shoeless coolis

Back TO the S(u)P(e)R Angels

2015-06-08T18:51:00.000-04:00

The amazing SPR Angels post tempo run.

Last week I made a trip back to TO to visit friends and enjoy some downtime in one of my favourite cities. I had a wonderful time filled with food, drinks, friends and – of course – running. The highlight was definitely working out with my old training group, the SPR Angels, for the first time in years.

Now if this visit was 6 weeks earlier I am fairly certain that the highlight would have nothing to do with running. It probably would have centered around eating and drinking and then drinking some more. And if I had attempted to do a workout with these fast ladies I would have been left in the dust gasping for air. But with a month of iron in me and renewed energy, I was motivated to give it a shot.

Excellent martini consumption came a close second to great running.

Brunching at French restaurants is my third favourite passtime.

I met them for a workout at 7am Thursday morning, just as I used to every week 4 years earlier. It was one of Nicole’s ‘surprise’ workouts that she likes to throw in now and again to keep things sexy and unpredictable. The night before she promised me it was going to be easy, which I knew was a complete lie, but I decided to show up regardless. After fumbling my way through drills (if I have learnt one thing about anemia, is that it is not the cause of general clumsiness and lack of coordination. Dammit!), Nicole scanned our faces with contemplative, beatty eyes. I am sure she still didn’t know what workout she was going to give us. After a minute, she exclaimed: 1k slingshot, 1k smooth, 2x500m, 2k! Let’s go!

The 1k ‘slingshot’ consists of everyone running single file and whoever is at the back sprinting up to the front, followed by the next person at the back, and so on, such that you are only running fast for a few hundred meters of the entire repeat. I was happy I found it fairly easy to get to the front of the pack, until everyone pointed out that for every 3 steps they had to take I took one. Point taken! Next came the 1k ‘smooth’. Nicole told me to stick with Clair because she was a good pacer who was planning to run 3:45. I don’t remember the last time I ran 3:45. We set out and I just followed Clair’s lead. It didn’t feel too bad, but I can’t say it felt easy. We crossed the line and I was surprised to see a 3:36 on my watch. Actually decently close to times I would run on that loop in workouts many years earlier! I went on to complete the workout at 3:25-30 pace for the 500s and the 2k in 7:32. Nothing for the record books, but by far the best workout I’ve had in years.

I recovered surprisingly well after Thursday’s workout so decided to join them on their tempo run on Saturday morning. Nicole was adamant that we not go faster than 4:00/km and for no longer than 5k. So of course we did 6.5k in 25:48 (3:58/km average). Ooops! Once again I was surprised by the pace given that we were chatting away most of the time. Could this be iron-clad evidence that my health is ironing itself out?!

This workout rounded out a solid week of training: 75 miles, two workouts, and 3 strength training sessions. Not only was the mileage solid but it felt fantastic to run on Canadian soil, where trails are actually made of soil and people say 'Hello!' and 'Good morning!' instead of yelling at you for what seems like the simple act of running down a street. In Ottawa they even go a step further, WAVING at you (with their whole hand and not just their middle fingers!). Oh Canada how I miss thee! Despite this, I am looking forward to joining a group in NYC, though nothing will replace the SuPeR ladies, who are nothing but what their name suggests.

Beautiful TO.

IRONWOMAN

2015-05-24T15:43:00.003-04:00

Now that I’ve got your attention, no, I did not just complete an ironman. I have, however, become an ironwoman of sorts.

Let’s rewind to 2011 when I was living in Toronto, training with the SPR Angels team, and running PBs. I was running between 100-130 miles per week and I felt invincible. Unfortunately I got injured in late 2011 and between that, finishing school and moving to New York, running took the backseat for a few years. When I got settled in NYC, however, I felt ready to get back into the running scene. I started running consistently but even after months of training, couldn’t hit paces in intervals that I used to run in tempo runs. My first 10-miler I ran in 1:09, 9 minutes off my PB and a time I would have run in a long run a few years ago. I remember wondering if there was something wrong with me, but as someone who hates making excuses, I took ownership of my lackluster performances. I attributed them to a lack of training and discipline as well as taking two years off racing. Realistically, these factors probably did play into my performance, but looking back there was definitely something else that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the times I ran, it was how I felt running them – flat, fatigued and like I was sprinting all out trying to hit a 7-minute mile.

That was 2013. Fast forward one year when I decide to run the Chicago marathon. After making the commitment I figured I needed to start doing something other than easy runs, so I decided to hit the track once a week. I will never forget my first track workout. It felt like death. I couldn’t even hit 4:10 for a 1k repeat. To give you some perspective, 4:00/km used to be my marathon pace. My legs burned through the entire session. I felt demoralized, but again, figured it must be due to my lack of speed work over the last few years. Despite my disappointment, I was happy to be running consistently again and enjoyed the challenge of workouts, so onward I went.

My first track workout in 3 years. Happy to be back at it despite burning legs...and skin.

My training for Chicago did get easier and I did improve, but not by much. On race day I ran 3:23 – I wasn’t happy with the time but I wasn’t upset about it either. I had become used to the new slow Jane and just figured with my focus shifted to my career I would never be a fast runner again. And to be honest, I was fine with it. I love running no matter how fast or slow I am and just being able to get out there and train made me happy.

Perhaps not quite as enthusiastic about my finish?

I decided to play around and run some 5ks after the marathon to see if I could work on my speed. I ran 20:40 (3 minutes off my PB) three or four times in a row in late 2014. Again, the burning and fatigue in my legs set in every time I tried to do an interval workout or run a race. ‘I just need to train more,’ I thought to myself.

After a cold and depressing winter in NYC, I began to feel fatigued not just running but in my day-to-day life. Everything felt like a huge effort, including waking up in the morning. I started to complain, but everyone told me that I was just working too hard. They may have been right – a typical day would begin with me slogging through a 10 mile run at 7:30 in the morning, going to work around 10am and never leaving before 10pm. Sometimes I would go to the gym for a weight session at 10pm, and usually would not eat my evening meal until after 11pm. Day in and day out, yes, I got tired. Justifiable, right?

Well, turns out it wasn’t just my lifestyle. Or we could play chicken and the egg and say my lifestyle was affecting my health in more extensive ways. I finally went to the doctor about a month ago and got a full workup. My blood tests showed that I am severely anemic, with an iron level of 5. 5! I was shocked. I have never been iron deficient. Even when running high mileage my iron was always around 50, so I figured I wasn’t prone to anemia. I am not a vegetarian, I love steak, and eat lots of leafy greens. So how did this happen?

Looking back, I assume this was a gradual process. After getting injured and taking a break from running, my diet definitely suffered. My diet is always healthier and more plentiful when I am training hard, which makes sense, but it doesn’t mean you should skimp on nutrients when you aren’t running. In retrospect I appreciate that this was kind of a warped mindset. Nevertheless, I definitely didn’t take care of myself during this period. I am sure my iron levels fell, and when I got back into training while working long days I figure it just got worse and worse until it affected every aspect of my life.

I have been on iron supplements for 3.5 weeks. I can not remember the last time I have ever felt so good. I started to notice the difference about two weeks ago. I remember waking up before my alarm went off one morning, not feeling tired, and heading out for my run. It was the first time I was out the door at 6:30am by my own accord since my days training with the Angels in Toronto. I ran my usual 9 mile loop 2 minutes faster than I ever have before. What is more, every single run since then has been better than the one before. I have a bounce in my step and a smoothness to my stride I haven’t felt in ages. I have started to do tempo runs and fartleks and they feel effortless. What is more, my mood is better and according to my mother (who is always right!), I have more color in my face.

I'm white. But not THAT white!

I can’t express in words how happy I am to be back feeling like my old self. I am lucky that the problem is such a medicinal magic bullet that is easy to correct. That being said, it is a reminder to also make sure I take better care of myself so that I am healthy and productive over the long term. A lesson to be learned for all athletes when their performance is unusually hampered for long periods of time. Once my iron is back up to normal, I have decided to join the Central Park Track Club and see what speed I may have left in me, if for anything else, old times sake J.

Pushing the Pace for Pancreatic Cancer

2014-02-01T19:17:00.004-05:00

A few months ago I decided to run the New York half-marathon for a charity called Project Purple. Project Purple raises money for pancreatic cancer to help patients and their families that are affected by the disease and for research dedicated toward finding a cure. Unfortunately patient aid is almost uniformly palliative, as pancreatic cancer kills most affected within six months of diagnosis. Given that I am a researcher in pancreatic cancer, I know very well what a terrible disease it is and how desperately we need to make significant advances in order to develop better treatments. However, I can also understand why it has been so difficult to make progress, as it is an extremely complex disease with a distinct biology from other cancers. That being said, it is not an impossible one to tackle, and the more we understand it mechanistically the better we will be able to develop efficient therapeutics. This is why I moved to New York. One of the world’s biggest experts in pancreatic cancer has her lab at NYU and I was lucky enough to become a part of it. I am very motivated to contribute to the development of a better understanding of the disease, but also to do what I can outside of the lab to help raise awareness and funding for pancreatic cancer. Project Purple caught my eye because they are unique in that they do all of their fundraising through running events.

At first I was just ecstatic to be able to raise some money for them while training for the New York half-marathon. However, with my background in pancreatic research and in running, I began talking to the chairman about helping out in more ways. They have recently decided to welcome me as part of their team as the official run coach and consultant for the various races they participate in. I feel so lucky to be able to help new and seasoned runners achieve their goals while running for such a great cause. What is more is that most runners that come through Project Purple have been personally affected by pancreatic cancer and have incredible stories to share that will motivate me in my daily research.

With that, I am proud to say that I will now be running for Project Purple and Saucony. I am extremely thankful to Dino Verrelli and the rest of the PP team for being so welcoming and supportive of a little Canadian runner making the big move to New York.

If any of you readers out there would like to contribute to a great cause, here is the link to my Shoeless Coolis fundraising page.

(Re)-setting the Bar-Speedy

2014-01-12T18:31:00.002-05:00

Team Bar-Speedy

Today I ran the New York City Hot Chocolate 10 mile Run in Central Park. For most, it was their first race of 2014. For me, it was my first race since 2011. Fittingly, my last race was also a 10-miler. Unfortunately the list of similarities ends there, as everything besides the total distance travelled stand in stark contrast to each other (and even that is arguable!). In 2011 I ran a disappointing 1:00:59, missing my goal time by several minutes. Today I ran 1:09:25. And guess what, this was also very disappointing! I am sure everyone cannot figure out for the life of them why this is the case so I will continue on with a riveting race recap!

Let’s backtrack. What happened between 2011 and 2014? Well a lot happened. And I’m not just talking major injury that ended up with me taking 1 year off, followed by 8 months of sporadic bursts of motivation to get back in the running scene, followed by 4 months of flat-out laziness in which I did no exercise at all for no reason really (…except waitressing, that counts right?). I also finished my PhD (fun!), got divorced (really fun!), moved back home with my parents in Vancouver and worked as a waitress (really really fun!), then moved to New York to pursue a postdoc in cancer research (I think this wins the fun award :). Suffice to say, the last couple years was a period of transition in many ways and I actually enjoyed putting running on the backburner. It doesn’t mean, however, that I ever lost my love of running and my desire to do well at it. I knew it would happen at some point.

It will happen at some point. Right?

I’ve been running consistently for the past 6 months, albeit the LSD approach with no speed added in until about 4 weeks ago (and lab peeps, NO that does not mean running while on LSD!). Things have been progressing, and most of all I’m really enjoying getting back into the running groove. Sore muscles, early bedtimes, a low tolerance and an even bigger sweet-tooth have never been so enjoyable. Of course, having joined a new lab with new non-runners to convert, what was my first order of business? You guessed it: start a Bar-Sagi lab run club: The Bar-Speedies! It would be an undoubted success! I have to admit my confidence was particularly strengthened by a certain Ethiopian graduate student whose lab bench is beside mine. People might think I am being racist but I am most certainly am not. OK maybe I am. I think the only question I asked him in my interview was if he ran. Or maybe it was him who first emphasized to me that ‘NO, BEFORE YOU ASK, I have NEVER RUN, do NOT WANT TO RUN and NEVER WILL RUN.’ Of course I am not one to be dissuaded easily and one of my 5-year postdoc objectives includes getting Eyoel to the podium of the NYC marathon. Not only would it be incredible to track the progression of a sedentary Ethiopian deciding to pick up running in their mid-twenties, it could be my first New York Times Bestseller: How to make an Olympian in 5 years. As usual, tangents always get me...

Fast forward several months, and I’ve got three lab members committed to run a race in January. Unfortunately that doesn’t include Eyoel, but nothing worthwhile comes easy right? At least I persuaded him to partake in the post-race festivities! Unfortunately after congratulating us on our lung-buster he went to Brooklyn to smoke Hookah in a lung-busting session of his own. One step at a time, one step at a time…

Going into this race I had a very simple game plan: finish! And maybe try and push the pace a little. This was a major testing grounds operation here. Fortunately the New York City Runs races are pretty low key and not nearly as serious (or organized) as the New York Road Runners races. I headed to the front of the crowd in my usual way and stopped when I overhead a woman ahead of me say ‘I am running 6-minute miles. If I blow up then I blow up, but I am running 6-minuters.’ OK! I said to myself. ‘Don’t run with her!’ Then I looked to my right and saw a woman decked out in fluorescent green from top to bottom and thought she must also be pretty fast. Either that, or be really into the fluorescent green. I wasn’t sure. My deeply perceptive thoughts were interrupted by the voice of what appeared to be the race director who was approaching us: “So you all must be the FAST people!’ We all looked to the person next to us. ‘Are you waiting for the middle-of-the-pack runners to approach the mat or are you guys actually going to go for this?!’ We all shuffled forward as he continued with his ramble ‘So we have lead bikes today, hurray! The woman’s lead cyclist is not wearing a helmet, so don’t run too fast, OK? You wouldn’t want him to get into an accident, now would you.’ He then stepped onto a small stool with his loudspeaker in order to address the crowd, promptly slamming it into a race post, which toppled over and onto one of the front-runners. ‘Woops, sorry about that!’ He chuckled. ‘When was the last time you saw Mary Wittenberg do that?’ Luckily the runner brushed it off (and I mean literally brushed the post off of himself) and (at least pretended to) laughed with the crowd. The director then proceeded to conduct his own personal offbeat countdown, and after hearing a random noise that sounded nothing like a gun, we were off!

I started off at a ‘hard-tempo’ effort and before I knew it a few girls passed me and I was in at least 4^th or 5^th place. I tried to keep pace with the woman in front of me but after 2 hilly miles I told myself to forget it and just focus on running a steady pace. It didn’t help that Central Park Road wasn’t closed off and there were non-racing runners infiltrating every corner of the street, sending race cones flying all over the place. I weaved around people ahead of me and - being the gentle Canadian I am – excused myself and apologized when I cut people off. That is, until the New Yorker that has clearly been brewing inside of me over the last three months suddenly exploded. It was my second loop of the park and I was doing my usual run-around-the-rec-runner when I heard a voice behind me thunder: “Woman, YOU ARE RUNNING IN THE BIKE LANE! GET OUT!’ I rolled my eyes and moved to the pedestrian lane for about 5 seconds until I was forced outwards once again. ‘YOU ARE DOING IT AGAIN. WOMAN! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT’S CALLED? IT’S CALLED CHEATING!’ I fumed. Before I knew it my right hand lifted up, my fist facing behind me, and my middle finger shot straight up. Silence ensued. I nearly let out a sigh of relief until I realized what I had just done. I had fingered someone in a road race! Heck, I had fingered a hundred New Yorkers who were also running innocently behind me. Who was I becoming and what was this city doing to me?!

I spent the next several miles feeling ashamed and glad that I wasn’t leading the race behind a biker with no helmet on or we might both be in trouble. Or perhaps the lead cyclist would have also yelled at me for creeping into his territory. In this city, you never know. I was just relieved I was running in relative anonymity. But really, who calls someone a cheater for navigating crowds on the OUTSIDE of the course, thereby making the race longer?

Fortunately this episode offered a welcome distraction from the mounting fatigue in my legs and shortness in my breath. Before I knew it I had 3 miles to go and I could see a woman about 50 meters ahead of me. My only goal for the remainder of the race was to try and catch her. Luckily she was slowing down more than I was and I passed her at mile 9. I tried to mask my labored gasps for air by holding my breath for 5 seconds and sprinting by her. I am clearly not at the stage of being able to feign freshness (or sprint), however, as I got two steps ahead of her before I let out a massive groan and slowed down. This made fighting her off for the last mile more work than I would have liked. Fortunately I was ultimately successful, making for a surprising 3^rd place overall finish.

While I was pretty demoralized by my time, I was pumped to get an overall award. ‘Money! I need money!’ I exclaimed. I should have known the prize would be more like this (still pretty awesome):

Now this is a female trophy.

It is popular amongst the ladies.

My labmate Jesse ran his longest road race yet in an impressive 1:19 and is well on his way to a fabulous half-ironman debut in the summer. Despina and Ahu ran the 5-miler and did incredibly, dipping under 1hr (58min) in their first race ever! I was very proud of team Bar-Speedy today. And even though my bar of speediness needs to be reset a little lower for the moment, I am positive that after more months of consistent training, some speedwork and more races, the bar will slowly be raised.

Ahu and Despina killing it.

(And if Bar-Speedy is not met, there is always a Bar of some sort ready and waiting.)

Team Bar-Speedy at the Bar.
(Note the jealousy in Eyoel's eyes)

Things are looking, uptone?

2014-01-05T22:14:00.002-05:00

‘You are an uptone.’

‘What does that mean.’

‘You are happy, and very chill.’

