One of my reflections from the blogger barbecue at Sam’s was just how strong and fit everyone is. Shocker! It’s a fitness blog after all.
Cate talked about tossing off 75 km rides on a poorly fitted bike with seized pedals in France. Others exchanging plans for upcoming charitable rides. There were mentions of camping adventures and favourite hikes.
Talk of a visit to Newfoundland turned to reminiscences about Sam and Sarah’s ride from Deer Lake to St Anthony’s some years ago, and whether that would be a fun group thing. I have been a passenger driving on that route several times. I immediately offered to drive the support van because I would never survive those hills.
What struck me was just how strong and fit (and smart and interesting) every single woman in the group was. Frankly, I felt intimidated and had to remind myself that I’m actually a pretty good swimmer and a decent cook.
I’m a little older, and can’t do those exact things but diversity is good and I have different interests and fitness goals and that’s okay. One of the things I have learned from hanging around (virtually until now) with the bloggers is that self-talk is a very useful tool, and for a while on Saturday I had to put that lesson to good use.
Will I continue to be impressed all they do? Heck ya! Will I feel more than the slightest twinge of wanting to be able to do what they do? Probably not because I will remind myself that comparison is the thief of joy.
I will just keep doing my little goofy activities that keep my brain engaged and my body moving, and sometimes help make swimming or cycling safer for other people. They make me happy and sometimes they entertain other people, and I love that for me.
Me with a post-walk ice cream. Chasing after the ice cream truck by following the sound of its music is one of my favourite summertime fitness activities. I have occasionally walked for more than an hour to track it down, and then walked home.
I’m just back from a glorious month of playing in the Canadian Rocky Mountains. Trail running. Mountain biking. Hiking. And just plain soaking up the titanic rock energy. While there, I spent time with a woman I’ve known for a long time and thought I knew most everything about. Only to discover a new side of her. I was surprised and inspired. She was more intrepid than I’d known and more comfortable in her own company than I’d understood.
The first glimpse of this new side of her came when she headed off to do a hike with a somewhat heart accelerating crux involving a chain bolted to a cliff face, with a sliver of a ledge to tip toe across. She had some idea of the challenge, from having been there in the winter with a friend. They turned back. This time she was alone. As she approached the crux, she coached herself to step onto the sliver ledge without so much as a pause. And that’s what she did. It turned out that the crux was not the end of the exciting bits. She joined up with three other hikers a short while later and they told her that the scree field they were descending was the site of the greatest number of helicopter rescues in the area. Oh.
The summer I was 18, I worked at the fancy restaurant in London, Ontario. Once a week, on Friday nights, an attractive woman came in alone and had dinner, including a glass of champagne and dessert. To my young eyes, she seemed to be about forty, and who knows, she could have been younger or older. What she was, was an icon of female power and independence. I couldn’t imagine a woman going to a restaurant alone. This was before mobile phones. So alone really meant alone. For fine dining? And champagne? And dessert? All those treats just for her own pleasure. How could she even enjoy her own company so much? Let alone have the courage to be seen alone in public on a weekend night? Such insouciance. Such confidence. I wanted to be like her.
When I strode back into the parking lot at the end of the hike, I felt like my version of that long ago woman in the restaurant. As you likely guessed, that was me setting out alone and me coaching myself through the crux. I didn’t think I could do it. I’d lain awake part of the night filled with fear. I had already given myself the grace to turn back. When I didn’t turn back, the elation started to build over the course of the next couple of hours. By the time I finished, I felt like I was champagne. I could not only make it through the crux, but I could also enjoy being in my own company. I felt insouciant. Confident. I felt like I was taking my own world by storm.
View from Tent Ridge, Kananaskis, Alberta
I did several more hikes with crux-y bits and other challenges that confirmed this woman’s existence inside me. I’d always thought that I needed company for such adventures. To discover that I could enjoy them just as much alone was a revelation. Though I would do well to have a satellite device of some kind for company. That’s a logistical issue. Meanwhile, I’m still feeling the fizz of meeting this new part of myself, with unexpected capacity.
