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Worst wife EVER! So I sort of kind of forgot about Valentine’s Day this year, which wouldn’t have been so bad had Valentine’s Day not also been the day my dear husband proposed to me two years ago. In my defense, I’ve had a lot on the brain and a lot going on in my life lately, and something was bound to cave in, and unfortunately it was the memory of St. Valentine. So when I walked down the stairs of the condo yesterday morning and caught a glimpse of the gifts sitting on my breakfast plate, my initial reaction was in fact, oh crud. Not only did I forget, I also sort of, kind of, booked a date with my pilates peeps for Monday evening. Double crud. Luckily for me, I’ve got an amazing husband (yes, I am getting all gushy) who loves to spoil me. And spoil he […]

I don’t care what anyone says, running is a great spectator sport. Sure you could go to a hockey game or a football game or Formula 1 even, but with all those sporting events, you’ll be shilling out some good coin. A good running race, though, is free, nada, zilch, zero dollars! And that’s only one of its redeeming qualities. I’d never been a spectator before, well, for a running race that is. I was in fact a spectator at the Giro d’Italia, but that didn’t count because I was too busy seeking out Lance and Mark Cavendish (oh yum!). I was also a spectator at Mario’s Gran Fondo last year, but that too didn’t really count, because while I had my eyes peeled for him the entire time (him and Trevor Linden (double yum!)) I was also volunteering which didn’t exactly allow for the full effect of being a

Yesterday was the perfect day to be a duck, but not so perfect to be a runner. I was freaking soaked, from head-to-toe soaked, sopping wet soaked, weighed 20 extra pounds soaked, and oh man a shivering cold, couldn’t get my internal thermostat back up to a balmy room temperature for hours after cold. But it was worth it! Instead of running my long run today, I ran it yesterday so I could go and watch a group of my running peeps race the First Half in Vancouver (more on that tomorrow). And so I got up super early on Saturday, had breakfast, and walked to the Skytrain en route to the Seawall. It wasn’t really raining at that point, just a couple of random drops here and there that felt more like sleet than rain. But when the Skytrain dropped me off at Waterfront station it was pouring, like

Just one more week! One more week until I get to hold Baby Number 3! Well actually, for me, he’s number 9, but for my big brother and dear sister in law, he’s Number 3. In every way possible. Name included. For months now they’ve been trying to come up with the perfect name for their third boy, and they even had the advantage this time of knowing ahead of time what they were having (a little slip in the ultrasound room made it all too clear they were halfway to starting their very own soccer team) but oh man have they struggled. And I can’t imagine it’s the easiest thing in the world to name a kid, you’ve got to give him a name that’s he’s going to have for the rest of his life, you can’t exactly change it if you get bored of it or sick of

When I got a text from my dear leader and great friend on Tuesday night, I didn’t react to it so kindly. It wasn’t an offensive text, wasn’t insulting, wasn’t even bad. But it was putting the decision ball in my court – something I’ve never been a fan of. As much as I strive to always be better, and as super competitive as I can always sometimes be, I am not a leader, not by a long shot. I am 100 per cent a follower (okay maybe not if someone told me to jump off a bridge, but when it comes to running decisions, definitely a follower) and so when I was asked what I wanted to do, I was at a loss. I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? Why are you asking me? This is NOT how it works. Yes, I can be a little irrational