‘…I would say…that’s pretty accurate.’

Bus trips to NYC are always an adventure. And by adventure I mean unpredictable series of sometimes annoying, often entertaining but always ridiculous events that are only truly appreciated in retrospect. In the moment I spend most of my energy trying to figure out what is actually happening. When I finally do, the next phase is looking for some kind of confirmation that what I am witnessing is in fact truly strange. Unfortunately I hardly ever attain the confirmation stage. Sometimes I wonder if I am the crazy one. How does no one else see what I see?!

I moved to New York 3 months ago and have absorbed enough bus ride shenanigans in silence that I’ve decided I finally have to get it out somewhere. Anywhere. Even if it means reviving my almost year-old-dead blog. (No I did not say dog, I swear I am not the crazy one)

I have done the overnight bus to New York several times. The first time was for my job interview, where I was so caught up in the excitement of potentially moving to NYC and the cheap means of travel that I truly did appreciate it as an adventure. How sweet…and naïve. I remember chuckling fondly at the crazy bag woman who entered the bus with what looked like the entire contents of her household, including a giant ragged duvet, an assortment of pillows, a stack of books and plastic bags filled with food and god knows what else. Not only did she try to store all of these things under, around and above her seat but she then proceeded to lie across two seats of an otherwise full bus, tucked under her duvet so as to shut out anyone who might object to her taking up so much space. And she did not stop at that. Why would she, when her legs weren’t able to stretch out fully?! It makes perfect sense that she would extend her feet across the aisle and onto the seat across. WHERE SOMEONE WAS SITTING. Not only did she insist on blocking the aisle, but let out deep sighs of frustration any time someone prodded her perfect perch so that they could get to their seats. Obviously they should be practicing their hurdling skills and stepping over her, what nerve some people have!

And surprise, I digress. I did not come hear to talk about past bus trips, but to document the one I am currently on. It isn’t even midnight and I have much material to cover as I sit in the front seat (I have learned some things, which include staying as far away from the back as possible) waiting for everyone to get through customs in Buffalo. This can take anywhere from 30 minutes to 3 hours depending on the season, the passengers…but primarily the mood of the border police. Luckily tonight they must have had something else to entertain them they avoided picking out random people to search that are actually completely nonrandom. Like the time I smelled a skunk outside and they decided someone on the bus was carrying massive amounts of marijuana. They approached every young man sporting long hair, wearing baggy clothes or carrying a backpack and pulled them aside to be searched. We sat on the bus waiting for 90 minutes.

I’m sorry I just got distracted by an argument between a woman who took an 85-year-old grandmother’s seat and her daughter. Normal.

Anyway, this trip was particularly painful as it began with a 5 hour flight to Toronto at 8am, a 4 hour layover downtown and THEN the overnight trip to New York. Why, would I plan it this way, you might ask? Don’t ask. Please, just don’t ask. It was actually completely avoidable and totally unnecessary, and the only reason it happened was because my planning skills are apparently nonexistent. OK, moving on! In Vancouver, my mother asked how I would keep warm given that some people might need a duvet and pillows to survive the trip even in the springtime. As luck would have it, I had just received a wonderful floor-length zebra fleece robe, complete with slippers and a hood for Christmas: the perfect outfit to sport for the bus ride! I would be so comfortable! I immediately packed it in my carry-on. ‘Wait!’ I exclaimed as I halted mid-pack. ‘I also have a fleece deadmau5 pink onesie, and the hood has mouse ears!’ How on earth was I decide between the two?! So in they both went.

‘So, what are you going to do for your 4 hours in Toronto before the bus ride?’ My mom asked innocently.

‘Duh! Go to a bar with Mauricio and get drunk so I can pass out on the bus!’

My mom sighed. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘Yeah but it will be hard to carry 2 suitcases, a backpack, a lamp shade that won’t fit anywhere from the bar to the bus station, in a fleece zebra robe and booties completely sloshed. I hope the bus isn’t too full of crazy people.’

My mom stared at me, raising her eyebrows, and let out another deep sigh before leaving the room. Poor mom.

Nevertheless, my plan went perfectly executed. I took the bus from the airport straight to the Delta Chelsea, where I pretended to be staying so I could store my bags for several hours while I attended to mission #1 of the bus trip: drinks. Mauricio and I headed to Pogue’s where we drank several glasses of wine, had some beers and ate some good food. It was fun. I almost convinced him to come on the bus with nothing but the clothes on his back; unfortunately when I told him he should wear my pink Deadmau5 onesie the idea wasn’t so popular anymore. I can’t imagine why.

With mission #1 accomplished, we headed back to the Delta Chelsea to pick up my bags and go to the bus station. With a massive lineup of people there I knew my 8pm bus would not be leaving at 8pm. As I waited patiently in line, it wasn’t long before the people around me decided they had better things to do. Ya don’t say?! I must have given off the impression that my life’s happiness was fulfilled by waiting in line, as people started to ask me if I would watch their bags while they left to do other things. That being said, I really had nowhere to go so I obliged. Before I knew it I was standing alone with 5 suitcases around me. I was becoming the bag lady. I started to debate putting on my onesie and pulling out my flask when one man whose bags I was watching returned with a bottle of water for me. I wasn’t sure whether I should thank him or curse him. Did I look that drunk? Or was it a mere gesture of thanks? I looked at him in search of an answer, but his face was hard to read. ‘I figured water was something you would need for the bus trip, so I bought one for you!’ Oh, how wrong he was! He proceeded to ask what I was doing in NYC and he divulged that he was a psychotherapist that lived in Brooklyn. A few minutes later we boarded the bus and he invited me to sit with him at the front. This should be interesting.

This blog is getting quite long and really I don’t know where it’s going, except to say that in the end I was psychoanalysed by a psychonanalyst who wasn’t psycho-stable himself. I honestly think I am not THAT strange, but in the state I was in, in the outfit I was in, professing that I worked in a medical centre, I am surprised I was diagnosed as an ‘uptone’ and not something else. I guess it’s all relative, isn’t it?

Next up will be a running update I swear! Only because now I actually have one!

Every wing needs an anchor, every anchor needs a wing

2013-06-15T16:06:00.000-04:00

Last month my best friend from Toronto came to visit me in Vancouver. We always have a ton of fun together, as we tend to push each other to extremes. Luckily, one of us is *usually* more rational at any given time, such that we strike a ‘fun’ balance and avoid dire consequences...like police arrest...permanent physical injury...or brain damage, perhaps (though signs of the latter two outcomes are arguable). Given that we hadn’t seen each other in two months, however, we feared that our mutual overexcitement may make our radical tendencies consume us both simultaneously. We therefore hypothesized that this particular trip might indeed end in death. Being the astute, contemplative scientists we are, we decided that we were willing to take the risk.

Normal.

We began the trip by getting tattoos together. We wanted to avoid the commonality of getting matching tattoos, so we pondered heavily on original ideas. A few minutes later we came up with a brilliant decision that we were certain we’d be happy with for the rest of our lives: an anchor and a wing; symbols of our ability to balance each other’s extremes. It was perfect. But wait, who would be the anchor and who would be the wing?! As I brooded back and forth, Mauricio barely breathed before exclaiming: ‘OBVIOUSLY you are the wing! You fly wayyy more than I do.” I wasn’t sure whether that was a compliment or an insult, but I liked the idea of a wing better so I went with it.

To keep with the spontenaiety of our relationship, I planned absolutely nothing for his visit (besides tattoos). The only thing I suggested was going up to my island for most of the trip, where all sorts of shenanigans would naturally unfold. The most riveting part of our times together is that while we know we will do crazy (or stupid?) things, we never, ever can predict what they will be. Take the excursion to go clam digging for example. Yes, clam digging. Anyone that has gone clam digging knows that it’s a pretty benign process. You go to a beach at low tide and dig into the sand with a shovel to get clams. It’s pretty comparable to digging for worms in your garden. For some reason, however, I find clam digging wildly exciting. I would do it all day long if it weren’t for the changing tides (why am I a wing again?!). This was therefore something I insisted we do on one of the first days of our trip.

The best place to find clams is at an expansive beach right across the inlet, a few km away. Not too far – but still, a motor boat is *usually* required to get there (*meaning ALWAYS*). We owned an old, rickety aluminum boat that had probably been tied up on the ramp of our dock for the last ten years, and naturally decided this would be a great opportunity to test its sails. After managing to carry it down to the dock and carefully placing it in the water, it began furiously filling with water. Stressed and confused, we flailed around trying to find the source of the leak, only resulting in more water infiltrating our sinking ship. Finally, after searching for the source of the leak for what seemed like hours, we noted a giant gaping hole in the back. No wonder it was tilting backwards! (How many PhDs does it take to find a giant hole? TWSS? Too far?) This hole was clearly an intended feature of the boat and not a puncture caused by flying shrapnel or some other incident likely to occur on the dangerous shores of the Sunshine Coast. We reverted back to our sharp science skills and hypothesized that there must be a plug that was meant to fill the hole, and that the hole was supposed to be there to drain it when pulled to land. Genial! Mauricio ran into the tool shed and began rummaging haphazardly through my father’s old toolkits. Suddenly he yelled “I think I’ve got it” and came running back with a battered piece of rubber that looked like it was about 100 years old. “That’s probably it,” I answered. Sure enough it was a near-perfect fit, as would be expected from its worn-out state.

Our not-so-trusty boat

Things were starting to come together. The boat was in the water and it was no longer sinking! What success. Now all we had to do was attach the motor. My father liked to brag about the robustness of our great motor, given that it had roared us across the ocean without a glitch for the past 40 years. How promising that seemed. Unfortunately, while we managed to attach it to the boat, we were unable to start it despite many fierce attempts. We choked it, pulled it, pumped it, and choked it again, but to no avail. My father’s words of advice over the telephone were particularly helpful: “It’s a great motor, it should work. If I were there I could fix it.” Despite his profound words of wisdom, we admitted defeat after half an hour of continuous attempts. There was no way this motor was starting. The stream of gas leaking into the water every time we tried to start it was not encouraging either. Then Mauricio came up with a (self-proclaimed) brilliant solution: “I know, let’s paddle across!” I rolled my eyes before he could even finish his sentence. “There is no way we can paddle across!” I exclaimed. “First of all, it is very windy. Second, it would take us hours. Third, we would miss low tide. And fourth, are you stupid?” I couldn’t help but be a bitch about it. Still, Mauricio insisted: “It will be an adventure! I think we can do it. And if not we can chill in the middle of the ocean and have a rave.” At this point I realized there was no way I was going to pull him back to sanity so I stopped arguing. I figured if we tried and failed it would teach him a lesson and I would come out as a brilliant prophesizer and knower of all. So, we packed up our essentials - vodka, cider, candy and life jackets – and were on our way.

It did not take long before we started floating at a 90 degree angle to the direction we were paddling. The waves were strong and no matter how hard we tried, we could not move in a straight line. I began to get very frustrated. Still, Mauricio paddled on, the beads of sweat beginning to cover his face. I stopped paddling. It was useless. A few minutes later, Mauricio paused. “Yeah, we are not going forwards eh?” Yet another astute observation! “Nope, not quite.” I tried to restrain myself from erupting into a flow of curses. When he finally concurred that we had better go back to the island, we discovered that we could not go backwards either. Sideways seemed to be the direction of the day. Luckily, we saw a beach in the direction of the current and decided to let ourselves get swept to the distant shore, where we could wait for the winds to die down. Images of us stranded on a beach surrounded by coyotes and black bears began to taunt me. Hopefully they weren’t candy and vodka addicts like me? When we got closer to the beach, however, we saw a dock on its left-hand side. I began to get excited: “NON-PRIMAL LIFE!” I exclaimed. I immediately retracted my statement when I saw the man standing on the dock. His long, scraggly hair billowed wildly over his sun-scorched face; his head was hunched over and eyes squinted intently like a coyote eyeing its prey; his body motionless as he seized up our approaching craft.This man seemed pretty primal. Finally, he yelled to us: “Are you OK?” “NOOOO!!!” I screamed back desperately. I am pretty sure I didn’t even need to yell, as our flailing hands and paddles were a definite sign that we were in trouble. He cleared a space for us to dock.

When we pulled up to the dock we informed the old man that our motor wasn’t working and we were swept away to sea from our island about a km away. He chuckled. Did we really look that pathetic? He told us to get out of the boat and sit on his balcony while he checked out our motor. We were halfway up the ramp when we heard the motor roar to life. We turned around to see him sitting by a smoking, rattling – and fully functional – motor. How the hell did he do that?! Mauricio and I exchanged knowing glances. We should stay in science.

Despite a now functioning motor, he was smart enough to realize that we weren’t to be trusted driving it back to the island. Instead, he invited us to stay for the afternoon and offered to tow us back when the winds died down. We were incredibly grateful. So grateful, in fact, that we decided to offer him our most prized possessions: vodka, candy and cider. He seemed to think these were perfectly normal accessories for a clam digging trip and accepted a cider without hesitation. “It’s a little early for my 5 o’clock beer, but I suppose I can make an exception!” he told us as he was already halfway through guzzling back his first cider. “This stuff is SO tasty! WOW!” He bubbled happily. We spent the next three hours chatting and drinking, and learned about the extraordinary life of Chris Gray: a grandfather of twelve whose life and work is maintaining this little cabin. Not only did he build the place himself, but generates his own electricity with a water wheel and makes his own beer. (No wonder the cider tasted so yummy?!) He excitedly showed us around, pointing out the new solar panels he was going to put up. I mentioned something about us seeing them from the hot tub on our island, to which he responded “Oh I am building a hot tub too! It’s going to be fantastic.” I was pretty impressed by this so asked to see the work in progress. He showed us a hole in the ground and what looked to be a bathtub beside it. “It’s kind of a two-person tub, but good enough for me!” I couldn’t help but smile. It was heartwarming and eye-opening to see someone in this day-and-age, in Canada, living so contentedly in such a self-sustainable manner.

Kind Mr. Gray towing us home

We were getting pretty comfortable in Mr. Gray’s humble abode but we clearly liked him more than he liked us, since as soon as 6 o’clock rolled around he jumped up and said “Alright, time to tow you kids back!” We sadly retreated to his boat. Upon our return to the island, however, I was still plagued with a desire to obtain my beloved clams. I decided to investigate the small beach at the opposite end of our cabin and was ecstatic to find a gold mine of clams. Mauricio watched in amusement as I spent the next two hours amassing clam after clam for our dinner. He came to the conclusion that if I did not become a professor I would likely get equal enjoyment out of becoming a clam digger.

Professional clam digger at work

Quite excited to eat my clams

Yummmm

After what turned out to be an awesome day, we had a wonderful dinner of barbecued clams. And while things turned out OK, I still insist that we could have had a close encounter with death on the dangerous seas if we were not lucky enough that the current was moving toward our saviour Chris Gray. And while I have a wing tattoed to myself now, I am pretty sure I was the anchor that day.

Life of Coolis

2013-06-10T17:49:00.001-04:00

I just came across an autobiography I wrote in high school. Not only does it recount my past in a hilariously blunt fashion, but prophecizes an interesting future. I couldn't resist but share this with those who know me. In the end, I learned that while you never can guess what the future may hold, some things never change; i.e. cancer, zebra and pink. #Jane

...that, and PhDs 'take a long time.'

Once upon a time there lived a girl born on the 20^th of December, 1984, in Grace Hospital. At the age of seven months she bellowed her first word, which her parents would then hear for the next nine years as an answer to any question: “NO!” Five months after this she marched up onto her feet and took her first steps, yelling: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”all the way back to the floor.

Soon enough this girl became aware of another creature lingering around her: it was her brother, an aspiring fireman. Although he was shy, kind, reserved and four years older than her, this girl showed no respect; she yelled at him and hit him whenever she pleased, for no apparent reason. His dream to be a fireman was perhaps a reflection of the fact that he wished to protect people from dangerous people like his sister...

Her frequent outbursts also had an effect on her teachers at school. She began kindergarden at the age of four, where she managed to upset all of her teachers by insisting on doing the exact opposite of what she was asked to do; this, in her parents’ eyes, an improvement on her usual answer of “NO!”

After her brother set part of her family’s house on fire, a fire that this brave fireman did not manage to put out despite his fierce attempts at blowing on it, her family moved to a new house near Jericho.

She started to take ballet and piano lessons to alleviate the stress of her company from her parents. This was something that she grew to like very much, and through dancing she discovered a new way to express her feelings.

In grade four her parents decided to take her and her brother to Paris, France, to go to school, in the hopes of improving her attitude. Sure enough, her mean and strict teachers put her in her place after only six months, and upon returning to Canada she was a changed girl.

At school she met a girl who was to become her best friend for the rest of her life. Although Shandyce moved to another school the year after they met, they still kept in touch.

In grade six she took a trip with her school to Quebec, where she stayed with French correspondents. This trip enlightened her even more than her trip to France about other cultures. Soon she wanted to travel everywhere.

In grade seven she got braces to fix the wide gap in between her two front teeth. During the summer she went to camp Elphinstone where she became very homesick; it was the first time she had been away from her parents for a long period of time.

In grade eight she got a dog and a cat, Hershey and Hazel, to whom she grew very fond of and very close to. However, two years later her dog was hit by a car and almost killed, which caused her much grief.

In the summer of grade nine she got her first job as a lab assistant at UBC. She also did many ballet camps in the summer which improved her ballet skills. This was very important as she was a serious dancer and continued to dance for the rest of her life. In grade nine she also started to take jazz and modern.

Her brother graduated from Kitsilano Secondary School and sadly did not become a fireman, but went into sciences instead. The fire he set in his old house clearly made a very strong mark on him; he must have come to the harsh realization that a fire can not be put out by blowing on it.