I don’t know yet what we will do together. I am curious indeed.
Dad died a few weeks ago. He was not an obvious feminist ally at first glance; he started his 48 year military career back in the 1950s, not exactly the most progressive of times. He didn’t speak up much, and though he delighted in talking about politics from time to time, he was in his 80s before I knew his voting preferences.
He also didn’t talk about feminism or women’s rights, at least not directly. He did, however, delight in his all-female family, starting with my Mom. She was a rebel, having left her home in rural Alberta for Toronto, having her own career, and having and keeping a child (me) at a time when doing so outside of marriage was almost unheard of. They dated for a month, decided on a Tuesday to get married on a Saturday, and were deeply in love for 63 years.
Dad and Mom at my son’s wedding in 2023. Dad never missed a chance to sneak a kiss, and Mom was always happy to oblige.
My sister and I were raised to believe there was almost nothing we couldn’t do if that was what we wanted. Olympic swimming goals and my career as a concert pianist were derailed by lack of swim club and musical talent, but he happily paid for and drove me to all those swimming and piano lessons, even when money was very tight. Though he never finished high school himself, he encouraged and supported both of us to go to university (my sister did journalism, law, and ethics; I did music, political science, French and international development).
One of my favourite memories is the time he lamented that he hadn’t been a good role model because neither my sister nor I were married. No Dad, you were the best model. You showed us what being a great partner and father looked like, and we weren’t prepared to settle for anything less.
Happy Mother’s Day to all who are celebrating today. It’s time to honor, remember, reflect, distract, comfort, eat with, cook for, sit by, think about, talk about, not talk about, or hang out with the mothers we know, knew, love, loved, etc.
Last year I wrote about a Mother’s Day mountain bike race I did a long time ago. There were three of us in my beginner division, two moms plus me.
For today, I’m sharing a post I wrote in 2019 with a picture of my mom, Beth, and a compendium of Mother’s Day and mother-related posts that some of us have written.
This weekend in Boston is cram-jammed with activity and celebration.
Monday April 21 is the running of the 129th annual Boston Marathon, which takes place on the 3rd Monday in April. Our own blogger Alison is running Boston this year. I imagine she’ll have some things to say about the race, so stay tuned for her report.
It’s also a holiday for the city of Boston– Patriot’s Day, to commemorate the battles of Lexington and Concord, as well as the midnight ride of Paul Revere, which took place on “the eighteenth of April in Seventy Five”. That’s 1775, for those of you who live outside the Boston area.
And this year– 2025– is the two hundred and fiftieth anniversary of those events which signaled the start of the move toward representative democracy in then-American colonies and now-United States of America. One writer called it the “semiquincentennial” of those April 1775 events (get it? half of five hundred?) I was skeptical about this word, but some sites say it’s legit. But I think I prefer “sestercentennial”, which is a more formal term.
Finally, today is Easter Sunday and Orthodox Easter Sunday, arguably the most important holiday (personally, I think it edges out Christmas) in the Christian liturgical calendar. Boston is a big Easter town, with both religious and secular celebrations of the cycles of rebirth and renewal.
And this year, those cycles include resolve and response. Resolve to protect rights that we fought for, and response to those who would infringe upon, or rather, stomp all over those rights. Old North Church itself says it best:
Old North Church in Boston, with a lighted projection, “Let the warning ride forth once more; Tyranny is at our door.”
