From a case of bad back to Boston marathon

My column on the National Post's website talks about how it all started. As you will see, there was pain long before there was running. Still, I can say it was worth it. Click on the picture to read the article.

The Girl Who Played with Fire

The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


I'm afraid this was my guilty pleasure. I don't usually read crime novels, and maybe I'm easily satisfied, but judging by how many people like Stieg Larsson's novels, I'm in a good and numerous company.

The story starts slowly and almost the whole first half of the book is lost on retelling bits from the first book, and Salander furnishing her new apartment, for which we are given a detailed list of IKEA furniture items, together with the unpronounceable names of the articles and price. It made me wonder if the author had a stake in IKEA, or just couldn't get over his student-days infatuation with cheap and non-durable furniture.

However, once people finally get killed, the story picks up. Like an old steam-engine locomotive, it starts to roll snail-like slow at first, but faster with every turned page. Of course, since there's the third book, it took away a lot of suspense over the main character getting killed. Still, although I knew she'll live to kick the hornets nest, I found Salander's solitary search for justice and vengeance holding my attention until the very last page.

If you manage to survive the numbingly slow first half, you may find yourself thoroughly enjoying the climax of a much better second half.

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Facing Back

Distillery has its fun spots. Like these face-chairs.

Distillery's Monstrosity

If you live in Toronto, or if you visited it recently, chances are you've been in Distillery District. Its cobble stone alleys and red brick buildings are a huge draw for the tourists and locals alike. Especially, since the whole place had been turned into a maze of art galleries, furniture galleries, boutiques and restaurants with the only point in common being insanely high prices. Still, no one can resist the rugged charm of the place. Meg and I visit often in the summer, when a stage is built in the main square, in front of Balsac cafe. We'd sit outside, sip our overpriced drinks and enjoy the show.

This summer, instead of the stage, a huge metal monstrosity took the whole square. It's supposed to be art, some kind of modern sculpture, consisting of a cage-like structure, upon which a huge, red metal chimney-like cone was built. Another metal structure resembling a broken microphone, or possibly a lollipop, hangs attached from the chimney to the floor. See it for yourself, the picture says it all.

I'm really not an art-hater, but I do wonder which genius approved to have that piece of metal junk occupy the area best suited for entertainment. Or, did someone decide that Distillery's visitors will more enjoy staring at the "sculpture" and trying to figure out what the hell that is, than they'd enjoy live music and other performances on the stage? I can only hope we'll be able to reclaim the square soon.

Mask

Meg picked up a mask in Borneo. Not that she needs one…

No, I’m kidding—it’s the aboriginal mask, which looks quite fierce, and even more decorative on our wall. It’s so big that Meg wasn’t allowed to carry it on board the plane, so she left it with her dad and brother to ship it.

Last night, it arrived. A woman working at the post office was really curious to find out what’s in the package.

“It’s a mask,” Meg told her. But the woman looked first at Meg, then at the package, with disbelief. I’m guessing, when someone says “mask” the first image that pops in mind is of the black thingy with holes for eyes. Or, even a Venetian mask, which is the size of average human face. But a meter-long flat package?

It didn’t help that, for some reason, Meg and I giggled and laughed when we were there. The woman must have thought we were pulling her leg. But, a mask it was, and it fits nicely in our living room.

Born To Run

Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Christopher McDougall

My rating: 4 of 5 stars

(I’m not going to describe the content, this is only what I took from the book)

What can I say – for a serious runner like myself (if “serious” means running six days a week), this book is a fantastic motivator. The cast of characters is colorful and the best part is – they’re real (although it’s sometimes hard to believe, but they are all Googlable). McDougall takes us through his search for the Mexico’s Tarahumara’s secret of long and healthy long-distance running. Even his detours into the invention of the first Nike running shoe (which he all but blames for the subsequent running-related injuries), barefoot running and his theories of human evolution into a running man, are entertaining to read.

I can’t say I agree with everything presented in the book, but I did squirm with unease while reading about the grueling endurance races. It was very difficult to pick exactly who to cheer for from many likable characters who, at the end, had to race against each other.

There are many moments in the book that’ll make you wanting to lace up the running shoes and give it a try. The author takes us skillfully on a search through the most inhospitable parts of Mexico’s Sierra Madre for a tribe of the Indian runners who, through the centuries, could thank their survival to the fact that they can outrun any pursuer, and their villages are almost impossible to find. Add to that the rugged canyons they live in, and Mexico’s drug cartels keeping the unwanted visitors away, and there’s the material for a real thriller. Yet, this is a book about running, and discovering the true technique and joy of running. The only thriller exist during the several amazing races described in details.

To sum it up – if you’re not into running, you’ll like Born To Run as a sports book. However, if you are a runner, you’ll treasure it like a running bible.

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She's back!

...and so is her bag.