In grade ten she went on a trip to France with her school where she stayed with French correspondents once again. Upon her return she was awarded with top scholar, the information technology award and the drama award at the awards ceremony in June of 2000.

At the end of grade eleven she went on a trip to Cuba with the school. She also participated in an opera performance, where she danced for the audience during the intermissions.

She graduated from Kitsilano Secondary School, managing to get on the Principal’s List nine out of twelve times. From there she went straight to Princeton on scholarship. She focused mainly on sciences such as chemistry, biology, physics, math and calculus, but also took English and literature.

As well as doing to school she continued to dance ballet, mainly to keep in shape. She also joined many groups and got herself involved in the social life at Princeton. After completing three years of university, she decided to go travelling around the world.

The countries she visited included Africa, Australia, Brazil, Greece, England, Italy, Russia, Switzerland and France. She picked up on many languages along the way. Her parents, being very nice people, paid for her trip. (The one instance where she did not respond: “NO!”?!)

She then completed with Vancouver Marathon which she had been training for for many years. Her time was three hours and twenty minutes.

Upon her return to University she had much more knowledge of the world, which helped her complete her fourth and final year of University. She took two years and got her masters in physics. She then went to Harvard to get a PhD in physics, which took her quite a long time.

During her time at Princeton she met a very smart man who was fun and very sensible. She fell deeply in love with him and him with her; they were clearly meant for each other. However, when she went to Harvard they were separated for some time. However, he surprised her by coming to the United States to tell her that he was offered a job as a professor at the University of British Columbia. After receiving her PhD she joined him in Canada where they were married, her 27 and him 28.

She became a very successful scientist, although she got tired of physics and started to study gene therapy. After many years she came up with the cure for cancer. She became world famous and saved many lives.

Because her husband’s job as a professor, they went to conferences together all across the world. They had two kids, a boy and a girl. They bought a summer home in Australia and went there every summer with their kids to relax. Sometimes she brought her brother and his wife, both successful computer scientists. She also owned a pink jaguar with zebra interior.

The end.

From granny jogging to slogging (or something worth blogging)

2013-02-28T14:52:00.002-05:00

After obtaining negative results from every diagnostic test performed on my shin, including x-ray, bonescan, ultrasound, compartment syndrome testing and MRI, I decided to do what every athlete is told NOT to do: stop listening to my body. Instead of obsessing over the tightness and discomfort I felt in my shin, I decided to ignore it. Well, I didn’t really decide this, rather my genius physiotherapist Greg Lehman told me to, and since I do whatever he tells me, I simply obeyed his orders.

Greg trying to desensitize the brain in my shin

This does not mean I woke up one morning and ran 40k, a la old G.I. Jane. Rather, I coined a new form of running, one I like to call ‘granny jogging.’ Granny jogs can range anywhere from 10s to 10min, and are basically a non-equivalent to running, except that you are somewhat going through the motions. You do not even have to be outside to do granny jogs. You can do them down the hallway of your building, or in the comfort of your own home, even if you live in a box! That’s right folks, hopping up and down on the spot is considered a granny jog. You can granny jog at work, in your office, around a table, probably under a table if you tried hard enough. In short: granny jogs are what you do to convince yourself you are back running but really aren’t. One may think that granny jogs might not be as rewarding as a run, but let me tell you, after a year off running granny jogs will blow your mind.

Stretching after a granny jog (in jeans!) while waiting in line for brunch

The purpose of the granny jogs were to get my legs used to the running motion again. After so much time off I needed to completely re-familiarize my body with the concept of running. I also had to gradually train my shin to adapt to running again without it firing alarm signals to my brain, thinking that I was going to re-injure the area. That’s right people, apparently my shin developed a brain (or perhaps this is just known as nerves...) and had become hypersensitive to any potential threat that was similar to the one that originally caused my acute injury. Ultimately, I had become so preoccupied by the feelings in my leg that they became out of line with any actual damage in the tissue. Again, this is only what I was told. This actually all sounded ridiculous to me. I am a scientist for crying out loud! I wanted tests, data, EVIDENCE to account for my symptoms! It drove me nuts that there was nothing tangible to explain what I was feeling, and I began to think I really was going crazy. So when Greg told me a-matter-of-factly to stop thinking about it, very gradually start running, and stop talking about my feelings (sniff sniff) I realized this was the most logical thing to do.

If you granny jog in your clubbing outfit men will stop to tie your shoes, it's pretty awesome

During my first few weeks of granny jogs, the shin flared up constantly and it took every ounce of faith in the program for me not to think I was making things worse. It wasn’t until about a month later that I realized that the feelings may be dissipating. The process was so gradual that I don’t even remember at what point I completely stopped feeling my shin. But I did. When I realized the huge changes I felt in a matter of months, I was ecstatic. By the fall I was running consistently between 40-60k and reached the point where it was the other parts of my body – hip, achilles, knee, ankle, toe , pinky finger – pretty much everything - that began to hurt because they also weren’t used to the pounding of running. My mind had become so warped, however, that I was happy when I had to take two weeks off due to achilles tendonitis. “It’s a legit injury!” I exclaimed, “You can SEE the inflammation, you can treat it with RICE, and it will get better in a couple weeks!” I was thrilled that instead of some voodoo in my shin I finally had an injury that I knew how to deal with.

Despite having to take a few weeks off in October and in December due to some (gloriously treatable) injuries, I have now been running relatively consistently since July and am averaging about 80-90km/week. I am just trying to build my base and only do workouts when I feel like it. Although I hopped into workouts with the Angels in December, it’s too easy to get sucked into going harder and doing more in a group situation. So for the moment I have my fun doing tempos on my own or chasing down the Ninja group I coach during their hill workouts. I am not sure of any race plans in the Spring yet, but I have no doubt those plans will come naturally once I feel the speed coming back to my legs. For now, it’s still a bit of a slog, but at least I’ve graduated from the granny jog?!

The re-birth of shoeless coolis

2013-02-20T12:50:00.000-05:00

My mom loves to tell the story of the day I was born, amidst a massive blizzard in Vancouver. My parents weren’t worried so much about making it to the hospital in time as they were about making it there alive; their cab swerved through the icy streets and the driver strained to see the road through the pelleting snow. She considers my birth day a prophecy of my wild and stubborn nature that starkly contrasted the shy and quiet demeanour of my summer-borne older brother. I didn’t think much of this until two weeks ago, when I defended my PhD during one of the worst snowstorms in Ontario in recent years. In retrospect, nothing could have been more fitting: shoeless coolis was re-born, amidst another snowstorm.

Finishing my PhD was - and will always be - the hardest marathon I will ever have to run. There were times where I hit walls so hard that I stopped and questioned if I could go on. The number of highs and lows made me a complete unstable mess at so many points in time. The despair I often felt in research was compounded with the biggest personal loss I’ve faced and the worst physical injury I’ve succumbed to, both in my last two years of study: I got married and got divorced within months of each other; then I tore a tendon in my shin, losing the other love (and only outlet) in my life. There were times I felt so completely worthless I didn’t see the point of continuing on with my PhD, which was often just another source of stress and guilt. 6 months ago I was the closest I’ve ever been to quitting. That’s when my supervisor said, point blank: “Jane, you are at mile 20. You are not at the finish yet, but you are close. The last six miles are not going to be easy. So gather your strength, come back, and finish this race.”

He was right. The last 6 miles are terrible people! Why did I think mile 20 sounded encouraging?! True to the delirium of the last six miles of a marathon, the last 6 months have been a complete blur. I have trouble remembering many parts of it; working insane hours to finish experiments, writing my thesis in a matter of weeks in which 4am bedtimes became the norm, perfecting a manuscript over 30 emails a day with my supervisor, and having far less time to prepare for my defense than I had ever imagined. Suddenly the day was here. The day before was a weird day. I felt like I was in the twilight zone, I was dizzy and did not know what to do with myself. I don’t think it was just nerves, since I was also seriously sleep-deprived, something I would warn against being before a defense. That day I went to lab and tried to talk to people, seeing them speak but really thinking about which PP2A B subunits were originally found to bind KSR-1 and what their alternate names were; sporadically looking up the most remote detail of my thesis just in case I would get asked about it; and obsessively going over figures in my head. Then going to a luncheon for my external examiner and trying to feign aloofness when he asked ‘So how does it work in Canada, are we supposed to challenge you tomorrow until you fall to your knees and cry? Can we pellet you with questions at the public oral as well? What is your thesis about again?’ Oh wow.

Then the snow started. When you are in the twilight zone you do not pay attention to the weather channel. Unfortunately my parents were supposed to fly in from Vancouver late that night and my brother was coming in from Halifax. Luckily (or not?!) my external examiner was already in Toronto, but who knows what other members of my committee may be travelling. I went to coach the Ninjas that night, attempting to continue my day of apparent normalcy. There was something strangely peaceful about watching them do 800m repeats through mounds of snow and running through the white downtown streets. I got home and lay on the snow, looking up into the sky and trying to grasp how close I was to the end. I snapped out of it after several minutes, however, when I started to recognize the symptoms of superficial frostbite and realized that there were still ways I could screw up my defense (I’m sorry I've lost use of my fingers, I will not be able to draw that on the board for you). I went to bed.

I got up at 5am and got myself ready to trudge through the piles of snow to my defense. I was on autopilot, not thinking about what was really happening, if my family had arrived, or if anyone would show up to the exam. I texted my brother 30min before my exam and he informed me that my parents had arrived and they were all heading over too. 9:30am rolled around and suddenly I looked up and the room was full. The exam committee, my entire lab, people I knew from other labs, my family, friends of family, they were all there. I choked back tears. I couldn’t get emotional before this thing got started! After a heartfelt introduction by my supervisor, I knew I had better turn robo-Jane back on or my defense would become a crying gushy mess. The next two hours were another blur, apparently I somehow gave my presentation and survived my external's attempts to make me cry for reasons other than joy and gratitude, and it was suddenly over. My six examining professors congratulated me and quickly left the room, leaving me in the middle of Princess Margaret Hospital alone and with no phone reception. I had no idea where anyone was, but I didn’t care. It was done. That was it! I was free! Could this really be happening? I did a little dance, and then another. There were several dances after that. Then I smiled. That smile has not left my face.

So there ya have it folks, (Dr.) shoeless coolis has been re-born amidst another snowstorm. I cannot remember ever being so relieved and happy in my life. I have talked about the tough times during my PhD, but I have also experienced some of the best times of my life and met the most incredible people here. I have made friendships that will last a lifetime. And it is these people and experiences that have made every moment of sorrow, pain and despair completely and absolut(ly) worth it. I am sure no one here wants to read my thesis, but I have to post the most important part of it, the acknowledgments. There are others (who know who they are) who have been there for me and shared experiences with me that I will never forget, and I thank you also.

Next up: my running update (which I promise to be less cheese balls)!

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I would like to thank my amazing family for their unwavering support and encouragement throughout my degree. My father, who not only inspires me with his science, but whose compassion and sense of fun I admire and strive to emulate. My mother, one of the strongest, most brilliant women I know: thank you for being not just a mother to me in the last 6 years but also one of my best friends. My brother Jepray, you have been a tremendous source of comfort, positivity and wisdom and I thank you for always being there for me.

To my supervisor, Rob. You made it about more than science. You are the one who taught me how to run marathons. You taught me that the work you put in is the work you get out; that strength and endurance takes time and patience and cannot be forced; that the lows are worth the highs; that there are no shortcuts; that it’s not how fast you can sprint but how well you can push to the very end. Most importantly, you taught me never to give up until you’re there. Not many people can teach such hard lessons while expressing so much love, compassion and understanding, but you did. Thank you.

Thank you to my committee members, Jane and Dr. Medin. I appreciate the time you took to oversee my project and improve my research with your excellent advice and encouragement.

Thank you to my dear collaborators, Nikolina Radulovich and Dr. Ming Tsao, for your help and guidance with my animal and immunohistochemical studies.

Dedi. You gave meaning to the word ‘Dedidit’ and together, we did it J. You are a remarkable scientist but an even more amazing person and friend. Thank you for always putting things in perspective and for making science fun.

Thanks Dedi, one of the most amazing and kind people I have ever met

Mauricio and Tim, my BFFs OMG. Mauricio, it is largely because of you that I was able to run Rob’s marathons. Thank you for being a constant source of support and fun during the last six years. You have made the difficult times bearable and the good times unbelievable.

To all the members of the Rottapel lab for putting up with me and all my Western blots. Thank you for your encouragement and sense of humor – it is you guys that made coming to lab every day worth it, successful experiment or not. Also, thank you to the ladies from the Kislinger lab, especially Lusia, for either keeping me sane in the office or making the choice to go insane with me.

Thanks Lusia for always knowing how to get me through the rough days!

To my training partners and running friends, the Angels. Thank you for constantly reminding me that there’s more to life than the lab (and for inspiring me to run real marathons). Nic, DocZ, MamaK and Jebs, thank you for your patience, wisdom and guidance in all aspects of life.

To the others along the way that have inspired and encouraged me – Delilah (a.k.a. Topicoolis) and my beautiful cousin Sarika – you are two of the most important people in my life and it’s been so comforting knowing you were always there for me. You have each helped me in such different but crucial ways and I can’t thank you enough.

My beautiful cousin and beautiful friend, forever

Finally, I absolutely have to thank Goose for keeping me going during the last six years. You taught me to relax, gave me the energy to keep going and were always there when I needed you. Cheers.

Pinks and hoes and money woes

2012-09-06T11:22:00.001-04:00

As an eternal student trying to survive in the big city, it is a struggle to stay out of debt. It seems that with each passing year of my degree, it becomes more and more difficult to save money – not only with compounding tuition costs, but with a steady decline in motivation to stay afloat (let alone alive. Ha. Joking. Kind of?). Then, a few weeks ago, I received the following email:

Hi Jane,

My name is Tom, I shoot for several glamor and softcore adult sites online. I have a shoot coming up for FTVgirls.com in September and your name was suggested through social media. If you're not interested or your not comfortable with adult content then my apologies, but I've quickly checked the pictures submitted and you seem to fit exactly the look I'm going for.

We shoot in Arizona in mid September, we'd fly you out for 3 days. One day to settle in and pick wardrobe, one day to shoot and one for you to enjoy the area. The fee is negotiable based on what level of interest and experience you have but it ranges from $1000-$7000 for the trip.

Let me know if you have any questions

I look forward to hearing from you.

It took me a few reads to understand what was going on. I scanned each sentence for the words ‘running’ or ‘modeling,’ thinking it had to be associated with something I was known for. After a few minutes, I realized that they were far from interested in my athletic or academic pursuits. ‘Seriously?!’ I thought, ‘Soft core PORN?!’ Personality aside, how on earth would I be suited to it (let’s just say runners don’t usually meet the physical criteria of pornstars, and if they do they probably aren’t very fast)? Furthermore, what kind of ‘fitting’ pictures could have possibly been submitted?!’ I assumed it wasn’t from my photoshoot with Canadian Running Magazine, or my imitations of the Usain Bolt pose. I was bewildered. Then I read the last sentence again: up to $7000. Hmmm. One year’s tuition for 3 days of work? My mind began to wander. In a spell of curiosity, I proceeded to peruse the soft-porn website for myself, contemplating what they might have me do. Initially, I was encouraged by an image of a woman jogging in shorts and a sports bra. ‘I could do that!’ I thought triumphantly. My hopes were soon crushed when I realized that any seemingly innocent photograph led to things far more revealing. I think it was at this moment, in the midst of serious porn researching in my office at work, that I fully understood my need for extra cash. I forwarded the email to my parents:

Mum: “O.M.G.”

Minutes later, my Dad replies: “I don’t know Jane, sounds a bit dubious to me. You had better check this guy out.”

Umm...seriously?! I suppose my Dad is tired of lending me money, and would encourage me to pursue explicit avenues of money-making should my future pimp be a ‘legitimate’ one? WOW. My mum put an end to this possibility with her reply, however, when she emphatically stated: “PIETER! He does S-O-F-T-C-O-R-E-P-O-R-N-O-G-R-A-P-H-Y!!!!!!!!!”

Fortunately I have come to my senses and decided to try and be more frugal. I think I am doing a great job so far. Take yesterday, for example, where I spent $1000 when I meant to spend none. Why? Where to begin!

So 10 days ago my phone broke at a stagette. I have no idea what happened: I picked it up at one point and it was dead. Totally unresponsive. I suppose it just couldn't handle the party, after all, it did get pretty wild.

The next day I took my poor phone to the Bell store in Vancouver. I learned a lesson there. Bell sucks, and so do all manufacturing companies except Apple. They enjoy making things unnecessarily difficult, either because they want more money or are actually just stupid. Anyway, after explaining to them the situation (it could have been the strippers???) they fiddled with the phone, tried plugging it in, took it apart, and after a good twenty minutes decided it would have to be sent off to the manufacturer to determine the nature of the damage. Once they discerned what ailed it, it would either be fixed by them or sent to another company to be replaced. What the eff? Why do things have to be so complicated! Just give me a new phone! (That's why I have finally given into the Apple fad, they just hand you a new phone no questions asked. SMART.) So I'm like 'OK, fine take my phone. Take my only means of communication. Take a piece of me. Take my soul!' I began to get emotional. ‘Would I at least get a replacement phone?’ I wondered. They followed my emotional display with ''We can't give you a temporary phone either because you're going back to Toronto and you can't take our phone out of Vancouver.' Wow, they know how to please a frustrated customer! But they also told me that a temporary phone would cost $50 and require a $350 deposit, so I became disinterested. Instead, I decided I'd revert to the olden times when there were no phones or computers and everything was relayed by fountain pen ink and scrolls. I envisioned myself locked away in my parent's basement, writing letters to my high school friends asking them to join me for dinner at Christmas, at which point they would have received my message and I'd be back in Vancouver. The thought of living in such romantic fashion was exciting and I soon forgot the sorrows caused by my lost phone.

