Back on night-saving time

Past weekend they switched us back from daylight saving to the night time. Just as we got used to driving to work in the dark, now it's day again, until night catches up with us in a few weeks. I wish they'd stop doing it. Those time-changes make us all dizzy and screw up quite a few appointments. Every year it's getting more difficult to adjust. I wish I could declare my own personal time-shifting-free zone!

"Three Cups of Tea"

by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin

Maybe I can't read non-fiction any more, but I had to abandon this book not even half the way through. It just didn't entice me in any way. A failed hiker turned philanthropist, Mortenson vowed to build a school in a remote village in Pakistan's mountains. Then book goes into details about his bargaining for building materials, transport and haggling with the chiefs of local villages, all of whom were somehow connected with his failed mountaineering expedition. That's where I lost interest and have no intention to continue.

Back to reading "October" by Richard B. Wright, which I interrupted for "Three Cups of Tea". Wish I haven't done that.


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All Saints Day

It's a beautiful morning, crisp and sunny, but on the chilly side - made for easy 6k recovery run after yesterday's 17k.

After the cheerfulness of Halloween, the day after always seems even more somber than it should. Where I'm coming from it's called All Saints Day, and it's a holiday to remember relatives and friends who passed away. People dress their finest and go to the cemetery to light the candles on the graves of their loved ones. At night the area around cemetery flickers with thousands tiny multi colored candle-flames. As a kid I hated being dragged around the graves by the grownups, where I had to talk really softly, almost in whispers, where I couldn't chase other kids nor play hide and seek although the place seemed made for it. Then, many years later I'd go for a drive in the evening on this day and stop at a spot with a clear view of the cemetery and soak in the shimmering of the candles like thousands of dying stars fallen on the ground.

Canadians don't observe All Saints day. Many years ago Meg and I went looking for a catholic cemetery with candles and found none in this great city of Toronto. Here, the dead were left to die a second death in the memory of the living. Over the graveyards the night had fallen thick and impenetrable. There is nothing else to do but light a couple of candles and put them on the window at home. Usually, a prayer is sent to those the candles burn for, but I never learned how to pray and don't believe I can reach someone beyond the grave. Still, my thoughts go to grandma, wishing that I could believe in sending her my love years after she's gone.

It wasn't all dead talk today. New York City held it's annual marathon, one of the greatest running festivals in the world. I scored an interview with a man who finished the marathon and agreed to talk about it for my podcast. It's so exciting getting feedback from listeners and interviewing some of them. This little hobby of mine is gaining popularity.


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Halloween

Every Halloween we go into hiding. Pathetic, I know, but hordes of little ghosts, goblins, zombies and whatever scary creature is en vogue that year descend on our house expecting sweets and treats. So we run away. One year cinema, the other a bar. Today it was quite an elaborate plan: first IKEA, then a dinner with friends.

In IKEA we paid the price for hiding from the kids: a coffee table. Goes nice with the new sofa in the "reading room".

It's funny how people can't wait to dress in costumes: at the dinner we were served by a bee, her wire yellow wings slightly bent (she must have forgotten herself and leaned against the wall). At the table next to ours a zombie-girl was eating pasta with a knife stuck through her head. Outside, a band of fairies in very short skirts sang and danced, watched by a dark angel in netted stockings with black wings and a halo. Wherever we turned, masked creatures sang and shuffled around.

So, even though we ran away from trick-or-treaters, we couldn't avoid Halloween. And we quite enjoyed it.


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Swine flew

I know, I know, a flurry of blog entries after a month of silence. I guess it's just the novelty of this new app. Or, maybe I have so many things to say.

A healthy teenage hockey player from our town died of swine flu, creatively named H1N1, and then nick-named "hiney" phonetically. We got 3 flyers in the mail teaching us how to wash hands, sneeze and cough into the arm-sleeve and what symptoms to look for to recognize the disease. The vaccine is available, but the lineups are so huge that it takes 6 hours on average to get the shot. That's 6 hours exposure to all kind of panicked and potentially sick people. Not sure this whole epidemic is being handled as it should.

Since neither me nor Meg have 6 hours to waste on waiting in the cold to be pricked, we'll hope that our family doctor will get the vaccine before we catch the disease. And before the swine flew.


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Life's tiny blows

I wish life would stop withe the blows, even if only for a short while, so we can catch a breath. Just as I narrowly escaped being out of work, Meg's workplace played a cruel joke on her. Instead of giving her promotion they promised, for which she worked her bony ass off, they demoted her colleague to be on the same level as Meg. As a sour bonus, Meg's friendly manager is being replaced by a woman who bears natural dislike for Meg's department. It really hurts to watch Meg's eyes filling up with tears like two dark mountain lakes. The whole evening she is swallowing this betrayal and I'm afraid the dam will burst at any moment. I wish I could say everythin's going to be OK. I wish SOME things would start turning OK. We're both exhausted and need a break.


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Sleeping on a guillotine

This month the company I'm working for sought bankruptcy protection. We were gathered like schoolchildren in the cafeteria and promised in the language fitting for pre-schoolers that nothing will change in our lives. The paycheck will keep coming, the benefits will be paid, because we are too valuable to be terminated. I mean the company.

Then yesterday, all news outlets in the town broadcasted the news that the company is about to close today. And, again, reassurances from our executives, sounding like parents who are reluctantly sending their children away: mommy and daddy loves you so much, we'll never stop loving you.