On Friday April 18, there was a service to commemorate the 250th anniversary of the lighting of two lanterns in the steeple of Old North Church. American historian Heather Cox Richardson gave the keynote address. You can read her talk here at her substack Letters from an American (which I and more than one million of my friends follow)
Okay, I have to say it: I WAS THERE! With my friend Norah. I was able to get tickets way back in February as soon as they went on sale because a)I subscribe to way too many newsletters; and b) I stubbornly try to read as many of them as I can, at the cost of more practical tasks (like cleaning and grading). Here are a few pictures from the event:
Top: Old North Church Visitor Experience Center Director Julius Hobert introducing Richardson. Yes, those candles are real. Middle: the plaque inside the Revere Pew, where Norah and I sat (OMG– such random but delightful luck!) Bottom: Historian Heather Cox Richardson, speaking from the raised pulpit.
Yes, Norah and I took selfies from the Revere pew, but I’m trying to write a more classy post this week, so I’ll save those for other social media.
Richardson, in her account of the events of April 18-19. 1775, noted all the work done by so many people– people who rode hard, climbed high, carried messages and armaments, beat drums of alert, marched, fought, wrote, organized, fed, housed, and spoke in favor of the rights of the people to govern themselves.
Two hundred and fifty years later, people all over the US and Canada and all over the world are doing the same. We don’t know what effects our actions will have. As Richardson pointed out, neither did those folks:
Paul Revere didn’t wake up on the morning of April 18, 1775, and decide to change the world. That morning began like many of the other tense days of the past year, and there was little reason to think the next two days would end as they did. Like his neighbors, Revere simply offered what he could to the cause: engraving skills, information, knowledge of a church steeple, longstanding friendships that helped to create a network. And on April 18, he and his friends set out to protect the men who were leading the fight to establish a representative government.
The work of Newman (sexton of Old North) and Pulling (sea captain and friend of Paul Revere) to light the lanterns exactly 250 years ago tonight sounds even less heroic. They agreed to cross through town to light two lanterns in a church steeple. It sounds like such a very little thing to do, and yet by doing it, they risked imprisonment or even death. It was such a little thing…but it was everything. And what they did, as with so many of the little steps that lead to profound change, was largely forgotten until Henry Wadsworth Longfellow used their story to inspire a later generation to work to stop tyranny in his own time.
What Newman and Pulling did was simply to honor their friendships and their principles and to do the next right thing, even if it risked their lives, even if no one ever knew. And that is all anyone can do as we work to preserve the concept of human self-determination. In that heroic struggle, most of us will be lost to history, but we will, nonetheless, move the story forward, even if just a little bit.
And once in a great while, someone will light a lantern—or even two—that will shine forth for democratic principles that are under siege, and set the world ablaze.
This day is Easter Sunday. It’s, for many of us, a time of renewal. I’m renewing my commitment to protecting all of those in my small, medium and large communities.
Easter is also a time of resolve. I resolve not to forget those who have sacrificed much for justice and to join them with my own efforts. I resolve to keep moving, marching, writing, speaking, supporting, feeding, donating, and maintaining our communities.
This Easter, I’m adding in respond. Those responses include physical and mental and emotional and financial and political actions, all aimed at restoring and protecting the democratic rights of everyone in this country.
What does this Easter mean to you at this time in our history? Feel free to share what you’re thinking, feeling, and doing.
When things are looking dire, one thing we can do is strive to find solace in what’s in front of us. What was in front of me today was a big collection of manatee stickers, given to me by my friend Gal after our legendary (in our minds, at least) trip to go swim with the manatees in Crystal River, Florida. In case you missed it, here are some posts I wrote about them:
It was so awesome that Gal and I are planning a return trip next December or January, with various others.
But in the meantime, we have to find things to do while we are waiting. One of them for me has been to put my manatee stickers to good use.
A creatively-colored orange-pink-and-yellow-patterned manatee on my red water bottle.
I’ve also selected these stickers for application to my laptop; they depict manatees engaged in activities that make us all happy– playing music, drinking boba tea (or your beverage of choice), and looking fabulous.
Manatees playing bassoon, drinking boba tea, and rocking a boa and great glasses.
Of course, manatees also model how we sometimes need alone time, and sometimes can use a friend.
Two manatees enjoying the prospect of tasty greens, and one just enjoying their own company.