Nine days later I get back to Toronto and my mom starts to freak out, thinking that now that I have no phone in the big city I will die in anonymity. She emails me ten times after my flight is supposed to land to make sure I am still alive. Wanting to save her motherly stress (and the storage in my inbox), I immediately go to the Bell store in Toronto. I brought my old phone that I thought could serve as my temporary phone, but of course the Bell rep says they can't activate the old phone because it doesn't take the same SIM card as my Android. 'Oh and by the way, the store in Vancouver just sent out your phone to the manufacturer today.' TODAY?! Nine days after I dropped it off? What were they doing with it for the last nine days? Imagining how a stripper may have caused water damage?! At this point I was visibly angered. Perhaps the Bell representatives are slightly more insightful in Toronto, as he sensed my frustration and offered to give me a replacement phone free of charge...besides the $350 deposit. How lovely! I accepted the offer, but cringed at the money drawn out of my already dwindling bank account. My anxieties were relieved by a sudden rush of bells and rings from my new phone: I had life and communication back in my hands! Hallelujah! And with that, my spirits were lifted and I left the store in a celebratory mood.

Of course at this point I am in the mall. And I cross by a store called PINK. Yes, it is CALLED PINK. How am I supposed to bypass this store without going in and scavenging every item they sell? It simply cannot be done in Coolis land. So, consumed by powers beyond my control, I stepped into Pinkasia and was pelleted with flashes of hot pink, fuschia, zebra print and pink leopard print. I felt like an epileptic walking into a disco party, it was just too much to handle! Tears filled my eyes, both in anger at the inevitable demise of my bank account and in joy of finding so much Topicoolis-like attire in one room. How could I walk away from this? My mind fought as I scowered each rack and filled my basket with items to try on. 'I'm just TRYING them,' I told myself reassuringly. Rrright. Once in the change room, I quickly discovered that I loved all items I had chosen. Imagine that! A pink leopard print bra, oohhh and a bright blue one too! Zebra print underwear? A pink zebra sports bra (sorry Adidas, you may be fashion-forward, but you aren't quite at the edge!)?! Hot pink tank-tops, shirts, hoodies?! There was nothing I could do. It was over. When I was informed that most items were 2 for $42, there was no going back. They rung me in, and I walked out having spent $150 on bras, underwear, and flimsy pink shirts. This, from a girl who never wears underwear and who does not even need to wear bras. (Did I just admit this to the blogosphere? And to think I wonder how porn sites have heard of me)

Let's party indeed!

Then I go into lab. Almost as soon as I turn my computer on it crashes. Perhaps it felt the strength of my fluorescent pink purchases and it had an epileptic fit. Unfortunately, this computer has crashed before and it was not a good experience - I almost lost all of my data from my entire PhD. If this happened I would contemplate suicide. So I was the next one to start seizing, since I had still not backed up my data on an external hard drive. (Yes, apparently I am also stupid.) So I sprinted madly to Future Shop in street clothes and computer in hand - perhaps the only time that someone could justifiably heckle 'RUN Forrest, RUN!!!' - and clambered up to the help desk in a sweaty hot pink mess. I sternly told them that I needed to backup everything and warned that 'Nothing had better be lost!'...or I'd flash them hot pink underwear and whip them with sinewy bra tops?! I am sure they were quite intimidated, as they cutely told me that I would have to pay $150 for an external hard drive and $270 for them to revamp my computer and back it up for me. I was so overwhelmed with all the sources of stress and anxiety I was dealing with at that one instant that I said 'Eff it! Take my money, give me my PhD!' and was done with it. (I wish I could also say this at my defense. Hmmm.)

So there ya go folks, that's Coolis' lesson on how to spend $920 in a single day in Toronto, without wanting to spend a penny. Quite awesome. I think I am going to check this Tom guy out after all.

Coolis to the Core

2012-08-11T14:05:00.002-04:00

I used to be one of those distance runners whose idea of strength training was running hill repeats. I did so much LSD that I considered anything fast to be anaerobic. Then I met Dennis Barrett (McGill track coach), who introduced me to the world of deadlifts, chin-ups and core strength. I got about 3min faster over 5k in three years, and suffered no significant injuries during this time...not that I ever managed to do a chin-up or a deadlift! Ha! But I WAS forced to incorporate resistance training into my routine, and as a result my strength, coordination and running speed improved dramatically.

Core strength should be part of any distance runner’s training program. A strong core is central to a strong running body, as it balances out muscle groups and prevents wear and tear on joints, thereby preventing injury. Importantly, core strength is not about doing billions of crunches at lightning speed – it is about consciously engaging your abdominals and the muscles surrounding them, including your spine, glutes, hamstrings and quads. Exercising them in a slow, controlled motion is the best way to engage your core. There are many core exercises out there, so if you hate my suggested plank holds (below) keep in mind that they are only one way of cutting the...core?

This is a video of me demonstrating some core exercises for Canadian Running Magazine. I think the video sends out the right message, but I advise drinking some Red Bull before attempting to watch it. I think the videographers put an enthusiasm filter on their lens. I VIVIDLY recall doing this video laughing, smiling, joking and EXCLAIMING about how much I loved the Coolis Core Workout. I imagined myself demonstrating the front plank hold in dramatic fashion, hunching my shoulders to the sky and wildly dropping my hips to ground (I think I mastered the Booty Tooch (Hoochie Tooch?), however. Uh-huh.). Where did this dead-pan, bored un-Coolis come from?! I am not even sure at what points I am trying to tell a joke because I am speaking in such painstaking monotony. Perhaps the only hint of humour is when I remind the audience that ‘When your form breaks, so should you’ - a line that at the time I thought was absolutely hilarious but now realize is actually NOT A JOKE. What is wrong with me?

What is more is that my brain was usurped along with my personality. I don’t think I could recall the appropriate name for a single exercise (or add to 10min?). Leg dips. LEG DIPS? Are those a real thing? It’s a good thing this was a video and not an audiotape, otherwise I would have runners splashing their legs into puddles or doing squats instead of plank variations. Or how about ‘back leg raises’?...as opposed to...front leg raises? I think the problem was that I had myself confused with a four-legged creature, and adjusted my mental capabilities along with my anatomical makeup. After all, I go so far as to incorporate knee-sitting into the workout, which I am pretty sure is an impossible feat for a human.

Despite these minor details, I do hope runners can get some use out of this video. And please ignore the eye-rolling at 1:23, that was a bitch look subconsciously directed at myself, not you awesome viewers!

This video was actually shot as part of a larger shoot, which altogether was a ton of fun. Unfortunately, it came at a time when my core wasn’t feeling its coolist. In fact, I looked like I was on the verge of giving birth the night before (one word: hormones). So what does a balloon-bellied, raging emotional Coolis do the night before her photoshoot? Take some GAS-X, get some exercise, drink some water and get lots of sleep? Why, of course not! The only logical thing to do in my head was to out with my girlfriend for steak and martinis and bitch about my discomfort! Suffice to say I woke up (fell out of bed?) the next morning not feeling *particularly* primed for the camera. I tried to console myself by the fact that I would be wearing running clothes and not a bikini. Unfortunately, I arrived at the photoshoot only to find out I would be sporting a sports bra and spandex shorts. Nice. ‘Maybe they can photoshop my abs?’ I continued to console myself. All sense of security was lost, however, when the photographer began to yell ‘Tighten your abs! Abs TIGHT! Suck in the ABS!!’ with increasing intensity as the shoot went on. ‘Oh dear,’ I thought to myself, ‘the bloating is definitely not in my head.’ Compound this with the fact that I have not run in months and am jogging endless laps across a park, and you can start to envision the breathing difficulties I was encountering. Have you ever tried sucking in, gasping for air and smiling simultaneously?! I felt like a glowing pregnant woman having an asthma attack. This would be uncomfortable under normal situations, but was especially intrusive when I was supposed to look like a gazelle gliding effortlessly across the grass. This went on for about an hour, until eventually the yells for tighter abs changed to hurrahs for a good shot. Thank the lord! I also ended up with a t-shirt on by the end of it (I HAVE NO IDEA WHY).

So although I can’t guarantee flat abs at all times, I can say that the Coolis Core workout will help you be a better overall runner. If you want to get a more accurate idea of the 10-minute core routine (despite the excellence shown in this video), check out the September issue of Canadian running (p.69, obvi) for a full description of the workout!

It's all Voodoo and Dr. Chiu

2012-07-24T10:07:00.001-04:00

My shin has become an old, annoying boyfriend. The initial thrilling (?) intensity has dissipated into a dull (dis)comfort that stays with me at all times. Although predictability can be nice, it’s not when it prevents you from living life fully. I need to dump this boyfriend for good. The problem is, he’s a bit of a stalker.

In May I decided I needed some security so I went to the doctor to determine the best plan of attack. The doctor suggested diagnosing this dude’s issues so that I’d know the best way to get rid of him. His first guess was that he could have a disorder known as compartment syndrome. Under this condition, he would suffer from a defect in releasing the large amounts of pressure caused by my repeated interactions with him. (Yes, apparently I was the root cause!) This build up would result in him inflicting pain and discomfort onto me, usually at a point when our interactions were at their height. Unfortunately, men struggling with this syndrome are incapable of leaving on their own, and usually need to be put under the knife. Essentially, I would have to resort to hiring a hit-man to physically get rid of him. Although harsh, I was elated, as the diagnosis made sense and I would finally be able to move on with my life. This had to work!

I left the doctor’s office full of hopes and dreams that I would get a specialist to test my boyfriend in a few days, hire a hit-man in a few weeks and be free as a bird in a couple months. A few days later, I got a call from a woman at the test centre: “Hi Ms Coolis, we have someone to test your defective boyfriend!” my heart raced with excitement, “When?” I asked “I can set this up anytime!” “Uh-huh” She answered, “The next availability is August 25^th, 2012 at 10AM.”

Silence ensued.

“...Hello? Ms Coolis? Does this work?” I remained mute on the other end of the phone. I thought she had to be kidding. August?! Almost four months away?! And that was just to get a diagnosis! “Um...hi, yes, errr is there anything slightly sooner?!” I asked incredulously. “No actually, we are one of two test centres in Ontario and we only conduct testing once per month. Naturally, there are a lot of defective men and thus there is a long wait list.” ‘Awesome. ‘ I thought to myself as I imitated her mocking tone in my head: ‘Naturally! Don’t be so foolish Ms Coolis, didn’t you KNOW that CS testers only like to work at one location every fourth Saturday from 10-5?!’ I took the appointment as graciously as I could - likely cutting her off as I hung up the phone - and sat at my desk morosely for the next half hour. How was I to deal with this dude for another three months?! When I finally decided it didn’t do any good to sit alone in self-pity, I proceeded to share my self-pity over Facebook. Maybe one of my doctor friends could help me out!

[Alright, I’ll stop talking in metaphors now. Everyone is probably completely confused: ‘I though it was her shin, not a stifling boyfriend, that was preventing her from running???’]

Moving along, the first doctor friend who commented on my status was Tony Chiu. Now, most of my readers probably don’t know Tony Chiu. Tony Chiu is quite a character. We became close acquaintances (friends? Rivals? I still don’t know) in high school as we shared pretty much every class together that involved advanced placement this or accelerated that. He was on high-speed mode in pretty much every realm of his life, however, including his day-to-day mannerisms. I was convinced he either had a secret addiction to coffee or an innate imbalance in amphetamines that made him hyperactive all the time. How else do you explain the random shouts during Calculus, or the tendencies to get up and pace around halfway through a physics lecture? His inability to finish a sentence, let alone conversation, without walking away? The constant shaking of his desk during a chemistry exam (especially distracting when you are sitting behind him, to the point that I thought it actually might be his mechanism of sabotage)? These traits made Tony Chiu both endearing and severely annoying at the same time. Despite the difficulties I encountered in getting to know him, we did somehow become close. We even studied together sometimes (this usually involved him solving a math problem in his head, writing down a number in ten seconds, then telling me crude jokes as I methodically wrote out twenty lines of equations for the next twenty minutes).

Near the end of high school, however, I saw another side of Tony Chiu. He began to invite me out more frequently, even introducing me to his mother and offering me her jewelry (yeah, that was kind of weird...I thought maybe it was a Taiwanese tradition?). Then, he started to insult my boyfriend. These were not subtle displays of annoyance or gentle stabs behind his back. They were outright tantrums, usually right in front of his face. He’d start yelling “***HOLE!!!” down the hallway before I even saw that my boyfriend was coming our way. Sometimes I’d also catch Tony muttering under his breath during calculus “I HATE *******, ******* is such an @^%hole. %$#@ *******!” when he likely thought no one was paying attention. This was some deep hatred. Looking back, my boyfriend probably deserved some of this name-calling, but that’s beside the point. I think it was when I received a love voodoo kit (including a voodoo doll) from Tony on my birthday that I realized there was more to it than my ex-boyfriend actually being an ‘@^%hole’. It was kind of a scary gift to receive when you are 17 from someone who is quite brilliant. Couldn’t he have gotten me a calculator? Some pens? SAT books? I didn’t like the voodoo I was getting from Dr. Chiu. What did this mean?!

Nevertheless, he took off to Taiwan after high school to experience some more fast-tracking in his life, as he was accepted into an accelerated med school program at the National Taiwan University. At this time he also mentioned his mother wanted him to find a wife, so it was probably a good time for us to be on opposite ends of the earth. I don’t think he was happy with how things ended.

Fast-track some more, ten years later. I need a compartment syndrome test and I’m pretty desperate. Who else but Tony Chiu pipes in, still stirred up and single! (Ironically, now a psychologist...I think I had to ask him several times if he was a patient or that was his position, I couldn’t quite grasp the latter...) He told me that if I flew to Taiwan and stayed with him, he would get me the test in less than a week. Now folks, I told you I was desperate for this test, but right then I had to deeply question just how desperate I was. Yep, not that desperate.

Luckily, I ended up getting a last-minute cancellation at the end of May and went to a clinic in Toronto. I got to the center early, ready and excited to leave with an answer. To test for CS, they make you run until you experience the telltale-CS sudden onset of pain and then they jab you with a needle to measure the pressure in your muscle compartment. The problem in my case was that I experienced more of a constant discomfort rather than a sudden onset of pain. Nevertheless, they put me on the treadmill and told me to go until it hurt (twss). Now I must remind you all that I have not run, let alone done ANY weight-bearing activity, since February! I started to jog at 6mph and I won’t lie, it did not feel easy. I could feel my shin but it was the same dull discomfort as always. I figured I needed to go pretty hard to make it worse, so I turned up the speed to 8mph. Shin felt the same. After a few minutes I figured I’d better go hard or go home. I couldn’t leave this place without knowing that I reproduced my symptoms as best I could. So I turned the incline to 4% and increased my speed to 9mph. At this point, I began to wheeze. My legs felt like jelly and I thought I may – for the first time – fly of the treadmill. My shin worsened a bit but still, no sudden increase in pain. I kept going, feeling like I was running a 3:20 last km of a marathon. I literally thought I was going to die. ‘You can’t stop!’ I told myself, ‘you don’t feel injured, you just feel out of shape!’ This continued for what felt like hours, until I could have no more, and I jumped off the spinning machine, heaving and sweating like an animal. It had been 14 minutes.

After I eventually hobbled back to the testing room, the doctor nonchalantly pulled out a giant needle and stabbed me in the shin. “This might hurt a little!” he chirped as he moved it around my muscle compartment. I yelped out in pain. Perhaps this was the stabbing pain I was supposed to feel when I was running? I wasn’t sure. “Now can you flex your foot?” I tried to pull my toes up, only to be met with more stabs of pain. “Um, NO!!!” I answered. Instead of realizing this was because it hurt like a mo-fo, he assumed I was incapable of flexing my foot and took it upon himself to force my foot upwards. “OH MY GOD!” I screamed. “Okay, you’re done!” he said as he pulled out the needle. I sat on the bed, my shin throbbing, my heart pounding and my legs quivering. I had barely begun to integrate all my sources of pain when the doctor turned around and said “NOPE! Test is negative. You don’t have compartment syndrome!” I must have glared at him pretty hard, since he continued “Um, isn’t this a good thing? I’ve never seen a patient who was unhappy with a negative test!”

I limped out of the office in a bit of a daze. Should I be happy? Sad? Frustrated? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I was in pain and that I still didn’t have a diagnosis. What’s worse, is that if it was actually remaining tendon damage then I had probably just made it a lot worse by hammering my shin on the treadmill. Fast-forward two months later, and I now have the results of an MRI that show no tendon, muscle or bone abnormalities in my shin. What the EFF?! Apparently it might be a nerve issue. Needless to say, it’s all voodoo to me now. My current hypothesis is that Tony got back his voodoo doll and it’s payback time. Perhaps a trip to Taiwan would cure me after all?!

Making things write

2012-05-16T14:37:00.000-04:00

Alright people, I have to admit I have been sucking at the blog scene lately. My life has been a little up and down. Ha, understatement of the year!

It’s been 8 months since I’ve been able to run. I am obviously quite frustrated but I also realize there must be a reason. I must be doing (or not doing) something that has made it drag on this long. I’ve considered a few possibilities, but have been too distracted and/or stressed out to make any drastic changes. More on that after I vent about my latest excuses for not taking care of myself.