Last night sleep felt like sleeping on a guillotine. This morning the atmosphere at work is nervous. Panic bubbles right beneath the surface. Everybody talks a bit louder than usually, laughs a bit more insincerely and goes to the washroom more often. But, the blade didn't fall. It's past noon and we are still around. The news from the court is that the doom is postponed. We'll all go home tonight and put our pillows under the guillotine, hoping its hanging blade will stay where it is - suspended in the air, indefinitely.

iPhone blogging

I have been busy with my new podcast about running and completely neglected the blog. Not that anybody missed it, or if they did, they suffered in silence. Right now I'm typing this on a new iPhone app for blogging and, if it works as it should, I'll have one excuse less for not blogging on. So, let the bloggathon continue!


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After Toronto Half

I enter through the backyard and pull the door closed behind. It's quiet in the kitchen/dinning area. Maggie is crouched over her book in the living room at the opposite side of the house. I can neither see, nor hear her from where I stand, but I know she's there. My breathing is the only sound in the house.
Quietly, as if not to break the eerie silence, I take off my hat and shoes, peel the iPod off my arm and tiptoe toward the stairs. It all seem so anti-climatic. Last week I was bursting with energy, analysing every run and calculating the pace I should hold at the race. I was pacing around the kitchen, mixing energy drinks and chattering excitedly with Maggie. Now, the race is over and the weather turned colder as if Mother Nature only waited for the race to finish before she turned off the heat and switched on the Fall.
The race was fun - a half-marathon along the lake on a slightly humid day. I felt great despite the sleepless night before and ran my personal best, winning the media challenge along the way. I suppose I'm officially the fastest running member of the media in Toronto. That may come in handy if anybody ever gives me a chase.
The route was flat, which was good, and boring, which wasn't. Luckily, there were some weird runners to break the monotony of the course. Somewhere half the way through the run, I came upon an older man with very short and fast stride. I remember thinking how he can't possibly keep the high pace with such a running style. As I was passing, he sped up and stayed just a step ahead. I tried to pull next to him, but each time he added a bit more speed to his funny gait. He looked like that funny roadrunner bird. After a while both of us were going way too fast, wasting energy, so I slowed down a notch. He must have felt me falling back, because he did too, as on a cue. I was getting annoyed when we came upon the turn where at the 12th kilometer the course makes a u-turn and goes back to the downtown. The old timer took slightly wider turn and I sneaked passed him on the inner side, triumphant. However, he just stopped then, slowed to walk and fell way back. It seemed that he lost the competitiveness, or maybe he just wanted to stay ahead until the turn. Either way I foolishly wasted some precious energy chasing him around.
As usual, the last 4 kms were a struggle, but I managed to keep the pace and even add some sort of acceleration in the last 500 meters. People cheering on were great help in those last moments of the race. I finished 84th overall, out of 8000 runners.

In the shower, I re-live those moments again. I can't help but feel deflated, without a goal to run toward the whole long winter. Still, I enjoy those solitary runs, now without the push. I just let my legs carry me, while an audio book play in my ears. Then, in April, I will realize every runner's dream when I lace up at the famous Boston marathon.

Hospital

Maggie is in a green sleeping gown open at the back. She wears some kind of washed out white robe with tiny faded blue flowers over it. She sits in the chair next to me, but she is restless. Every time a door opens her head jerks. When no one calls her name, she keeps fidgeting for a while. As soon as she finally settles in the comfortable position, the door opens again.
I ask how is she doing - an unnecessary question, for every atom of her body exhibits nervous anticipation. She manages a smile. Fine, she says. Unconvincing.
A minute later she nudges her head against my chest. Her eyes are huge.
I'm scared, she says. I smile, hoping it looks encouraging.
Don't worry it's going to be OK, I say. Such a cliche! My brain is not capable of anything better. What would I give to be able to swap places with her, to be the one in the open surgical hospital gown, wide-eyed with fear. She looks so small and fragile. I feel big and useless, incapable to protect her.
The door opens again, the head jerks again. This time with the reason - it's her name the nurse calls. Maggie shuffles in, I follow. The nurse gives us a rundown of the procedure and takes Maggie into surgery. I go back to the waiting room, where other husbands try to kill time until wives awake from anesthesia. The air is thick with worry.
I try to read a book, but my mind is with Maggie. I stare at the same page for over an hour, until the nurse taps me on the shoulder. She's awake, the nurse says.
Maggie is on a wheeled bed in a room which looks like a giant parking lot for wheeled beds. It is divided by green curtains into many tiny partitions. In each there's place for a bed, a chair and not much else.
I squeeze into Maggie's partition. Her eyes are partly open, she tries a smile. Her lips are dessicated, her face a few shades lighter green than her gown. There's an IV in the back of her hand. Even in this minute space she looks tiny. So small, I wish I can scoop her into my arms and carry her home.
Slowly, her speech becomes less slurred, her responses are quicker. The nurse gives her OK to change. There is a bloody bed-sheet, quickly taken away. Last quick instructions recited by the nurse, obviously repeated so many times it sounds impersonal, almost robotic. We nod. Maggie pays attention, I just wish she'd never need to go through this again. Strange how you need to get hurt to get better.
The nurse rolls Maggie out in a wheelchair while I get the car. The moment we left the hospital parking, Maggie comes alive. She is thirsty, she says. And ravenous, she adds. Let's go somewhere to eat.
Maybe it'll all be good, after all. I do my best to expunge the bloody sheet from memory and manage a smile. A real smile. Yeah, let's go to eat and let's go home!