I learned trigonometry in high school (OK, barely) and dissected a (bulbous, slightly glazed over, am still slightly traumatized) frog's eye.  I learned how to make quiche in Grade 10 Foods class and I know how to tell you in French that your car has run over my foot. But no one ever taught me basic law, economics, or common sense.  I think a third period class on how to whip up a killer spreadsheet and how to gently manhandle an overly demanding boss would have been so much more relevant than say...obscure chemistry or pottery class.  But there's no school of common sense, nor any shortcuts on the road to the most spe... [More]

My butt and my thighs have been burning and aching since Friday of last week.  I have to lower myself into my desk chair with my hands first, exhaling as I do so, and brace myself for impact.  Even though the impact will be slow and measured and painstakingly cautious, it will inevitably hurt my butt. One thing about concentrated, cross-functional training is that one area of my body is perpetually sore.  Sometimes it's my shoulders, often it's my legs, sometimes, if we do a lot of lunges, it's my butt.  I stretch a little bit before every workout, but i probably should be doing a bit more.  But I'm doubtful that eve... [More]

My flight left the airport at a little after 2:30 Pacific time, and I didn't land in the taxi-strewn, pulsating, outrageously interesting streets of Manhattan until close to midnight Eastern.  I was starving and bleary, and my hotel room smelled like cigarette smoke and illicit sex and I put my luggage gingerly on the desk and went back down to the lobby, glancing at the clock in the tired lobby.  Well, it was only 9 in Vancouver.  I could still have dinner. I asked the Concierge if there was a restaurant nearby where I might get a salad and he looked at me dubiously and said there was a 24-hour-deli across the street.  ... [More]

I stood in the tiny office of the local rec centre shivering, clad in a sports bra and yoga pants as a tiny kinesiology student prodded at my fat with giant white calipers.  "You're in good shape,"she said,"Way better shape than anyone else I've tested recently." She pulled out a wad of flesh close to my hip and pinched, and I watched as her pencil flitted over a piece of paper on the desk, recording studiously. "Yeah?" I asked, surprised. "Yeah,"she responded,"We get a lot of seniors here." "Oh." I knew I was in decent shape, and I also knew I had a lot of work to do.  I'd been running consistently 4-6 days a week, anywhere fr... [More]

Early last year I discovered the forest trails around my home: muddy, steep terrain filled with ferns and silence.  I'd crank up Queens of the Stone Age, double tie my laces, and set off for a gruelling one hour run over knarled roots and through pelting rain.  Staggering through the evergreens with rain clinging to my hair and mud spattered all over my t-shirt made me feel super badass.  Afterward, my body felt spent: deliciously smug in its accomplishment, and hungry for fuel.  I'd often stop at my Mom's house and nosh endlessly: spaghetti sauce with garlic bread and cheese, lemon cake with icing for dessert.  I'd ... [More]