At the end of April, I got the OK from my PhD committee to begin to write up my thesis. Essentially this means I have the summer to write a few hundred pages about what I’ve done in the last five years and explain why it’s important. In the fall, I will submit this fat book of science garble to a bunch of smart scientists, who will tear it apart, pick out its weaknesses and grill me on it for two or three hours. Once they’ve challenged me to the point that I am on the verge of thinking I am the dumbest human being on the face of the earth, they will suddenly stop and say “congrats, here’s your PhD!” It’s a strangely anti-climactic way of receiving a degree you’ve been working your ass off on for six years, but I have finally come to accept this abuse as simply the ‘form of education’ of grad school.

Perhaps this is why getting your PhD is such a long, grueling process. You are constantly questioned, challenged and guilt-tripped to the point that – unless you are a remarkably resilient and confident person – you feel like you are completely worthless. Although many emotions can go up and down, the feelings of guilt and stupidity will never leave you until you graduate (I hope that then, they do in fact vanish!). Getting sucked into this vortex means feeling guilty for sleeping for four hours instead of being proud you worked for twenty, thinking you will get recognition from your boss for never taking any vacations and working weekends until it just becomes expected of you, and ultimately becoming bitter about life in general. Thankfully, this intense depression doesn’t usually set in until the end, at which point you can *usually* muster up the courage to finish. I have heard many stories about how students have ended their PhDs. Some have ended happily, some not, but one common theme is a stretch of legit depression.

Studies have been published, and blogs have been written on the subject!

Hmmmm

I suppose the last few months have been my stretch – at least I hope it was. I have not been happy at all. I will freely admit that now. I have felt lost, lonely, stupid, and like I don’t know what I want in life. It hasn’t helped that I haven’t been running. I have had no endorphin rush or outlet to vent my frustrations. I didn’t realize how dependent I had become on running to get me through times of stress. I think one day I complained to my labmates that my martini consumption was getting out of hand, when a new postdoc in my lab confided in me that it could always be worse. Apparently the last 6 months of her PhD she was going through a 26oz bottle of vodka every few days and smoking a pack of cigarettes a day...and she is also a runner! It gave me some perspective...but perhaps the wrong kind. Just because it could be worse, doesn’t mean it’s alright.

Which brings me to the past few weeks. I got the OK to write up and I can now see the proverbial finish line of my PhD. I had anticipated this moment for so long...so why did I still feel a void? Why wasn’t I happy or satisfied? Perhaps it was because (as it goes in grad school) my committee had to make me feel guilty about writing up before giving me permission. And perhaps it meant I then had to acknowledge other aspects of my life that aren’t entirely uplifting. Whatever the reasons, I still wasn’t happy and I still felt lost. Last week I finally completely broke down, at a moment that I have since realized was both the worst and best moment to do so. It was in the middle of a meeting with my supervisor and several other scientists – not very professional – but in the end, it finally relayed the severity of my situation to both myself and those around me. I was forced to acknowledge to a lot of people that I was suffering. However, contrary to my fears, this didn’t perpetuate disappointment or admonishment! No one called me weak or stupid! Instead, I realized that there are many people who actually care about me and just want me to be happy...no matter what I have to do. It was incredibly uplifting to hear such kind and supportive words, especially from my supervisor.

Since then I have gone back to Vancouver and seen my family, another incredible source of kindness and support. My parents are amazing people. I can’t express in words how much I love them. After talking things through with them and other friends, I’ve realized that it’s all about perspective. Things really aren’t that bad, in fact they are quite good and I am a very lucky person in the grand scheme of life. And if I take a little control over things, I can make them even better. So here I am, with a renewed sense of optimism and motivation to get healthy and finish my degree. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I am not done with running and I will do whatever it takes to get back to my athletic life.

Amazing parents

Relaxing in beautiful Vancity

My current game plan is to go back to the sports doctor and figure out what’s going on with my shin. Why am I feeling this perpetual tightness, it just doesn’t make sense. I hope to get another ultrasound and an MRI to see what’s going on in the tissue and/or to see what stage of healing it’s at. I am seeing my fantastic physio Greg (check it!) twice a week for treatment. I haven’t exercised at all in a week, but that’s not even the point here, I want to gain the weight I said I would for real. I’m not messing around anymore, just going to get it done. I have heard from other elites that when they are leaner they don’t heal as well, and if that’s the reason behind all these shenanigans then that is so stupid! It’s the easiest thing to solve. My dad is trying to lose 5-10lbs, so we are going pound-for-pound for the next month to even each other out. I like it!

I am also back out coaching my awesome Ninja group every Tuesday night. I haven’t talked much about them before, but I will soon have to dedicate a blog to them. They are a great, positive and motivated bunch of distance runners. They killed a 7k workout last night and it made me so happy to see how far some of them have come in the past year. Go NINJAS!

I am feeling much more relaxed and positive about things, perhaps too much so since it’s been 3 weeks since I’ve been given permission to write up and I’ve only written a few paragraphs. Time to stop procrastinating and start writing, and that includes my blog!

A video that every grad student (or family member/friend affected by the life of a grad student ;) should watch!

RobbieD in Rotterdam!

2012-04-11T11:10:00.007-04:00

Thanks RobbieD for that poignant recap of my life. Despite some minor details (a tear drop? Common!) it is - sadly - quite accurate. I have been sucked into a vortex of science (see! Now my metaphors are even scientific!). In the past some people have confused me working at MaRS with me being on planet Mars; now I don't bother correcting them. I have essentially been swallowed by an alternate universe. I just hope that I don't get usurped by a black hole and vanish eternally.

That being said, I am somewhat aware of the occurences happening in the outside world. First of all, it is April! Thanks, anonymous poster, for reminding me of the changing months. Living on Mars I am frequently not aware of this subjective thing called 'time.' Second, it is racing season! It's a good thing my co-worker is a triathlete gearing up for Goodlife, otherwise the world of shin pounding may have entirely escaped me!

Thus, I am also aware (perhaps also due to Le Rob periodically invading Mars to make sure I haven't died along with my mice) that Rotterdam is fast approaching. There is nothing I am more excited for, though given my current thresholds of excitement perhaps this isn't saying much. Yesterday I jumped for joy after getting my pipettes calibrated. Last week the highlight of my week was inventing a new science pun*, which was promptly shut down by my labmate Korris. I protested that I'd test out my awesome new joke at lab meeting, where I would SURELY receive a 'Korris' of laughter.
(I think at that point he put his head down and walked away. Or hit me, I can't quite remember...)

Anyway, I digress, how very non-linear and unnerd-like of me! Getting back to Rotterdam - since Le Rob did you all a favour by sharing a flattering recap of my life as of late, I will return the favour and recap why Le Rob will make a great marathoner - this weekend and beyond.

Most of you know Rob through le Blog. You think you know him pretty well eh? Well I can assure you, internet Rob and real Rob are quite different. Actually that's a lie, they are pretty much the same. But there are some important things about Le Rob that the casual le Blog du Rob reader won't fully appreciate.

In his blog, Le Rob comes off as joking, light-hearted and positive, yet sometimes aggressive, wreckless and crude. (Ok, forget the 'sometimes' on that latter statement. After all, his blog WAS voted 18A by Canadian Running.) Although most of these traits are true to Rob, there is much more depth to him than you would think. I know, hard to believe, right? But it is these extra facets of his personality that truly give him an edge. Those who doubt what Le Rob can (and will) do, don't know the real Rob.

First of all, he is a smart guy. Yep, I know you are all saying 'No way!!!" but it is true! He may spit out spelling mistakes and incorrect grammar on a regular basis, fail to divide his posts into organized paragraphs and write in brain-joggling run-on sentences, but he's got some smarts nonetheless. (I am pretty sure my last sentence was a run-on anyway, it happens to the best of us ;). Heck sometimes he is just completely incoherent, but that is probably because he is drunk. Rob won't deny that the dumbest things he does usually stem while being severely intoxicated. So providing he does not replace his morning beet juice with beer, he's good to go!

Getting back to my main point, Rob knows what's up. He keeps his goals in mind and takes steps every day to make sure he will achieve them. That starts from his daily runs and workouts to proper nutrition, strength work, rest and mental prep. To elaborate on the latter point, Rob is a master of adopting the right attitude. He knows that positive thoughts will bring positive results, so he works hard to keep that mindset. Sometimes he says such ridiculous things that I mistake his positive mindset for extreme childlike naivety (keep in mind, I have a mildly cynical personality). It could be blizzarding and slizzarding out and instead of complaining, he'll stress how WELL this was going to prepare him for the marathon! 'If I can run 50k in this,' he'd bubble, 'I am going to smash this marathon! Let's get 'er goin'!' Anything negative that happens, you can count on RobbieD to focus on the positive.

He is also pretty astute with his recovery. I know, after watching the pitiful recovery video he posted in NC you might think otherwise. 'Does recovery mean drinking a lot of beer and eating a lot of cookies?' one might ask. Well, believe it or not, this is a very small component of his recovery routine. I would actually call the beer his reward system and his recovery just another part of his training grind. Foam rolling, plantar digging, icing, re-fuelling, sleeping - he'll give his body what it needs. Though I am a terrible judge of sleeping habits. But he does sleep a lot more than me, so that has to count for something?

Second, he works freakishly hard. We all know RobbieD is talented, but not everyone knows how hard he works. There is pretty much nothing that can get in the way of him getting his training in. And I have probably tested him in every way. Get him really drunk? Nope, 'running is the best hangover cure!' he'll chirp. Schedule something between the hours of 6AM-1PM? Nope, he'll wake up at 4:30AM and get at least one of his training sessions in. I am pretty sure if you stole all of his running gear from him he would do his long run in jeans and bare feet (I was going to say dress shoes, but he would never wear dress shoes. Ever.) What's more, is that he knows how to make it hurt (twss). That's fundamentally why I think he will be a successful marathoner. Rob can grind through anything, he grinds until he convinces himself he likes the grind and it's no longer a grind. So when the grind hits everyone at 30k, Rob's legs will finally start to feel comfortable, and he'll kill it.

Finally, le Rob may never admit this to his internet friends, but he has a huge heart. This is not just beneficial for efficiently pumping blood to all of his working muscles, though it does help him run faster in that regard. His big heart is evident by how much he cares for and how well he treats people that matter to him. And one of the things dearest to his heart is running. This gives him a motivation that's deeper than talent, commitment and enjoyment of the sport. He loves running to the very core of his being. It is so clear to anyone that knows him that that is deep down why he runs. He'd be out there grinding out daily runs even if he were hammering 5:00/km repeats, because he loves it.

There is a famous quote that says to run a great marathon, you must 'Run the first part with your head, the second with your legs, and the third with your heart.' If that's the case, my friends, le Rob is ready to dominate.

Go get 'em RobbieD!

*Ooooh you want to know my science pun! It is truly great. Essentially I am looking for an interaction between two proteins, PP2A and ERK. I have done some preliminary experiments that suggest that they do in fact interact, but the main experiment remains to be completed. After discussing these exciting lead-up studies with my co-worker, I exclaimed 'Wow! If this next experiment doesn't work, I will be so ERKed!' [enter cackles of laughter here]. I know, brilliant, right?!

Blog #68

2012-04-08T16:09:00.002-04:00

Hey there, so if you’re like me then you are probably wondering what the heck is going on here at the Coolis blog, why has this sucker not been updated in so long? What’s the deal? What‘s going on with our favourite Canadian Female Runner/Blogger!? Well folks I hate to break it to you, but Jane is dead...haha, just kidding, she’s alive, just busy as hell that’s all. She simply does not have the time nor the energy to blog right now. This will happen, shit gets pretty stressful and hectic when you are trying to finish up a PhD in Medical Biophysics (yeah, that is a real thing I swear).

I (rob) on the other hand have too much time and too much energy. Therefore I am gonna write a blog here for the Coolis. Gonna give ya a quick update on what is going on in the life of Coolis...well actually I don’t know exactly what is going on with her. I have only briefly spoken to the Coolis, so I have a basic outline at best, I’ll make up the rest as we go. Okay let’s get at it.

We’ll start with an update on Jane’s shin. Her shin is annoying and stupid, it is slowly and surly getting better, that’s good. But it’s still kind of a sensitive topic, we’re not gonna talk about it right now. The lack of running has really opened up some free time in Jane’s schedule, what is she suppose to do at 5am now that she can’t run? Well Jane has taken to dominating the weight room. She has been throwing the iron around like a gosh darn maniac. She is getting huge! Home girl can legit lift 100lbs right over her head, it’s insane! She’s an animal! Jane has really gotten into the whole meathead, weight lifting scene, she even started doing mixed martial arts. She’s pretty good too. Jane had her first official MMA fight the other day, it was awesome, she punched the other girl right in the face and then tapped her out with a perfectly executed guillotine choke, quite impressive. Do not mess with the Coolis.

Jane is not just about weight lifting and physical violence, she’s also quite smart. Let’s do a quick update on her schooling. Jane is killing it with her school stuff. She is a top notch researcher and scientist. I’ve seen her in action it’s quite cool. Well, except for when she has to do experiments on mice, that shit is disgusting and disturbing. First she gives a mouse cancer for a while then she kills it. It is unnerving, but I guess it is necessary. It’s not like she’s testing chemicals on the mice for Proctor&Gamble or anything. This is for science! We’re trying to cure cancer here! I have looked over her research and notes and such. It’s very solid stuff, and if I do say so myself, I’m pretty sure that she is well on her way to finding a cure, I’m saying like 5years tops until Jane has taken care of it. My girl is wicked smart (read that last line like this) School however is very time consuming and stressful sometimes, so let’s move on.

Jane got a haircut. It’s kinda short. The front part is shorter than the back part, It’s still blond and she keeps it pretty straight. Looks good I’d say. She probably paid like $400 on it though, chicks are always paying ridiculous amounts of money on their hair. Girls are weird about their hair. Jane also might get a tattoo, she’s been thinking about it a lot. She’s narrowed it down to either a tribal arm band or a tear drop. Either way, she is gonna get inked up. It will add to her street cred, her MMA friends will surly approve.

Adding some more badassness to Jane’s recent activities is that she went to a sweet rock and roll show the other day. Jane generally does not like music with guitars. She prefers music made by computers and robots. But she was forced to listen to a whole lotta Chuck Ragan there for a bit and she developed a soft spot for the guy. Chuck happened to be in town and she agreed to go to the show. I had gone to a computer themed music show with her, so she owed me. Jane brought along Tim and Mauricio. They are also big fans of computer music, they are also Jane’s best buds. The three of em’ make up a pretty solid/intimidating posse. Jane’s other friend Noah also came. Noah actually likes guitars, apparently he can shred on one pretty good. Noah is a good dude, but he had to leave early to conduct an experiment. Yeah, Noah left a Chuck Ragan show early for the sake of science. He just got his PhD though, so I guess that will happen sometimes...Nerd.

Tim and Mauricio, cool dudes.

Dr. Noah. Yep...nerd.

So speaking of nerds, let’s not forget folks, Jane is a big science nerd. Don’t be fooled by the blond hair, pretty face and outgoing personality. She is a huge nerd. She will straight up do science until she passes out. It is crazy, she loves that shit. Big nerd, yep, that’s Jane.

Anyways, the guitar music show was at Lee’s Palace. Jane tried to order a Martini, it was a hilarious failure. The bartender just looked at her and told her she was at the “wrong place for that” then walked away. She settled for cheap vodka on the rocks. She didn’t seem to mind. Jane had a lot of fun at the Chuck Ragan show it was wicked. She has a new appreciation for guitars and she now has a soft spot for fiddlers.
Since the show Jane has gotten back into her 19hr work days and has not been heard from since. She actually might be dead for real this time. I hope she is not dead. But if she is I guess I’ll see ya’ll at the funeral. We’ll pour a Vodka Martini with extra olives on the curb in honor of our fallen friend.

Thanks.

-rob-

The Perfect Runner

2012-03-11T10:54:00.007-04:00

Finally, The Nature of Things is featuring an episode on a subject of REAL importance: running!* The Perfect Runner, produced and narrated by anthropologist Niobe Thompson, challenges the modern perspective of distance running. Most find running a difficult and painful form of exercise; however, Thompson reveals that it is an activity that humans were born to do.

Throughout the documentary Thompson talks with evolutionary biologist Dr. Daniel Lieberman, a professor at Harvard. Dr. Lieberman explains that humans have adapted over millions of years to become nature's best endurance athletes. Prehistoric humans were hunters who relied on their ability to run long distances to catch their prey. As a result, we have developed a number of features designed to allow us to run farther than any other animal.

Ethiopian elites: Nature or nurture?

Thompson showcases top athletes from Ethiopia and natives of artic Siberia in order to demonstrate how humans have developed to be fine-tuned running machines. These are two of the few remaining cultures that continue to practice running as a way of life and a means of survival. Unfortunately, a modern society where physical activity has been replaced by office chairs and fast food has stunted our growth as a running species. Thompson, however, is among some in the developed world who have tapped in to their inner distance runner. In the documentary, he attempts one of the most grueling ultramarathons in the Canadian Rockies and tests the limits of his own endurance.

Niobe Thompson running the Canadian Death Race

The Perfect Runner is filled with fascinating science and thrilling adventure and is a must-see for distance runners and sedentary folk alike. After all, we were ALL born to run!

Make sure to tune into CBC on Thursday, March 15th at 8PM to watch!

*I kid, Uncle Dave! Don't run me down...

Here is the trailer:

The Perfect Runner, Official Trailer from Niobe Thompson on Vimeo.

