The End of the Games

The Olympics ended with a bang! I admit to be a huge sport buff, but these Olympics made the whole Canada one enormous hockey crowd. People were walking around in red or white Team Canada hockey jerseys, with faces painted in the same colors.

More modest ones had only a scarf, a hat, or just red mittens, with a maple leaf tucked on the collar or timidly painted on the cheek. And that's not in Vancouver, but here in Toronto, thousands of miles away. For 18 days it was a real fun to be Canadian.

Today, the last day of the games, the only thing on the schedule was the men's hockey final. In Canada, that pretty much means the only thing that matters. Especially when the gold medal game is between Canada and the USA. The old rivalry, made even more intense by the fact that the Americans beat Canada in the early stages of the Olympic tournament.

The game was befitting the Olympics. It was hockey at its best. High on action, high on drama with the happy ending. Canada lead 2:0 early in the second period, USA scored to come out for the final period trailing 2:1. After 19 min and 36 seconds of nuclear hockey in the third period, USA tied the game with 24 seconds before the end. Finally, in overtime, Sidney Crosby, a Canadian superstar who didn't shine brightly throughout the tournament, scored the "sudden death" goal, winning the game and the gold for Canada, and a place in history for himself. The whole country jumped and partied deep into the night.

Overall, the games were a great success, not only for bringing the Country together shrouded in the newly found national pride, but also because Canada won 14 gold medals, more than any country in history of Winter Olympics. It was a great event to watch, something we'll remember for a very long time.

Vancouver Winter Olympics

Winter Olympic Games have been going on for a week and a half in Vancouver. We've been watching a good portion of it every evening after work.

It started with horror: on the morning of the opening day Georgian luger Nodar Kumaritashvili crashed during the training run, flew out of the luge track and hit the metal pole. He died on the way to hospital. I thought his death will mar the games to the end. Unfortunately, all the excitement on the Olympic arenas soon pushed the tragedy to the back of the mind, and although it's not forgotten, it is also not being mentioned any longer. There were some other memorable moments: the first Canadian gold of the games in men's moguls by Alex Bilodeau on day 2; lousy performance of the men's hockey team, who barely squeezed past Finland on penalty shots, spectacularly lost to the Americans and then came around and dismantled powerful team Russia in the quarterfinal game 7:3; women's two-man bobsled teams (beats me, I don't know why it isn't called two-women bobsled) took gold and silver yesterday; and today women's hockey team beat USA for gold.

Two more stories we'll remember: Slovenian cross country skier Petra Majdic fell into a gully while warming up for 1.2 km sprint. She suffered four broken ribs and a collapsed lung. But, when she was pulled from the hole, she refused to go to the hospital and demanded to be taken to the start line for her race. She went on to win bronze medal and had to be helped onto the podium at the medal ceremony.

Another heroic story is of Canadian female figure skater Joannie Rochette, whose mother died of a heart attack two days before Joannie's competition. The mother was in Vancouver to watch her daughter skate at the Olympics. Joannie decided to skate on and delivered the best short program of her career. She was composed and almost flawless during the skate. But, when the music stopped, the tears started streaming down her face. She wasn't alone--many in the crowd, which gave her standing ovations, cried along.

There are few more days of the Olympic excitement left, the closing ceremony is on Sunday. The whole country now lives for men's hockey. Someone wrote on Twitter that if the men's team wins gold, all other failures in other sports won't matter. Sadly, the only sport Canadians recognize is hockey. All other fantastic athletes and their miraculous achievements are here to fill in the time between hockey games.

"Elegance of the Hedgehog," a novel

By Muriel Barbery

It has been a while since a book without much of a plot held me captivated to the very end. The Elegance of the Hedgehog did that with richness of its prose and intriguing, on times philosophical thoughts about society and mankind.

It's a first-person narrative told by two characters: a concierge in a bourgeois Parisian building and a 12-year-old wunderkind daughter of a French minister who lives in that building. In alternating chapters both characters wave parallel stories, through which we find out a little about their own lives and families, and a lot more about the Parisian society and its norms. It is at once funny, satirical and critical view of the French upper class.

The slow, linear progression of the story finally takes sharp turns when a respected restaurant critic from the building dies and his apartment is bought by a wealthy Japanese gentleman, who doesn't follow the unwritten code of conduct in the building and the society. He befriends both, the concierge and the teenage girl, and for the first time in the book both narrators come together. We are treated with the unique look on the same situation from two very different points of view.

