sighed, then sat down to drink water before unloading my bike, lifting it up, and reloading it. But before I’d even moved it to the sidewalk it fell over again! I was sooo tired! So I went to the road and flagged down a driver to help me pick my bike up without needing to unload again. The driver also topped up my water bottle and pointed me toward an excellent restaurant.
Free produce from Earth Bound Gardens in the midst of a food desert near Red Bay. Surprisingly this was my first roadside produce stop in all my travels! There haven’t been a lot along my path. Their gardens were also a hidden gem and I felt like I’d stumbled into gardens from a fairytale. More on that another time though.
Some of the produce Earth Bound Gardens gave me.
A tampon. Everyone who menstruates can relate to needing feminine hygiene products when out and about!!
Help getting my stove lit when all I had was a cigarette lighter. Maybe ten minutes earlier I had watched a group of Muslim women figuring out how to set up a privacy shelter for the first time. They worked together and seeing their collaboration made me smile. I struggled for a few minutes on my own, before asking the group if they had a BBQ lighter or matches. It was easier to ask them for help since I’d seen them struggling earlier. They didn’t have an alternative, but came over to help when they realized I had a cigarette lighter. One of them suggested we try lighting paper first, a couple of us blocked the wind, and together we managed to light the stove. That night I cooked my first (very basic) camp stove meal. A couple days later I bought a pack of 3 BBQ lighters, so I’ll be set for a while yet! This is key, because stores are further apart now, so I have to be able to cook my own food.
Dinner at Black Creek Provincial Park
Creative problem solving regarding where to put my food bag when it was tricky to find a decent tree to hang the bear bag in. We ended up putting it in a locked outhouse with rocks blocking it. Yes… I know it probably wouldn’t have worked if a bear came along and wasn’t satisfied with the nearby garbage, but it was a good team effort. Don’t worry, I camped waaaay down the beach from it so I was safe either way!
Food bag in the outhouse! Creative problem solving at it’s finest! LOL
Directions plus loads of useful local info when I had no cell service to check my map. Yay friendly and resourceful librarians who are eager to help even when they aren’t at work!
Just before I caught the Chi Cheemaun to Manitoulin there was a power outage and everything shut down. I had intended to restock food and water supplies before catching the ferry and since I hadn’t had access to the internet for a few days I wasn’t sure what would be available on Manitoulin. As I made inquiries about where to get supplies one person offered me a bottle of water, another a granola bar, and another 4 bottles of water! This helped me realize that even if there wasn’t a grocery store, I could likely knock on a few people’s doors and ask to buy a few eggs from their fridge to get me through.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the way perceptions and stereotypes impact interactions between strangers. How much more readily have strangers helped me because I’m white, thin, and female in a society that views those attributes as safe, non-threatening, worthy of care, and even of needing protection? What role do my academic background and social skills have? What about the fact that I can often present as middle class, even though in reality I live under the poverty line?
Today I am absolutely loving this journey, but how might I feel if strangers weren’t as kind to me? What if I were experiencing microaggressions rather than support and kindness? It’s difficult to imagine what some days would have looked like without kind strangers. Even more so if I was experiencing microaggressions.
Sometimes guest blogger Cheryl M also writes for Canadian Cycling. You can read her latest piece on advice for beginning cyclists here. Or pick up a hard copy of Canadian Cycling.
Here’s some screen captures of part of her interview with me.
What other advice do I have to give?
How about you? What advice would you offer to people just starting out?
It’s back-to-school time for me and everyone around me. It feels strange after being away for 18 months, teaching on a small screen to even smaller students. It feels strange teaching in-person, all of us wearing masks (my campus has a mask and vaccine mandate). One of my current students introduced herself to me last week, reminding me that she was in one of my zoom classes last spring. I commented that she looked different in person than she did inside a small square on my laptop. She said the same was true of me, and we both chuckled, a bit nervously.
Some things, however, haven’t changed. I’m still teaching online introduction to logic–two sections. I’ve been doing this for more than ten years, and it has its plusses and minuses, both for the students and for me.
One of the plusses (for me, at least) is this: at the start of the term, I ask the students to introduce themselves. I offer them a variety of questions to answer to get them started (all optional):
Who are you? What should we call you? Where are you from? What’s your major or interest (if you haven’t declared one yet)? Do you have pets? Siblings? Kids? Favorite house plants or T shirts? What do you do when you’re not schooling? Tell us whatever you’d like.
They always deliver. I’m in awe of how much they do, how many relationships they sustain, how many hours they work at jobs to help support themselves, their families, and their educational goals.
So, in honor of the start of the school year, here’s what 58 logic students do to be active, caring, and satisfied, in the form of lists.
They take care of a LOT of pets:
23 cats
28 dogs
one horse
one bunny
one betta fish
3 mice
11 chickens
indeterminate number of other farm animals
They take care of other humans:
13 children
15+ younger siblings
loads of other peoples’ kids (as nannies, babysitters, daycare workers)
elderly people (as caregivers, aides)
school-age kids (as teachers’ aides)
kids’ sports teams
vulnerable people (in centers, schools, hospices)
They keep active:
horseback riding
cycling
running
basketball
football
yoga
dancing
softball
hockey
hiking
fishing
snowboarding
gym workouts
water skiing
playing with their animals
They go to places that make them happy:
the beach
the park
the woods
And they do all of this while working many jobs. Many or most of them work full-time AND are full-time (or close to it) students. Their lives are, in short, full.
I am in awe of these people. I already like them and am proud of them for their courage in taking on two lives’ worth of activity and caring and work. I hope to learn more from them as the term goes on.