Stepping Back

2012-02-28T09:30:00.004-05:00

"Sometimes you have to back up to go forward"
-Bryan the elephant seal, Happy Feet 2

A lot of athletes have been talking about recovery lately. Hilary Stellingwerf posted an excellent blog on the importance of rest and recovery for optimal performance; Dylan Wykes walked his readers through his daily recovery routine; Eric Gillis shared his post-workout smoothie; Rob Watson mentioned he was reading more about recovery in this new phase of his marathon training. Coincidentally, I just finished reviewing a book on recovery by Sage Rountree, The Athlete's Guide to Recovery. In it, Sage Rountree discusses why recovery is so important and judges the effectiveness of a multitude of recovery techniques in a practical, scientifically-supported manner. It is an excellent, comprehensive guide that I would highly recommend to both elite and recreational runners. After all, recovery is essential for optimal performance as well as a healthy, long enjoyment of any sport.

There is a reason that the top athletes are taking recovery seriously. At the elite level, it can separate Olympians from Olympic hopefuls. In order to reap the benefits of the hard work you put into training, you need to rest and re-build, both physically and mentally. As my old varsity coach Dennis Barrett used to say, "You get faster when you rest, not when you train." This includes day-to-day things like taking in proper nutrition after a workout and icing or massage after a particularly tough session. It extends to weekly practices like spacing out workouts appropriately, sleeping well at night and taking rest days. It stretches further to annual breaks from training that can last from a week to a month, depending on the intensity of the year or a particular season. The common theme is that we must maintain a balance between building and resting on every level in order to be the strongest we can. The concept of stress, adaptation and growth is relevant in all realms of life and athleticism is a natural extension of this.

If we constantly impose stress without giving ourselves time to adapt, we will become weaker, sick, injured, or simply mentally drained. The amount of time it takes to adapt depends on your activity, your level of fitness, the intensity or length of the workout or season, and the individual. It is ultimately the athlete's responsibility to track how they are feeling to make sure they don't push their bodies over that fine stress vs. distress line.

Unfortunately, for most athletes resting is tougher to do than train hard. It opposes the athletic mindset, which is usually to work harder, do more and to become comfortable suffering. This attitude has been exacerbated by a modern culture that promotes action as the only means of achieving results. We tend to think that whatever our goal is, it is only being attained when we are working on it. We associate the opposite action - rest and downtime - as being unproductive or detrimental to our progress. When was the last time your boss said he was impressed by your ability to relax?! It is unfortunate, since it's those periods of downtime that make us stronger in the long run (pun intended).

In The Athlete's Guide to Recovery Rountree quotes Hippocrates, who observed centuries ago that "to do nothing is sometimes a good remedy." Oh, what wise words those are! As someone who has been struggling to recover from an injury for five months, I have been giving deep thought to my balance between stress and rest. I've not only looked over the last few months, but the months of training leading up to my injury and my years as a runner in their entirety. I am at the point now where I am willing to do just about anything to get healthy again. The last thing I want is for my shin to be the end of my running days. What would I do then? Become a professional running blogger who doesn't actually run? (I've thought about it, wouldn't be a very happy place for me)

What I've realized in the past few weeks is that I have to look at recovery not in terms of my one body part, or even as a runner, but as an entire human being. I have taken mental breaks from competition with periods of easy training. I have taken physical breaks of 1-2 weeks off running. I have taken days to entire weeks off exercise completely. But during those times, I have not given myself complete rest. I would do things like go out and party every day; my diet would go down the tubes; or I'd work 12-hour days to catch up on work. The commonality in my life is that I replace one stress with another. Physiologically, stress is stress. Your blood pressure increases, your heart rate goes up, you produce adrenaline and cortisol. Ultimately, stress at work takes a toll on your body as does a hard workout at the gym. Partying tires your body out in the same way. Not eating sufficient or nutritious foods will impose stress on your body too. Maybe this is common and perhaps some people can get by doing this. But last week I decided that I don't want to. If I want to give myself the best and fastest chance of a full recovery (and a fast future!), I have to take care of myself in a wholistic way. Reduce my exercise; strengthen my shin; eat well; sleep a lot; drink minimally; and avoid working more to fill my extra time. This may sound simple to most people out there, but I'm G.I. Jane people! For me backing off and giving in to real rest is very tough.

As most of you know I got my wisdom teeth out a few weeks ago and thought that this was the perfect chance for me to force myself to rest and get better. Yep. On a liquid diet! Oh Jane. Not surprisingly, I lost weight and probably became slightly malnourished (getting most of my calories from ice cream, nice). Although my shin felt better, the tendon didn't get any stronger and when I went back to exercise, it started to tighten up again. The key to (hopefully) curing tendinosis is to build strength back into the tendon gradually. Once again, the cycle of stress, adaptation and growth applies. Only with tendinosis, it takes a long time to adapt - I read somewhere that laying down new collagen matrix can take up to 100 days! That's over three months of patient strength-building before my tendon is strong enough to withstand any other additional stresses! There is no magic bullet for tendinosis, so my only hope is to build my strength and be patient and not rush into training too soon (as I did in December). In addition to strengthening the shin, I am reducing my cross-training substantially. I have no workouts longer than 60min, I am taking complete days off exercise every week, I am drinking less and am improving my diet. I weigh a good 6-8lbs less than I did a year ago, which I am sure has not been good for my recovery. I think that my new regime will foster the growth of a healthier, happier body - and hopefully a strong shin too.

(If not, I'm having a huge party and getting back on the vodka!)

Mastering the (bloody) art of recovery

2012-02-17T15:14:00.009-05:00

After the drugs wore off five days ago, I quickly realized that tooth extractions aren’t as fun as I initially thought. When I got out of surgery I was pretty high on whatever drugs they injected me with, I felt no pain and I was in a very happy, flowery place. A few hours later, however, the euphoria began to dissipate and was replaced with a steady, throbbing pain in my mouth and head. This was compounded with endless bleeding that no amount of gauze could stop. Mauricio and Tim tried to distract me with funny episodes of Modern Family, but I could hardly focus on the screen and generated forced, weak laughs...at all the wrong moments. When they realized this wasn’t just my naturally odd sense of humour and that I was not engaged in their company at all, they left me to my own devices.

Baby food = terrible idea. But kind of worth it to see Mauricio try it, and like it?!

Sometimes leaving me to my own devices is not a good idea. In my defense, the actions I took in the first 24hrs of my ‘recovery’ were NOT entirely my fault. What kind of dentist gives you specific instructions on after-surgery care while you are still high?! I had absolutely no recollection of what he told me – things like ‘avoid hot liquids,’ ‘avoid sucking on things,’ (twss) ‘take Tylenol instead of NSAIDS,’ ‘avoid smoking’ and of course, ‘avoiding any kind of exercise’ (all of which promote bleeding). So when I decided I needed to fill my belly with something, what do I choose other than two cups of steaming hot tea and a litre of hot almond milk? And when my head won’t stop throbbing, what do I take other than a bunch of IBUprofen? I topped these great decisions off with a trip to work on the day of my surgery, more hot liquids and succumbing to a sugar craving with a giant lollipop in the evening.

By the way, I was JOKING about the smoking. (Nic)

I woke up the next morning to one of the most horrific sights I have ever seen. There is nothing more shocking than turning on the lights in your bathroom and being exposed to what you realize must be your face, smeared with blood and dried up saliva. It was terrifying. What was worse was opening my mouth and seeing it filled with partially clotted blood. I felt like I belonged on the set of The Walking Dead. I rinsed things out and tried to put myself together, took a few more IBUprofen (genius!), and went to work. After working for a few hours and feeling decent, naturally I thought ‘Oh, why not go to the gym!’ and there went intelligent decision number one hundred (now I know why they call them wisdom teeth). Even though I only did a very easy bike – barely reaching 70rpms at low resistance – it was enough to get my blood pressure up and initiate further bleeding of my gums. Unfortunately, this time when I checked my mouth in the mirror I was in the washroom of the gym, prompting an ‘OH MY GOD WHAT HAPPENED!’ from the woman standing next to me. Woops.

When I got home the bleeding only got worse, leading me to believe that I likely dislodged the forming blood clot since it had become a bright red stream of fresh blood. I gauzed it, I iced my cheeks, I placed wet tea bags on my gums (no, I didn’t go insane, apparently this helps blood clotting. In my case it did not.) Unfortunately I made the mistake of texting my mother ‘I won’t stop bleeding!’ – and whereas my friends told me not to worry and gave me sensible advice such as to continue to apply pressure and sit upright - my mom frantically texted me back: “GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM OR CALL YOUR DOCTOR OR 911 NOW.” (Seconds later, after calling and receiving no answer...because my mouth was stuffed with gauze) “TELL ME WHAT IS HAPPENING!! WHAT’S GOING ON?!!!!”

I was ready to have a heart attack. I was already incredibly stressed that the bleeding wouldn’t stop, now I thought I was going to die and had to be rushed to emergency. I thought moms were supposed to be a source of comfort?! Mine was stressing the crap out of me! So, I turned my phone off, eventually passed out at 4am, and again woke up in a bloodbath.

At this point, I learned my lesson. For the rest of the week I pretty much stayed in one position unless I ventured out to get a frappuccino, a smoothie or ice cream (or new pillows...).

These things are amazing.

Daily nutrition

To be honest, I could get used to this. I am loving it. At the back of my mind I know that complete time off will be good for my shin, so it’s easy to justify being super careful and taking a week off of everything – work, running, cross-training and social activities. Over the past four nights/days, I have averaged 12.5 hours of sleep per day. I haven’t behaved like this since high school! It is totally awesome. The only thing that really sucks is not being able to eat solid food. I am getting pretty sick of it. Not just because I crave real food like a normal human being, but I am trying to put on some weight and being restricted to liquids adds a slight challenge to this feat. Le Blog du Rob has suggested I go on a ‘Peanut Butter and Chocolate Milkshake’ Coldstone diet for the next week, which I have to say is a pretty brilliant idea. I had no idea how many calories are in those things! 1750 in one large milkshake. That’s insane! Who consumes these drinks?! Throw in two more for three ‘meals’ a day and I’m up to 5,250 calories while sitting motionless. There’s no way I wouldn’t put on 5lbs in a week. Well done Rob, I have no excuse now. I just hope the vomiting I experience after a few of those doesn’t dislodge anymore bloodclots...

Great time for my can opener to shatter into pieces.

Thank you to the delicious Mocha Frapp for getting me through this week! I highly recommend.

High before the low

2012-02-12T20:36:00.009-05:00

So I got all four of my wisdom teeth out today. I figured I didn’t have enough injuries to nurse, so I introduced four wounds inside my mouth to make things more interesting. Now I can rotate packs of ice from my shin to my cheeks at 15 minute intervals and spend entire days on recovery. Just like a real pro like Dylan Wykes or Eric Gillis! I may not be getting in morning 24-milers...or any kind of workout for that matter...but details, details! It’s the post-workout routine that makes you fast, right? I could especially learn a thing or two from Gillis on concocting the perfect peanut butter smoothie, since I am reduced to liquids at the moment. His mix of ingredients alone makes me drool! Well, I am actually drooling all the time right now, but that’s beside the point (it’s a pretty gritty bloody drool too, not very nice). But I have a feeling this smoothie would cure it. My only problem (only – HA!) is that I don’t own a blender. I never realized how terrible this was until now. Pretty much anything I want to eat right would have to be blended. What do I do?

Well, first I slurped an entire carton of vanilla almond milk out of a bowl. That was pretty good. It also gave me enough glucose to devise a plan to conquer tomorrow’s breakfast. Buy some mushy bananas, scratch the crunchy peanut butter in favour of the smooth stuff, and coat and squish my bananas with the peanut butter (that's what he said?!). Then, microwave the hell out of my frozen berries until they are reduced to a purple berry mush that I can then top with gobs of honey and greek yogurt. And voila, I’ve got a baby-fied version of a classic Coolis breakfast! Brilliant! (I will let you know how this goes, knowing my luck the berries will be full of seeds I can’t eat and the bananas will be so old they’ll make me sick).

Delicious Almond Milk...soup?

The surgery itself went smoothly. I was in and out in 45min (twhs). When the doctor arrived he rolled up my sleeve and set up the IV anesthetic into my arm. His first words were ‘Wow, you have really BIG arms!’ My heart jumped. He noticed my newly bulging biceps!!! I was about to delve into a detailed account of my weight routine, until I caught the smirk on his face and realized he was being completely sarcastic. If only he knew how proud I was of my guns. ‘Umm...yeah...they are huge aren’t they?!’ I joked back, trying to hide my shame and disappointment. ‘I can fit my hand around your entire bicep!’ He continued in an amused tone. Just rub it in a little more eh? I thought to myself. What an A-hole! ‘Ha! And I actually do weights!’ I informed him. ‘Here I was thinking I was developing some strength, and you totally shut me down. Thanks doctor!’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Seriously? You do weights?’ Thankfully at this point he had started to administer the IV and that was the end of our conversation. I think he knew that if I stayed awake he’d get a taste of my guns in his face. That’s right. Don’ mess.

Coolis pre-op. A little nervous.

I woke up in what seemed like an instant later, feeling, well, pretty friggin great! I felt no pain and was in quite a wonderful mood. Naturally, my first instinct was to Tweet this to the world. Unfortunately my motor skills were mildly encumbered, as my Tweet came out something like ‘So high rihjt noe’. I wonder how this would have come out if I had had auto-correct on my phone? ‘So high riding doe’? (twss) I then proceeded to text random people on my phone, including my coach, to whom I blurted ‘I am so high rihht now omg this is cray cray wee3eeeeee!’ After a minute, I received a stern answer back asking ‘High on WHAT??? I hope you are kidding Jane.’ Turns out (after speaking to her hours later) she actually almost had a heart attack, thinking I was actually high on heroin at 9am on a Sunday morning. ‘She’s hit an ultimate low,’ Nic thought to herself. She even said she wanted to call me but couldn’t face talking to me while I was high on drugs, it was too upsetting. Oh Nic! Who do you think I am? (Well ok, I suppose there are some substances I enjoy, but I do not enjoy anything hard unless it’s vodka! (twss?))

The nurse then began to instruct me on what I could and couldn’t do in the next few days, which included no running until Thursday. I remained silent (thinking I was maintaining an obedient demeanour), but according to my buddy Tim I was giving her a terrible, evil stare as she spoke. I don’t really remember responding after her long ramble but witnesses also say that I told her I was going to run anyway. This did not make her happy. ‘And none of your crazy weight lifting either!’ She finished emphatically. I think I rolled my eyes at this point and she stormed out of the room. (I have the feeling they really like me at that dentist office.)

Beautiful post-op flowers from the 'rents!

That being said, I am taking the next week as a down week since I am now nursing five sore spots (my cap is four, naturally). I think my wisdom teeth operation comes at a good time since things have been going downhill with my shin and it will force me to rest. Despite my current shin soreness, I am actually quite optimistic about it. Why? Well, I have been doing very heavy weight-lifting in order to strengthen the tendon that I damaged. I’ve been going at this full tilt, dorsi-flexing thirty pounds of weight on the cable and strengthening it like no other. Apparently my little shin muscles couldn’t take it, however, and that stress along with all my cross-training and physiotherapy treatment has strained a bunch of the muscles beside the tendon. This has all happened so gradually that I didn’t even realize it was a new area, I just thought my old injury was getting worse and that was pretty depressing. Thank god for physio Greg who astutely pointed out that my tendon was no longer sore but that ‘muscle man’ next door was now the sore spot. We agree that this is quite positive, first because muscle will heal faster than tendon and second because my initial injury seems to really (finally) be almost there! I am hoping that backing off another week will finally get this thing healed! The shin will not be the end of me!

Alright, off to concoct some kind of liquid dinner, I am really craving my brussel spouts...I wonder what would happen if I microwaved them for like ten minutes....

Oh and in case anyone is interested in Coolis on Heroin, my really great friends took a wonderful video of me post surgery. They are so thoughtful!

Edit: I've been asked to write out the barely discernable dialogue between my friend Mauricio and I, so here it is...

M: Hello Coolis
J: I wanna get all my teeth out. [laughing]This is awesome.
M: You sound like there’s a lot of crap in your mouth
J: Is this going to stay in here all day?
M: That’s what she said
M: What are you watching here
J: It looks like a dog is playing piano.
M: Are you sure?
J: Not anymore..
M: We started laughing because as soon as you were out, you were tweeting and texting right away.
J: But I can’t spell!
J: I’m like whatever, they’ll figure it out...I wonder if this is what heroin feels like?
M: Oh man.
M: Maybe, I’ve heard...
J: ...Really?
M: Yeah
J: ...uh-oh...That is NOT good!
J: Oh...I feel really good...
J: When I woke up they were like ‘Hey it went really well, how do you feel? I was like ‘GRRRREAT’ and then I’m like trying to get up and she was like ‘No!’ and she had to like pick me up and bring me here. I’m like ‘No, I’m alright!’
M: Do you feel sleepy at all?
J: I just feel very peaceful.
M: Awww...
J: I’m not stressed out anymore! I could meet with Rob right now he could tell me anything and I’d be like ‘Alllllright!’

G.I. Jane: Plank Master of the World

2012-02-01T21:09:00.002-05:00

It’s been a while since I’ve updated and I’ve probably lost all of my followers. Alas, my shin has continued to act like a sine wave so I haven’t really felt like talking about running. After several weeks of thinking intensely about how I could avoid the conundrum of wanting to blog but not wanting to address Little Focker (the new name of my weak limb), I finally found the answer: I just won’t talk about it! Genius! So, here I am.