Meg arrived on Wednesday, with 50% of her luggage. One bag was there, another missed the plane and was still in Chicago, where she transferred from Hong Kong flight to the one for Toronto. The bag is tracked down, shipped and finally delivered in the middle of the night last night. And now, we're all here: Meg, her two bags, and I.

She's sun-tanned, happy, but she sleeps a lot: in the car after work—luckily, I was driving—on the sofa while chatting with me, and anywhere else where she is left alone for more than a few minutes. Ah, jet lag.

Waiting for Columbus

Waiting for Columbus by Thomas Trofimuk

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I feel cheated by this novel. The question is—does the wonderfully touchy and tragic ending justify the long toil the story took us through, to reach the end? I was, actually, so very close never to reach it, because the first 350 pages made me so agitated, I wanted to leave the book unfinished on a few occasions. Even now, when I turned the last page, I’m still not sure if it was worth it.

At first I liked the idea of a mental patient who thinks he's Christopher Columbus, and tells the stories, mixing history and present time, to his nurse. However, as the book progresses, it doesn't go anywhere, the plot stalls, and Columbus' stories drag on, without sense. There are way too many of those confused story-episodes, unsorted and out of chronological, or any other logical order. On top of it, the nurse develops emotional attachment to Columbus, but that was explained in a very superficial and unbelievable way. There was no courting, or subtle changing of feelings from the care for a patient into something deeper. No, one day the good nurse realized that she’s in love. Snap. Just like that. For a reader who likes his books well done, this one was absolutely rare.

It also seems that all the female characters in the book get naked at some point, mostly without any particular reason other than, perhaps, to spice up a terribly bland story. There’s lust and sex. There’s author’s documented intention to describe a great romantic with absolute adoration of his women’s body, and, yes, the soul, too. Which begs the question whether the author ever experienced the kind of romance he was trying to attribute to this ‘Columbus,’ because if he did, he isn’t capable to translate it in writing. Rather, the romantic escapades in the book are half-baked, clumsy and neither detailed enough to be taken seriously, nor funny enough to be taken as comedy.

Two stars, only because of the ending.

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More book prizes

Ever since I signed for a Twitter account about a year ago, I won with CBC books “tweet a book review” contest twice, three books in total. Well, this week I won again, this time five books! Here they are. I love twitter!

Daymare

Talk about living through your worst nightmare—or one of the worst:

I was out for a 16 km run yesterday, it was my hill training, so I went to the farmland where I found my hills to run up and down. After 6 km of hills, I continued on my regular route. That’s when I happened to pat my shorts pockets where the house-key should have been. They were empty.

I can’t even begin to describe the sinking feeling in my stomach. Meg, who has another key, is half a planet away, in Hong Kong. The only other person who has the key to our house is Meg’s brother, who lives in New York. And there I was, in my shorts and t-shirt, sweaty and stinky, with no access to the house.

The pictures went through my mind of me knocking on the neighbor’s door and borrowing the drill to drill through the lock. While I thought those practical, dreadful thoughts, I retreated my steps, and after 2 km I saw my key laying in the middle of an intersection. I remembered running across that intersection in full sprint, catching the light. My sprinting must have bounced the key from the pocket.

Okay, I admit – the pockets have no zipper, but they are really deep. I had these shorts for more than 2 years, always kept the key in the pocket and never had anything fall out. But, lesson learned. From now on the key always goes into the pocket that can be closed. Phew.

Catching up...

A few things, none of them life-changing, happened in the last few weeks. First off, I discovered a new Tim Horton’s donut. It’s called the blueberry bloom and it’s very…umm…blueberrish. And, yes, that’s the least important on the list of events of the weeks past.

I had to take vacation in August, the last week of it, because I had to spend remaining vacation days before the end of the fiscal year in my company, which was on August 31. As a result, I stayed home while Meg was working (her company’s fiscal year follows the calendar year, so we are out-of-sync in the number of the vacation days we’re getting). I read, tried to make myself useful, with little success.

Last Friday Meg left me.
Fortunately, only temporary.
She’s in Hong Kong, visiting her parents and the rest of the ever-growing family. This is the first time in over 10 years we separated for such a long time, and it feels, well, empty without her. I’ll try to make her blog when she comes back, or, if that doesn’t work, I will have to narrate her story. Hopefully, there’ll be some pictures too. What is a blog without pictures, right?

Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I love Niffenegger’s writing. Her characters do come alive in her stories. But this time her imagination went where I wasn’t able to follow. Maybe the expectations were too high after beloved previous book, The Time Traveler’s Wife, or maybe she just tried for the leap of imagination that was too strange for most to follow.

I can tell by other reviews that I’m not the only one who was left deeply disappointed by Her Fearful Symmetry. I can accept the ghosts playing marginal role in a story, but making a ghost the main character, or one of the main characters, was too much. As much as she made me accept the time-travel in her first book, the author repulsed me from this one with all the ghastly twists. For her writing, and because I really liked compulsive-obsessive Martin and his wife, I gave her two stars. For the idea, and for the ghosts, I’d give her zero.

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