Finally, it all ends with an unexpected twist which left me teary eyed wishing for more.

I've read some pretty negative reader's reviews of this book on Goodreads, the social network for book lovers. The only explanation I can think of is that the north American readers can't identify with this very French and European situation. (5/5)

A Day We Almost Died

It was the Valentine's Day Sunday. Unremarkable, except for the fact that tomorrow is the holiday—Family Day. We went to the Vaughan Mills outlet shopping center to visit the Nike factory store and see if they have the shoes I use for running - Pegasus model. It seems that the shoes I'm using now, the Tailwind, are contributing to the long list of little aches and pains in my legs. That reminds of the old proverb: the wise men learn on mistakes of others, the idiot learns from his own mistakes. That makes me, uhm, an idiot. I knew not to change the pair of shoes that fit me for the last three years, yet I couldn't resist the flashy blue-silver of the new model, and I paid for it with almost a month of pain in ankle, knee and hamstring. So I dusted off the worn out old Pegasus I used before and that's what I wear to train for Boston marathon. That's the main reason why we found ourselves in Vaughan Mills on this Valentines.

It started a little thorny, with me complaining about Meg's choice of parking, which set off a short episode of bickering. It only shows there's still passion left in us, arguing like all lovers do, even after ten years of marriage. We made peace quickly and proceeded to Nike store. It was a perfect teaser - my beloved Pegasus were on sale with special price of only $30. Alas, they didn't have my size. It made me want to scream!

Meg drove us home, dejected and tired. Traffic was good, moving fast with a few cars around us. At one moment we were heading on almost empty avenue, our little Toyota chugging nicely, the traffic light smiling green, when suddenly a green SUV came flying from the side street on our left, through his solid red. Meg laid on the horn, but that didn't seem to trouble the green car, who ran straight into us. Meg—bless her reflexes—swerved into the right lane. Luckily, there was no car beside us. But the green bastard wasn't done yet. It pushed into us even more, making Meg squeeze onto the bus lane. She was still laying on the horn. I am not sure if at that moment the realization finally hit the green driver that: a) he (or she) just ran the red light; and b) he (or she) is just about to crash and, considering the speed, possibly kill some people in a small blue Toyota. Whatever it was, the car finally moved back to left lane and we squeezed by. Meg slowed down, but the green car slowed even more, not daring to come close. It turned quickly to a plaza on the right and disappeared. We never got a clear look at the car, nor the driver.

A Cow Farm and the Globalization Rant

Every day on the way to work we drive past a farm on 16th Avenue and Kennedy Road. I have no idea how big the farm is, being no judge of the size of an area by sight, but for us city-people squeezed on the towel-sized properties, it seems huge. It has a fenced off area with a barn, where in good weather a couple of dozens of black-and-white cows graze lazily, or linger in the shade of the few scrawny trees. Next to the cow-land is a corn field, covering the whole gentle slope of the hill, in my estimate some 500 by 500 yards, or so. For some unexplainable reason, seeing the cows during the commute always have a calming effect on both, Meg and me. Usually we greet them with "hi girls," to which they always respond by staring at the general direction of the traffic and not acknowledging the greeting they couldn't have heard anyway.

A couple of weeks ago we read in the community newspaper that the farm had been sold to a house-building company for $100 million. Not a laughable amount, and who can blame the farmer for selling? Looking at the broader picture, I wonder where does the greed stop and the reason start? I must confess, our own house, and the whole community around it, is built on the former farmland. I know it sounds hypocritical ranting against the same process that benefited us, but losing that farm almost seems like something personal is being taken away. Our city is growing and becoming more crowded by the day, slowly defying the purpose of moving away from the traffic and bustle of the downtown Toronto. The few remaining farmlands are the last open spaces, giving us room for breathing and preventing the claustrophobia of what's to become. But slowly, one by one, they succumb to the brutal advance of—not progress, but profit! Almighty dollar is the only fact featuring in any argument around here—and where is it taking us? Take, for example, globalization.

In the news last night was a report that China is artificially maintaining its currency 40% lower of its real value, to retain their export supremacy over the West. The companies interested in exporting to China are discouraged by the unfavorable price their goods can fetch there. In turn, the Chinese are littering the world with cheap products. Ah, one must love globalization!