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time at the gym lately, getting my buff on and training to break the world record for longest plank hold. I figure since I won’t be running any PBs anytime soon, I had better seek my competitive fix somewhere else. And since I demolish everyone at circuits with my flawless form and unwaivering plank hold, I clearly have a legit shot to take it a step further and go for the world record. Ok, maybe 33 minutes and 40s is a few steps further than my current five minutes of fame, but I have no doubt I can reach it by the time my shin heals...which may be...never...so I have plenty of time! Importantly though, if you throw in the whole rotating plank set, I can easily achieve twelve minutes, so I basically I am a third of the way there. What is perhaps more motivating, however, is that the world record holder is a 68-year-old man. This fact in and of itself is going to catapult me into the world of plank domination. Common! How could I not hold the plank position for longer than a 70-year-old? I refuse to accept this and am thus determined to end 2012 with a new title of ‘Plank Master of the World.’ It is a way better name than ‘G.I. Jane’ or ‘Shoeless Coolis.’ What have I been thinking all these years, claiming to be hardcore and then failing to give myself a name that includes the words ‘Master of the World’?! Becoming a plank master will also serve to comfort me for never being awarded an official Masters degree. By bypassing the Masters, I am now set to graduate with the flimsy label of Doctor of Philosophy. What kind of obscure, wishy-washy title is that? It makes me sound like I frolicked through the gardens of science for six years, pondering abstract theories and concepts, ultimately never achieving any kind of concrete conclusions. But if I had stopped at a Masters?! I would be called a Master of something. A MASTER of Medical Biophysics. Now that sounds much more impressive! So basically, by becoming G.I. Jane: Plank Master of the World, I will have achieved something athletically this year AND will finally be able to call myself a Master. I’m not sure why I didn’t think of this fantastic plan months ago!

So getting back to the gym scene, I think I’d be getting pretty big right now if I wasn’t countering my extremely heavy weight-lifting and plank holding with hours of aerobic cross-training. As a result, my newly ripped arms are still the puniest in the room – at any given time - by FAR. But they look so good when I flex them in front of the mirror in the solitude of my own home! I can’t be that delusional, can I?! Apparently I am, because as soon as I go back to the weight room and see one dude’s arm that’s bigger than my thigh I am reduced to shrimpiness once again. That’s usually the point where I realize that I actually don’t want to get huge as it would probably not make me any faster, especially if my muscle was all concentrated in my arms. Not only would that look pretty peculiar, but it would impede my speed over long distances (and perhaps mess with my balance). That being said, I am definitely getting intrinsically stronger, as I am moving up in weight every two weeks. So it’s not ALL in my head!

Working out at the gym can be quite boring, but it also has its entertaining perks. And where I go, there are an unusual proportion of quirky people. I won’t give specifics on my workout whereabouts, but the fact that I am smack in the middle of downtown TO at 5:30am every morning should give you a general idea of the varied clientele I meet. First, there’s the dude that wears sweats and sunglasses every day. Need I remind you that it is 5:30am in the middle of the winter and the sun doesn’t rise until 8am? And that we are in a brightly-light room? And that no, I am not so ignorant and insensitive as to miss some obvious fact like that he is actually blind? Because he is most certainly not! First, because he runs on the treadmill to warm up, and I’d be pretty impressed to see a blind man run on the treadmill unaided and not fall off. Enough people have issues doing this with perfect vision and years of yoga training. Second, because he accosts just about everyone who enters the gym as soon as he sees them – which is usually before they even get through the door. He could be across the room and promptly yell ‘Heyyyyy [insert friendly nickname here], what is UP dude?! Working on your guns eh?’ and then rush over and give them a big pat on the back, before wandering off looking for more people to impart his funny one-liners onto. Surprisingly, he has yet to confront me and my biceps. I have questioned why...until I realized that he is probably confused by my mere presence. Shouldn’t I be on the treadmill or the elliptical rather than sitting in a testosterone-infused, dumbbell-clanking, sweaty, smelly weight room? I suspect he is waiting it out a few more weeks until he knows whether I will be a true regular there, at which point he will shower me with nicknames and back-pats. This is the day I live for!

Then there’s the old dude who rocks the elliptical every morning. He is there like clockwork and never changes a single step of his routine, yet I am in constant fear that he is about to fall over and die. Once he starts his workout, he lets out a surprisingly ferocious and laboured grunt every two or three minutes. These grunts get increasingly stressful for me - probably why I am convinced they get louder as his workout goes on – even though that probably isn’t the case. It doesn’t help that he is as pale as a ghost, weighs about ninety pounds and achieves a cadence on the elliptical that is about one hundred times faster than he can walk. I am plagued as to whether I should avoid being near him or remain by his side at all times while he is working out should something actually happen. So far I've chosen the latter option, but it's starting to drive me crazy.

It’s not just the patrons that are a little off, but a few of the trainers as well. One guy is known for approaching everyone and correcting them on their form in the weight room. I have heard other people complain about him. So I wasn’t surprised when I was doing plank one day (obviously) and he approached me with a quizzical look on his face. I challenged him with a confident glare to DARE critique my plank form. He stood over me in silence for a minute, then (obviously seeing nothing wrong with my beauteous plank) belted out: ‘You train way too much. You run marathons or something?’ ‘Here we go,’ I thought to myself. The old ‘you are doing too much’ lecture....from a weight lifter! Oh man this was going to be funny. ‘Yes, I run marathons, but I am partially injured right now so I’m supplementing a lot of cardio on the elliptical.’ ‘I see, well you need muscle to run marathons, and you have no muscle. You are very weak.’ What the hell? What kind of person goes up to a complete stranger and says something like that? I was pretty pissed off at this point, so I retorted ‘actually, I may be thin, but that does not mean that I have no muscle. In fact, I am pretty strong, and I am currently going for the world record for longest plank hold’ (OK maybe that last part didn’t quite come out that way...) ‘Oh really?’ he challenged me, ‘I don’t see any muscle on you. I’ve been doing weight training for 55 years and I KNOW you need muscle to run marathons. If you want to be fast you’ve got to do weights, I actually have a great program if you’re interested...’ ‘Thanks but no thanks,’ I continued, ‘I have a coach who was one of the best marathoners Canada has ever had and I am pretty sure she knows what she’s doing. I do circuits and strength work and I am not weak. But thank you for judging me and then proceeding to impart your wisdom onto me, you are a great dude.’ Once again, I didn’t quite say that last sentence, but wow did I ever want to dig into him on his knowledge of endurance training. Since then he has seen me doing weights several times with raised eyebrows. That’s right! G.I. Jane plank master of the world is on her way to domination!

I suppose that is a big enough recap for the time being. I’m getting lots of treatment on my shin so am backing off the running for a bit, gotta get it back to 100%. It is pretty frustrating to say the least but I just hope that I will be completely healed eventually. *Sigh*

Winter over water

2012-01-15T16:41:00.001-05:00

I was so comfortable living in denial of an impending Ontario winter, but alas (perhaps quite appropriately), on Friday the 13th I was smacked in the face with it. I jogged to the gym in shorts at 5am under a light drizzle, hammered 90min on the elliptical, and innocently stepped back outside, only to be flung sideways by a massive gust of wind and blinded by a pelleting snowstorm. Awesome! I somehow made it to my Southern destination of Starbucks despite jogging at a 45 degree angle, where I anticipated being greeted with incredulous stares at my naked, flushed stems. Instead I was for once treated like a normal human being. What the? The Starbucks employee even asked me – quite nonchalantly - if it was slippery out. Seriously?! Did she actually think I went for a legit run in shorts in -20C and snowing?! I suppose I am beginning to comprehend just how crazy they think I am.

The next day, however, I bundled up in some impressive ninja attire and did 90min along the Lakeshore. It was -25C with the wind chill, but it actually didn’t feel so bad. After this run, however, I got a slew of comments from everyone all along the lines of “I can’t believe you are running in this!” A familiar face from Starbucks, Matthew, introduced himself to me and proceeded to ask me if I had a certain inclination to running in extreme conditions: “I saw you run every day in the summer through some pretty bad heat waves. And it’s like -20C today! You must run marathons.” I have to say Matthew is pretty astute – he recognizes all kinds of crazy when he sees it. And after watching the marathons in Houston this weekend, I agree you have to be a little whacko to keep at this marathon game. As someone very intelligent once said, “running is a very hard thing.”

All weather aside, it feels great to be back running and doing workouts that do not involve the pool. I think I’m actually scarred from all the swimming and pool running I did. I am terrified at the thought of ever entering a pool again! It did nothing to help my injury and is now only associated with feelings of hoplessness, sadness and despair. Perhaps you may think that I am overreacting but I beg to differ! However, I should probably make up a more hardcore story to defend my pool phobia, like almost freezing to death in the ocean or something. Actually, now that I think of it I did have a near-death experience in water before. It was in the South of France when I was about nine years old. I was playing in the water pretty close to shore when a GIGANTIC wave tore through the water and sent me crashing face-first into the rocky ocean floor. It was terrifying. I didn’t know which way was up or down and spent a good minute just getting grinded into the ground (twss). I thought I was going to die. Suddenly I felt a pair of hands grab me and lift me up. It was a French lady who began to scream things at me that I couldn’t understand, so naturally I ran away from her and found my parents, who were up on the beach...probably sipping on Champagne or something (they never were the overprotective type). My terror quickly turned into pride as I began to tell them in grandiose fashion about my battle with the giant wave and struggles to escape the swallowing seas. I showed them my scrapes from rocky encounters and bruising from my initial impact. I described how my life flashed before my eyes and I contemplated giving into the water’s strong arms, but then valiantly fought back and conquered Mother Nature’s force. My parents ooohed and aaaahed as if I were reading from a Jules Verne story, not really believing a word I said. This made me pretty frustrated, so I stomped into the streets of Nice and bought a huge pack of postcards and decided to write my story to absolutely everyone I knew in Canada, including my entire fourth grade class. They would believe me! When I got back to my parents’ blanket they actually showed genuine concern, since the frazzled French lady had come and yelled at them for neglecting me. Ha! Still, I wrote my story on every postcard and sent them out. It got pretty tiring writing the same story thirty times over, so the story got progressively shorter. My old babysitter still laughs recalling the postcard she received reading ‘Hi Paula! I am in Nice, I got hit by a wave and almost drowned. Bye!’ However, I did return to fourth grade a hero and a veteran of the dangerous Mediterranean. That was pretty cool.

So there, now I have a legitimate reason to be afraid of the pool, right? I suppose a pool story would have been better, but this will have to do. After all, I would never just make up a story...

So running-wise I’m putting in about 70k a week with one day off and supplementing with a ton of cross-training. I am actually enjoying my elliptical workouts since it’s the only time I can really push the intensity and get in a tough workout: my jogs are still executed in grandma-like style. I am happy to report, though, that I have graduated from extended laps around my block to legit out-and-back routes! The shin soreness comes and goes so I know I still have to be careful and continue to strengthen it. I’m rocking the 30lb weight dorsi-flexion routine so if that doesn’t eventually get it strong enough, I don’t know what will! Well, I guess I do, but it involves a lot of sharp pins and electricity coarsing through my tendons and muscles, which is much less pleasant than weight-lifting.

Speaking of weight-lifting, I’ve decided to work on my all-over strength, so I am rocking the weights with a bunch of big dudes every other day. I’m getting pretty into it. Need to work on my grunting and dramatic , face-twisting, torturous finishes to the last lifts of each set, but otherwise I think I fit in just perfectly!

Thank God it's over (twss)

2012-01-06T21:22:00.012-05:00

2011. What a year.

The Angels sport their new singlets in 2011! Thanks to the Angel crew for helping me through the year! :)

2011 was a very strange year, as I experienced some of the happiest and saddest times of my life. I am not sure whether to write it off as the worst or best year, so I will instead describe it as one of those rare ‘life altering’ years. I learned more about life – and myself – last year than in all my years combined (won’t mention how many those are). In terms of running, my experience was similar – I had one of the best races of my life and ran the most mileage I ever have, but also went through the most difficult injury I’ve faced to date.

In my first blog of 2011 I wrote a list of goals for the upcoming year. One of them included ‘running my first 100-mile week’. As my buildup for a spring marathon began in January, so did my mileage. I ran my first 100-mile week almost exactly a year ago. What I didn’t acknowledge was that I did it completely outdoors, through snow, slush and cold, in pitch black, either waking up at 5-6am or running late at night. I also did it through a time where I lacked a futon (let alone a bed!) so I was sleeping on a hardwood floor...when I was sleeping at all. I eventually got a futon, I think when I started to get hamstring issues and thought that a soft spot to sleep on might help my recovery. Ya think?! In the moment I did not acknowledge any of these peculiarities, but looking back it was all pretty ridiculous. Perhaps I have just gotten soft after so many months off running?

Morning runs

Wintertime racing and my three Angel rocks.

Another one of my goals was to run a sub-1:18:00 half-marathon after my 1:19:00 half in the fall of 2010. I was dubious as to whether I’d be able to take so much time off my PB since I had already bettered it by 2 ½ minutes in that race. In May I ran the same race as I ran in the fall off yet another 100-mile week, hoping to squeak under 1:19:00. I stopped looking at my watch after a slow 2k and 3k split and still, to this day, have no idea how I ran 1:16:43. To be so far under my goal without realizing it was incomprehensible to me. However, it made me realize what consistent hard work can do in a matter of months. Crossing that line in disbelief was a huge turning point for me in running. I really started to believe that anything was possible.

The Goodlife Half-Marathon

Unfortunately, I was sick, stressed and a general mess in Ottawa a few weeks later, and my goal of running sub-2:48 would not be. And even though I got fitter throughout the summer, hitting up to 140 miles a week and running faster than ever, my shin injury forced me to the sidelines for the entire fall racing season. It was extremely disappointing, but I know that I will come back stronger and more motivated in 2012.

What were my other goals? One strange one was to rekindle my love for ballet and take one class per week. I realized that goal...for about 3 months. I actually really enjoyed the classes but they were pretty expensive and most of the time I wanted to sit on my...futon?... after a hard Saturday morning workout instead of go to a 90min ballet class. It probably didn’t help that I went to the National Ballet School in Toronto and jumped into level III, making the classes *slightly* more challenging than anticipated for someone who hadn’t danced in eight years. I think this year I’ll try and do more running-specific yoga instead, just to keep up my flexibility.

I also wanted to run 3k and 5k PBs somewhere in the midst of my marathon training. I’m not sure how realistic that was but perhaps I didn’t yet know I’d be aiming for both a Spring and Fall marathon. I still intend on bringing my 5k time down and think it will happen naturally as I get stronger and faster in the upcoming years. At one point I’d like to take a season off and focus on short distances again as I did in the summer of 2010. As much as I find it extraordinarily painful, the track is a fun, challenging place to be and a good way to shake things up and get stronger.

Unfortunately, my number one goal of staying healthy was an epic fail. Too bad. I thought I was pretty good about listening to my body but after stringing together resilient week after resilient week all year it was easy to get overconfident. I was probably at the brink of something for a while and it only took one bad decision to push me over the edge. Of course, a ‘bad decision’ being running an entire marathon at faster than planned pace on a sore shin. Yep, maybe just *slightly* over the edge!
I am on the comeback now and it’s never felt so good to work out! I feel like a real athlete again. Even just doing legit elliptical workouts feels amazing. I still get frustrated that I can only run 45-50min at a time at a snail’s pace, but when I think back to a few weeks ago when I would get sore after 30min every other day I realize that things are coming along. I have no race plans as of yet I just want to focus on being completely healthy and enjoy running again.

Thank you coach N for everything! You are my mentor and inspiration.

I must also thank countless vodka martinis for getting me through the year! Glad I didn't keep count, it was a big year for the vodka martini.

So my goals for 2012? There may be some race-specific times depending on what I run, but really, I just want to maintain my health and happiness. No matter what, those will be my top priorities. Fitness and good races will follow.

Happy New Year everyone!

And now...for my Top 11 memories of 2011

11. Becoming a CENTURION runner!

10. Edging Nic at the line of the Grimsby Half-marathon (cost me a hamstring, but still a proud moment ;)

9. Breaking 7:00 on the MPC 2k loop, finally!

8. Breaking my shin in the middle of an epic workout at MPC. Not a great memory, but still, pretty engrained in my head!

7. Running crazy (130-140) mileage at a conference in the shanty village of Lewiston, Maine. My blisters were so bad I burst into tears in the middle of a run. Insane or motivated? Not sure.

6. Sporting a wetsuit on the pool deck of the YMCA...and my condo pool. Glad there is no photo evidence, it was slightly embarrassing.

5. Running a ‘Sporting Life PB’ of 35:43 when I thought I had nothing in me.

4. Running a mournful 3km in memory of Danny Kassap, who will never be forgotten. RIP.

3. Running a 2 ½ minute PB in the Toronto Goodlife Half-marathon in May. WTF?

2. My first run back from 2 ½ month layoff on December 1st, 2011. A blissful 20min jog through the dark downtown streets, so reminiscent of morning runs from the winter previous, and so happy they were mine again.

1. Meeting le blog du Rob in person. He made the most depressing layoff of my career somehow one of the most joyous times of my life. He was there not only for one of my physical turning points but also played a huge role in an emotional change that has made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. Rob, you are an awesome dude and we’ll always be friends. Thank you for legitimately helping turn my life around.

Shoeless Coolis and le Blog du Rob

The Shoeless Shin Saga

2011-12-10T11:13:00.007-05:00

It's been almost three months since I tore up my shin. If you were to graph my emotional, mental and physical status throughout the last twelve weeks, it would probably look like a sine wave. For those of you who don't dig the math metaphors, it has been very...up and down. One could probably make quite a dramatic movie out of it: The Shoeless Shin Saga.

