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I get a lot of non-runners asking me why I love running so much? If you’re a runner, you know the kind of people I’m talking about, the ones who can’t fathom why anyone would willingly get up at the crack of dawn, despite rain, sleet, pitch black darkness, or even morning grogginess, and go and run 20 plus kilometres. And they especially can’t understand it when a) I am not a morning person, and b) I was never a fan of anything sweat-inducing all through school – I was the kid who purposely forgot her gym strip at home and who cut through the church to shorten an already super short run around the school. But, as I’ve mentioned before, running is like a drug, I started on it and I quickly got hooked. And I have many reasons why I love – and sometimes loathe – running. One of the […]

Four months ago when I walked into the Running Room and was greeted by warm faces that I hadn’t seen in awhile, I walked in there with a plan. We all stood around talking about our hopes for the marathon, where we thought we could finish, where we wanted to finish, etc. And normally when I go into these clinics, I have high hopes (go big or go home, right ;)) but this time, when it came my turn to share, I flat out said, I wasn’t looking for a time, I just wanted to finish. And I was okay with that, it was my first marathon, I’d just come off a disaster of a half marathon training where I was taken out of the game just two weeks shy of the race, and that was not my intention for this race. But, as the weeks and months progressed and

For a day that was so crummy yesterday, it was sure golden today. First, I found a smile-inducing note from Mario attached to a couple of surprise chocolate wafer cookies in my lunchbox that I had no idea we even had = yum! And then, five minutes later, I got an email from a work contact regarding a story I’ve been wanting to do for two years, but couldn’t because the timing was never right, telling me to come down this afternoon, to which I was totally free. And then, I walked outside to my most favourite season of the year, which consisted of beautiful sunshine and trees brimming with orange, red and yellow leaves, some of which had already started to crowd the sidewalks. And then, the cherry of it all, I became a real, bona fide journalist this afternoon – at least in the eyes of Earnest Hemingway. I

Well now, that was the fastest 23 km I’ve ever run, so fast I made it back to the store in 1.5 hours, so fast I made it back BEFORE the notorious speedys – forget that I needed a cab to do it in, but whatever. Reason #253 why it’s best not to injure yourself on a run: cabs are bloody expensive! It’s time for this princess to be honest. I was tempted not to write this blog, just kind of disappear for a day and hope that you, my dear readers, would forget that I often go for long runs on Sundays and that I almost always come back with epic stories. And while this Sunday was epic in its own way, it wasn’t in the best way, and I was tempted, greatly tempted, not to write about it. But, well, that wouldn’t exactly be true to the blog, or

Maybe running 10 km last night wasn’t the smartest thing I could do. Not only did I just come off five and a half 800 metre speed intervals, which in itself is pretty brutal, but I followed that up with a high-speed toboggan down my hardwood stairs the same night – on my butt! I thudded down those stairs so loud, Mario thought the dresser fell on me. I kid you not. He came running out of the bike room, freaking out, only to find me planted on the bottom step, holding my chest with the shakiest hands I’ve ever seen, monotonously repeating over and over “Ouch. Ouch. Ouch…” I thought I was okay, and for the most part I was. I mean, sure I couldn’t sleep on the side of my body where I thumped down on, and a fist-sized bruise the colour of cotton candy took a good 14