My favorite I saved for last: on my pill box is a manatee doing one of my favorite things: riding a bike. Say no more.
A happy manatee riding their bike.
Manatees got us, in good times and in bad. I’ll leave you with this proof: a manatee who’s got the whole world in its flippers.
Canada’s new pro women’s soccer league, makes its debut tonight with Calgary Wild FC taking on Vancouver Rise FC.
This six team league is the brainchild of former professional and Olympic soccer player Diana Matheson. Canadian soccer superstar Christine Sinclair is also a supporter.
Halifax Tides FC, Montreal Roses FC, Ottawa Rapid FC, and AFC Toronto at the other four teams. After two seasons, the plan is expand further across Canada.
I hope the new league is met with the same level of joyous fan support as the PWHL. Women’s sports are having a moment and there are millions of soccer-playing Canadian girls who now have a chance to see their hero’s play regularly, not just at the World Cup and Olympics.
LET’ GO!!!
Northern Super League players unveil their team jerseys (photo courtesy of NSL)
The Professional Women’s Hockey League (PWHL) has been doing an amazing job of fan engagement but on of the things I have enjoyed most is how they make time at every game (at least in Ottawa) to highlight the contributions of women who have helped make space for women and girls to play sports.
At a recent game, it was Abby Hoffmann. Abby started playing hockey on a boy’s team in the 1950s in Toronto. She was kicked off the team when I was discovered she was a girl; her case went all the way to the Ontario Supreme Court and got international media coverage. Sadly, she lost.
Image of Abby Hoffman as a young hockey player, from Library and Archives Canada.
That didn’t stop her though. She took up competitive swimming and then became a world-class middle distance runner. I remember watching her at her fourth Olympics (Montreal, 1976), where she was the flag-bearer.
After her athletic career ended, she turned to public service, becoming the first woman Director General of Sport Canada, the first Canadian woman elected as an executive of the Canadian Olympic Committee, and a supporter of the Canadian women’s national hockey championship, which ran from 1982 to 2007. Its prize was Abbey Hoffman Cup, now house in the Hockey Hall of Fame. She is a member of both the Order of Canada and has been inducted into Canada’s Sports Hall of Fame.
Abby Hoffman running in 1972. Photo by Boris Spremo for the Toronto Star.
It was a thrill to see Abby in person at a game, after following her career for so many years.
A few weeks ago, I ran rim to rim in the Grand Canyon. The effort was a moment to remind myself of the strength of my spirit after a period of enormous loss, chaos and instability, including health setbacks. As I ran from the night into the dazzling first drops of sun gilding the tops of the cliffs, the dawning day called me back in to myself.
My youngest brother, Noah, proposed the adventure. His goal was to run rim to rim to rim (R3)—across the canyon and back again. My goal was rim to rim. I would accompany him for the first half of his effort.
It had been more than a decade since my last ultra run. Yes, I know, technically, rim to rim is not ultra, because it is not longer than a marathon. That said, those 21 miles are challenging. I underprepared. By a lot. One month out, I broke my toe. I wasn’t sure I could even join my brother for the first steps. A few days before we were set to leave, I was fretting about my lack of training, when the universe delivered me a lightning bolt of clarity. You know how to do this. In that moment, I felt a fizz of recognition, the running was the least of it. To be prepared was to believe in myself. I could give the rest over to the universe. I felt a sudden sense of being anchored. I know how to do this. I’ve done ultra runs before. The experience is inscribed in my cells. Yes, in the past I have always trained. A lot. And that wasn’t an option this time, so I will run with what I do have. My knowing.
Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t suddenly think that I had the whole thing in the bag, and it would all be a dawdle. Not at all. Rather, it was an acceptance that I might well turn around and that would be okay, combined with a confidence that I could do it, if all else aligned (weather, health & sleep, being the three primary things that needed to be in alignment).
We started running at 4 a.m. Descending 4500 feet. In the pitch dark. For more than 2 hours.