Sine wave

Folks, I have tried pretty much everything. I tried living in the pool for weeks on end. Then I tried giving up the pool and only doing short runs. I tried strengthening and massaging my shin every other day. When it began to hurt more, I tried to go back to the pool. I wore a friggin wetsuit to relieve any stress on my tibia, letting my legs float along the surface effortlessly while the rest of me thrashed through the water like a drowning whale. (Why a whale, you might ask? Oh, because I brilliantly decided to cut the collar off my wetsuit due to painful chafing, thereby allowing a river of water to rush in as soon as I went horizontal. Didn't help much that the wetsuit was already baggy to begin with...though it did make the workout more challenging with an extra twenty pounds to pull.) After a week of being mocked by lifeguards, randoms in the elevator and early-morning security guards on patrol for my ridiculous attire ("Are you wearing a WETSUIT in the POOL?!"; "Isn't the water pretty warm?!"; "What kind of bathing suit is that?"), I said screw it and gave up exercise altogether. Perhaps complete rest for more than a few days was what I needed? To be honest, the first two days were not quite on purpose, since it was a pretty intense weekend of partying that came at the tail-end of a six-day bender. Yes, apparently I thought I was 18 again and that it was Frosh week. I later realized (much later, since it took me a while to be able to form thought processes) that I had spent more time being drunk that weekend than sober. I'm not sure I should be proud of that, but it is still somewhat of a shocking fact. If I had tried to swim those two days I would have definitely run straight into a wall at some point. Or just drowned. I highly doubt the possibility of any other outcome.

'Recovery' drinks (Damn you Milne)

Nevertheless, this kick-started what was probably an *ultimately* healthy five days of complete rest. I didn't mind it much until the last day, when I was in an incredibly foul mood and was thinking negatively about everything. I'm pretty sure that's the day the b/f came to visit me and I not only cursed running but life in general. I also claimed I would never be healed since after five days my shin was the same piece of s*%$ as it was a month ago. Then I drank a bottle of wine, felt better, and woke up with a pounding headache AND a throbbing shin.

Whining and wining

Instead of succumbing to another day of sloth, depression and yet another hangover, however, I said 'eff it,' put my shoes on, and went for a run.

It felt amazing. The fresh, crisp air, the dark and empty but simultaneously comforting downtown streets, the unusual peacefulness of Yonge and Dundas Square at 6am. All the things I used to love about my early morning runs came rushing back to me within minutes. A good thing, since my run lasted a whoppin' 19 of 'em. After a few minutes of fresh, bouncy strides, the heaviness set in my legs, my left hamstring started to get sore, and I became legitimately tired. Oh my. I couldn't believe that a twenty-minute run had taken that much out of me. That used to be half of my warm-ups! I doubled my workout time with stretching and core, and returned to my apartment a new person: my headache was gone, I felt happy, and I was HUNGRY! I hadn't felt that deep, grumbling hunger in so long. I swear there is a specific type of hunger that is only triggered by running, and it makes food taste so good! I am not sure of everything I ate afterwards, but it was a lot, and it all tasted like it came from a buffet on a cruise to the Caribbean. (And if anyone has seen my fridge, it was definitely not food of that quality). Yogurt, honey, bananas, peanut butter, nutella, maple nut granola...I wanted to combine them all into one giant breakfast party in a bowl and devour it all at once. So I did.

Breakfast party in a bowl

The best part, however, was that I didn't feel my shin while I was running. It stiffened up a little afterwards, but wasn't any worse than before. So since then I have been running about 30min every other day and doing elliptical or biking the other days. Some days the shin sucks, sometimes it is OK. I have stopped worrying so much about feeling it all the time. I went to the sports doctor on Wednesday and she basically told me that the tightness I was feeling was scar tissue and lumps and bumps from it healing weird (I think she said something about high heels and vodka being detrimental to healing, but I don't think she was serious), and that I would need ART and acupuncture to straighten it out. I was relieved to hear this and am happy that I can hopefully get back to 100% with some therapy.

Best news? I found an awesome physiotherapist who is intent on curing Shoeless Coolis. He has apparently already been following my blog so I didn't have to explain my frustrations to him. His assessment of the situation is one I am in complete agreement with: the healing has happened. There is no more tear to be found. The other 'stuff' that is going on needs to be straightened out and strengthened. His plan for my shin is to 'kick the #$^% out of it, let it recover, then strengthen the %#$^ out of it, and repeat.' I like this plan. A lot. I have a feeling I will be in a lot of ART and acupuncture-induced pain in the next few weeks, but at least I can keep shuffling along in the early morning darkness and enjoy as many breakfast parties in a bowl as I wish.

Angel Jane

2011-11-24T20:06:00.009-05:00

I've been in Toronto for five years and lived in four different buildings...all within a two kilometre radius. Suffice to say that I am a sucker for convenience. Not only do I like being close to work, but I like living downtown. Living at Yonge & Dundas Square means that practically everything is at my doorstep - the LCBO (I swear that wasn't the deal breaker for my latest move! Ok maybe it was), the Eaton Centre, awesome restaurants like Milestones, Jack Astors and Joeys, les Trois Brasseurs (and other less awesome bars), Goodlife Fitness, a ginormous movie theatre, several grocery stores, Shoppers Drug Mart (the most marvelous place besides the LCBO), one billion food courts, every Bank that exists, Tutti Frutti candy store and last but not least, there are FIVE Starbucks, each no more than two blocks from me. No joke. There is one IN my building, one across the street, one in the movie theatre, one in the mall and one one block east of me...and somehow le Blog du Rob was smart enough to start a bet with me on who could reach Starbucks Gold card status faster. FYI Rob, there is one pitiful, lonesome Starbucks in all of Guelph. And five within two minutes of me. I thought you were a smart dude, but now I'm not so sure. Perhaps this is the real reason you are making so many trips to Toronto?

Anyway, I reached Gold Status four days ago. That's right, I am now officially a Starbucks Gold member! Holler. You may win the odd party le Rob but I beat you to gold sucka! Yea. Not sure what this will really do for me, however, as I never get any of the syrups or flavour shots that I could now get for free. And I don't have a coffee maker for deals on coffee grinds. And I don't stay inside the Starbucks long enough to get a free re-fill. But at least I get a free cuppa joe every two weeks? The important thing, people, is that I am a Gold member, and therefore a superior member of society. That makes me feel pretty cool.

I was not intending on writing this blog about coffee, but somehow my dialogue about the convenience of my condo has brought me to the topic. Downtown condominium living has other quirks and perks, however. Like concierges. They are a unique bunch. They must see a lot of weird stuff since they basically sit at the front desk for 8-12 hours and watch people come in and out - all day or overnight. I would assume the night shifts are pretty boring unless you are working on a weekend, in which you could probably witness some pretty remarkable transformations. Like one night, when I had a lab party and left my place in an innocent collared shirt and black pants with my computer strapped to my back. I got changed at the lab and went to the party in one of my typical risque Jane outfits, which I obviously had to match with a reckless drinking style. The last thing I remember was taking shots to the song 'Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots, shots, shots!' Not surprisingly, it wasn't long before I was passed out in the washroom practically dead. When my labmates found me, I vehemently claimed that the floor was the most comfortable bed there was and that I would be sleeping in the stall that night. The next morning I woke up in my own bed, and was perplexed by how I ended up there. Apparently my labmates carried me home, through the front door and up the elevator, my arms hanging around each of these dudes' necks. Now THAT is classy. I wonder what the concierge thought seeing that come through the door? Who is that, who are they and where is her computer?!

In reality, I got along well with the concierges in my last building and they always said a kind hello when I was leaving or entering the building. The only time they made comments was when I showed up downstairs dressed like I was ready to rob a bank at 5am, waiting to meet the Angels for an early morning run. 'I can't believe you are running in this weather. In the dark. You are nuts!' they would always comment. Once I came down dressed in my usual sexy way and the concierge yelled to me 'It's only -8 today! It's only -8!!! Do you want to leave your neckwarmer here?!' It was pretty funny how excited they were that I would be able to run without coming back frostbitten, as they so often witnessed when I was unable to open any doors or retrieve keys or fobs from my pockets because my hands were completely frozen. Good times.

Now I am living in a new building with new concierges. There are four regulars who each have quite a unique disposition. The first is Frank. Frank is a funny guy. I am not sure where he is from but he has one of the strangest accents I have ever heard. I can hardly ever understand what he is saying. Furthermore, his tone is extremely high pitched such that he actually sounds like a young girl when he speaks. A young girl with a weird European accent...who is in reality a grown, chubby man with thinning hair. Frank has taken a particular interest in my running (and lack thereof). After I had been off running for a few weeks, I came home from work one day and he randomly called out 'Are you going running now? Running in the morning, running at night, you are ALWAYS running!!!' At this point I had to tell him that in fact I was not running at all and I had been injured for the past three weeks. At this point, the second awesome concierge Sam (I will get to him in a moment) jumped up and screamed: 'My angel is INJURED!!! What? What can I do? What happened? WHERE ARE YOU HURT MY ANGEL?!' as if I had just been hit by a car and was about to die. After I appeased Sam's concerns and told them it was just a torn muscle in my shin, Frank sighed 'Oh that's nothing, you'll be fine! A few days, ya?' his voice squeaking with each inflection. 'Hmmmmm' I wondered, 'How is a torn muscle not something to be concerned about?!' I was perplexed by their opposing and wildly inaccurate assessments of my injury, but just rolled with it. 'Errr ya I'm sure it will heal soon. No reason to be too concerned!' 'But I don't understand why you need to run,' Frank continued, 'You are so skinny! You don't need to run. Why do you have to run?' at which point I informed him that I had actually lost weight after I stopped running, another fact that he was incapable to comprehend. 'How is that possible? Jane, you need to eat more! Eat! Eat!' I told them that I likely would gain weight eventually, since I was already developing some pretty legit biceps from all the swimming I was doing. Frank liked hearing this and now every day he asks 'Did you swim today? You must go for your swim!' I am waiting for him to ask me to show him my awesome biceps, but so far no such luck.

Sam is just as much of a hoot as Frank, if not moreso. He is a large, black fellow who always has a giant smile on his face. The first time he spoke to me he declared that I was an Angel and that he saw a heavenly glow around me whenever I entered the building. I am pretty sure that was followed by an awkward silence since I had absolutely no idea how to respond. 'Thank you? 'Same to you?' Nothing I could think of on the spot seemed to make any kind of sense. But then again, his comment didn't either. Every day it's something different: 'You bring happiness to the world with your Angelic face, my Angel,' or 'Ah! I did not smile today because I hadn't seen my Angel yet!' However entertaining his comments are, I am very flattered that I am able to bring him such joy by my mere presence. If anything, he is the one bringing happiness into the lives of others with his warm, open and endearing personality!

What Sam sees?

Still kind of a badass Angel...

One day I went to pick up a package (sent from the awesome peeps at Adidas) and he asked the resident standing next to me if he thought I looked like an Angel too. Another awkward exchange. 'Umm...ok, you are pretty smooth dude,' was all the guy said to Sam. I think Sam was confused by this answer since I am sure he wasn't trying to be smooth at all, and does in fact believe that I am an Angel. He then turned to me and asked why I always received such mysterious parcels in the mail (maybe he thought they were from God?). His direction suddenly switched: 'Do you buy dresses online?' he then asked. I reminded him that I was a runner and that I was actually sponsored by Adidas. 'These are running clothes from Adidas!' I said, 'I don't have to buy them, it's great!' A few days later when I walked by the desk he bellowed 'I can't wait to see you in your winter dresses, my Angel!' I was bewildered by this statement, until I figured that he still believed that I actually ordered dresses online (and more specifically, 'winter dresses' - whatever that entails). I guess he doesn't buy the whole 'serious runner' gig I have going. The other day, he continued on his winter-themed comments, which only seem to get even more indecipherable: 'The winter time makes you look very special, my Angel' he smiled brightly. 'Wear your winter dresses soon!' Then there was the day it rained and I came home soaking wet, looking like a drowned rat (seriously). He immediately jumped from his chair and exclaimed 'My Angel! You look like a Goddess emerging from the ocean today! Have a nice evening!' WTF? If his comments continue on their current path of weirdness, I wonder what kind of things he will be saying in the New Year...

Another one of the concierges, whose name I don't yet know, thinks I am just as innocent (and perhaps Angelic?) as the other two. He is often there late at night and was shocked when I returned home late one night in a party Jane gettup that included a skirt and heels. 'WOW you went OUT TONIGHT!!!! Good for you!' Oh, if only they knew that I didn't need to be congratulated for getting out of the apartment. I laughed at his tone and wondered what these three would do if they saw party Jane in action. Perhaps one day, I will have to invite them out for vodka chez Jane. Though that might shock them into silence, and I am wayyyy too entertained by them on a daily basis to let my cover slide.

What the rest of the world sees. Sigh.

So for now, I live under the guise of Angel Jane, domestically and athletically. But those who really know me know that party Jane and G.I. Jane are the real deal. Just sayin'.

Angel Jane or Satan???

Thinking like a PRO

2011-11-17T22:27:00.007-05:00

I am tired of analyzing the ups-and-downs of my temperamental shin, so instead I am not going to talk about it all and instead reflect on the ups and downs of the last two months of injury. I'm sure most can relate to some of this stuff at some point in their lives...maybe not quite everything...

Cons:

1. I can't run.
Duh. Running is, plain and simple, one of my greatest loves in life and she has been ruthlessly taken from me. *Sigh*. It has been a tough breakup, but I am confident we can re-kindle our relationship...when we are both ready.
2. The lack of endorphins must be replaced by hard drugs.
Running is slightly better for you than hard drugs, so I would list this as a con.
3. I am becoming soft.
I went from grinding out 100-mile weeks in icy -20C conditions to 130-mile weeks in heat and humidity...to being afraid of cold water...to buying a wetsuit to pool run...to stopping exercise altogether in favour of warm mugs of tea on my couch...yep. That's G.I. Jane for ya.
4. I miss my friends!!!
It sucks not seeing the Angels, my favourite group of girls. Though they have made up for this with GI Jane-centred martini nights, it doesn't replace the comraderie of trucking through long runs and workouts together on a daily basis.
5. Depression.
Though I have found a cure for this (see #2), you can't be high all the time.
6. Insomnia.
Yep, can't sleep. Luckily I've found a cure for this one too (see pros #7).
7. Pitiful appetite.
One of the WORST things about not running is not getting the same enjoyment out of food. I've come to the point where I never really crave anything (besides alcohol) and often forget to eat. What the hell? My former loves, peanut butter, bananas and whackloads of candy are now only a faint memory. It is so sad.
8. Muscle atrophy.
Since my appetite has diminished along with my exercise, my muscles are starting to waste away. For a while my injured leg was noticeably smaller than my non-injured leg. That was pretty weird. Now they are equally small and my pants are getting baggier. I want my runners legs back!
9. Chlorine intoxication.
For a while when I was in the pool 3hrs a day, I suffered from some severe chlorine-induced health complications. These included incessant sneezing (co-workers loved this), teary eyes, dry, scaly skin (the worst!), plus my hair was turning into straw regardless of the amount of conditioner I used. And of course the chlorine smell never goes away no matter how much you scrub. EVER. (It's really a turn-on to the opposite sex.)
10. Boredom.
Boredom all around people! Boredom while cross-training (Why does 10min of swimming feel like an hour of running? Brutal), boredom during the hours I waste when I'd normally be running, boredom because I am less focused when I don't run. Maybe I just get bored really easily.

Pros:

1. I am still a healthy, able-bodied human being.
Somehow us runners equate not being able to run to being physically challenged. We can walk fine, exercise fine, and when we get to a certain point we are likely not hurting day-to-day. Yet we complain just as much as if we were strapped to a wheelchair in chronic pain. It doesn't really make any sense (...unless you are a runner). But when injured, it is important to remind ourselves that we should be happy that we are fundamentally healthy, able-bodied individuals and we are pretty lucky not to have any serious problems. So yeah, I am grateful for that!
2. Insomnia.
Ok I realize I listed this under cons, but it can also be a pretty big pro. First of all, I can spend evening hours doing a lot more stuff, like getting extra work done, seeing friends, and of course dancing all night (in the process really helping the shin recover...yea).
3. Relief of pressure.
Even though I run because I love it, like most runners I put a lot of pressure on myself and want to perform my best. Now that I can't, a lot of pressure is relieved and I don't worry about everything that I do. It's nice to take a step back and really relax.
4. More time for work.
Yep, sadly this is a pro. I am trying to finish my degree after all, so it's nice not having to boot it all day so that I can get out and run before 6PM...plus with all my extra energy I am more productive at work...errr unless I'm hungover. On second thought, if you balance out the number of hard workouts in a week with the number of nights I currently spend going out, it probably balances out. Shoot. Scrap that pro.
5. My toe nails are growing back!
Ha! My feet are pretty far from normal, but they are becoming more normal, and have stopped hurting me all the time! That is, until I squeeze them into four-inch heels and go dancing. Then the whole blister issue tends to re-appear.
6. I don't have to worry about stomach problems.
I have a very sensitive stomach and a gluten intolerance, which is made one billion times worse by running. Now that I'm never really eating huge quantities and not jostling my stomach around on a run, I have found I can eat pretty much whatever I want without becoming very ill. I'll admit that drunk Jane doesn't really care about my gluten intolerance, so I've consumed my fair share of chips and nachos as of late. But with far less consequence than normal. It's pretty awesome.
7. I can replace water with vodka.
Need I say more?!

8. Spending less money on food.
Again, this is probably negated by the amount of money I spend on alcohol. Dammit.
9. I am spending time with non-runners and meeting more people.
This is probably a healthy thing. I can finally go out with other friends and understand how they can live the way they do. It's incredible how much more energy you have to do things when you don't spend twenty hours a week running.
10. Yea...meeting more people. Continuation of #9. Though one of them may be a runner, sometimes it takes a non-running scenario and two runners not currently running to realize that they may have more than running in common. Best part of this injury fo sheeze!