So, up here in the frozen west, what have we got from globalization? First, we got new global markets for our firms to export to, neglecting local ones and in process making some very rich people much richer. We watched as not only the whole companies moved to the cheaper lands, but also as the jobs for those companies remaining here are being outsourced wherever the cheaper labor can be found. Now we have our local phone lines being connected in India, our bank statement and transactions being explained to us from Asia or Middle East, our jobs migrating away, while desperate immigrants in search for better life still flock to Canada and compete for the few remaining jobs.

Home grown businesses, on the other hand, seem to have only one goal: to be sold to a huge international corporation for a lot of money. No one is even starting a business with intention to grow and develop it, to keep it in the family and prosper from and with it.

The way I see it, the only way for our economy to move forward is to stop the drive for globalization and outsourcing, and to build the lasting business models at home. Though, I'm afraid, it could be too late to save what's left.

A Gallery of Faces

It was a fun Saturday. I ran 26 km in the morning, slower than I normally would, but very happy that I didn't need to shorten the run because of the pain. I could feel the right hamstring, but it wasn't too painful.

When I came back home from -12 C outside, Meg put me in the bath tub to thaw. Usually, I'm not a great fan of bubble bath (Meg insisted on bubbles), but today, soaking my sore legs in the hot water did miracles.

For the afternoon we had to go to the dentist for cleaning. Since the dentist's office is near Yorkdale Mall, we left earlier to stop at the mall and walk around. We browsed a little, then sat down and watched people. It's my favorite pastime. On winter Saturdays people tend to keep indoors, which meant the mall was crowded. It was amazing, watching the gallery of faces streaming by, the constant struggle to define one's personality by the way one walks, dresses, talks, moves...

First, a guy who looked like a cross between George Michael and Hugh Jackman—dark haired, dark eyed, 3-day stubble, denim shirt unbuttoned, revealing his broad chest and shoulders, denim jeans ending nonchalantly in the untied army boots. I presume he was handsome (judging men's handsomeness is not really my strength), but all about him—the way he dressed, the way he posed with his legs apart, leaning forward to reach for an article on the shelf without bending his knees to afford a good look at his sculpted body and legs, the way he talked to a sales person with head held so high he had to stare down his nose at her although they were the same height—it all reeked of such pretense, that I actually felt sorry for him. What kind of life is that, when you need to put this whole act only to buy a pillow for your sofa? His good looks and fit body appeared distorted, almost handicapped, shrouded in such obvious fakery. The man was raping his own nature, poor soul.

He was the reason why I actually paid more attention to other faces passing by: a fat 20-something wearing a black-and-white jester hat, for no other reason than to draw attention; a Japanese girl in the skirt so short that the upper seams of her stockings showed and heels so high she was in constant danger of toppling over on her face (she walked like a bear, which made me think that people who don't know how to use a tool, shouldn't buy it, and women who don't know how to walk in high heels shouldn't wear them); a tall young black guy who walked straight as a spear and who, at first sight, looked normal, until you saw how carefully arranged every piece of clothing, every wrinkle was, even the gloves hanging out of his trouser-pockets with fingers so deliberately spread it looked as if someone was waving from his pants with each step he made, while his eyes circled wildly, checking who is noticing him—a difficult task when you're trying not to move your head.

This whole duplicity, whole desperate attempt to show the face they want us to see, and not who they really are, this flagrant deceitfulness made me long for a place where everyone can be simply who they are without need to put up an act. I wonder if such a place even exist anywhere anymore?

When we were done with the dentist, our teeth clean, full of tiny sand-like particles and smelling of teeth-polish, we treated ourselves with a rare visit to the downtown Toronto, for a mediocre bbq-rib sandwiches and beer (Creemore) at Betty's on King Street. The food un-cleaned our teeth and made our breaths bearable again. Cruising slowly home from the downtown, we were shocked with the amount of change: many of the stores and places we knew and liked are gone, changed, or closed. There are many new buildings and a half of a block in midtown is missing, fenced off for a new building development. We felt like tourists, strangers in our own town.

Running through pain (again)

On Saturday, during my 22k run, I felt the discomfort in the back of the right thigh. By Tuesday it became so painful that I suspected a muscle-tear. So I took a day off from running today, to give the leg time to rest and, hopefully, heal. Tomorrow is the short 6k run to see how it goes and hopefully I will be well rested and more-or-less healed for Saturday's long run.

Not having luck with training for Boston this year. Last year I had injury-free run up to Mississauga marathon. Because of the good training, I had an excellent race. Now, however, I already had to skip two midweek runs because of the injuries. Getting worried I won't be as ready for Boston as I was for Mississauga last year.

Ah, nothing to do, but to put my brave face on and run through the pain.