At one point, my headlamp caught a lone, bare tree, which looked like a staging of Samuel Beckett’s play, Waiting for Godot. I thought about Didi and Gogo, near the end of the play, contemplating whether to hang themselves from the scrawny tree. A current of energy passed through me and a voice in my head said, I want to live. I want to stop waiting for something external to happen, to give me a reason. Life is happening now. This is it.
I relaxed into the pleasure of the run. We reached the bottom in the dark and began to make our way across. I’ve been down into the canyon twice before and come right back up. I had never traversed the canyon floor before. Never been hugged by the canyon walls, as I passed through the sometimes narrow, winding passage to the far rim. The light began to seep into the canyon, long before the first sunshine splashed over the highest rock faces. The North Rim loomed 5000 feet above. It didn’t seem possible that there was a trail leading up the sheer walls. And yet, there it was. Sometimes skinny and precipitous. Sometimes breathlessly steep. With views to astonish.
Tears prickled as I reached the top after 7 grueling hours. I was overcome with the full body pleasure of finishing. Despite all. I’m awesome. I thought. For a moment. Only to watch most runners who came after me turn around (as my brother did) and run back again to the South Rim.
I was so proud of my brother for achieving his desired goal. And, at the same time, all the runners out there covering twice as much distance as me that day made me question my own sense of accomplishment. I only did … I made a halfway effort. In our world of increasingly extreme efforts, in our world where people are routinely pushing their bodies to the very edge of their human limits, what counts? What is enough? What am I allowed to be proud of? Wait a minute, who is doing this allowing? Why can’t I allow myself to be awesome?
And then on the Thursday after the Grand Canyon, I read these words from David Whyte (from his book Consolations. Words I had read before, which took on new resonance: “…taking a new step always begins from the central foundational core of the body, a body we have neglected, beginning well means seating ourselves in the body again, catching up with ourselves and the person we have become since last we tried to begin …” I felt my first steps down the South Kaibab trail again and the intensity of everything that moment contained. The flood of memories of other physical challenges, like this run, that I’ve done in the past. All the ways in which my life and how I see myself have changed since then. All the doubts I was carrying into the canyon about my own capacity. Would my Addison’s Disease be a factor? The run was an opportunity to catch up with myself and the person I have become since last I tried to begin. I discovered a woman who is doing better than she thought. The light of resilience is seeping into her cells. Soon, the only-seemingly-insurmountable cliffs ahead will be painted gold and the trail will show itself. Step by step.
I started this post in my head while I drew our gold star and I started with a very different idea…
But once I finished our star, I realized that she looks so celebratory that I wanted to look for extra reasons for her to feel that way.
So, my friends, I’m hoping you will help her out by looking for things to celebrate in your life right now.
I’m not asking you to pretend that your frustrations and challenges or even your anger don’t exist.
I’m asking you to give yourself a moment, a breather, a chance to focus on something that is going right, even if it is a tiny thing.
Because I feel that taking a few minutes to focus on something good, something celebratory, can help fuel your resolve for dealing with everything else.
And because it feels good to look on the bright side when you can, even if it is just briefly.
So maybe your meditation felt good this morning – celebrate!
Maybe you can lift with just a little more ease – celebrate!
Maybe your friend can join you on your walk today – celebrate!
Maybe that ache in your heel has lessened a bit- celebrate!
Maybe your new dance steps were a little less confusing than they were last time – celebrate!
Or, maybe, like me, you are finding it easier to get back into the rhythm of taekwondo than you thought you would – a definite cause for celebration for me!
I dare you, I welcome you, I invite you to take just a glimpse toward what is going right and give it a grin and a happy nod.
Go You!
Go Team!
Here, of course, is your gold star for your efforts!
Image description: a cartoonish gold star drawn on a white square. The gold star has a happy expression and is trimmed in light green with a black outline. The background of the image is covered in tiny green dots and the paper is framed in green with black trim.
