motivation

When registering for runs/walks around the traps, you usually have to go somewhere to pick up your participants package, which usually includes your runners number, a chip if you are doing the half marathon or marathon and the essential t-shirt.

For the Scotia Bank run, we got a t-shirt and a bunch of brochures about other runs, a sample tube of sun block, hand and that was about it, which was kind of cool, I thought. The HBC Run For Canada runners pack was a real bonus: sample sun block, hand cream, chocolate almonds, a hat, gum, water flavour crystals, a toy for the kids, brochures about other runs AND the essential t-shirt; it was like Christmas. The best thing in the runners pack was a pedometer or step counter. Accompanying the step counter was a little card explaining the step counter and supplying a guide as to what the number of steps one records, means. Under 5000 steps, suggests you have lead a fairly sedentary life, 5000-7499 means you undertake a low level of activity, 7500-9999 means you are somewhat active, 10,000 means you lead an active lifestyle, and above 12,500 means you are highly active. The aim, the card suggests, is to lead an active lifestyle, thus taking at least 10,000 steps per day. There are even online walking clubs you can join for extra motivation, like this one launched in Brisbane and others, like this one. You could say that I have taken this little motivational challenge to heart. Actually, it is quite a handy little device, showing me how little activity I do when I have a slackers day in front of the computer.

Ideally, I like to get the sedentary status off the radar before lunch time, so anything after that is a bonus. It is funny how different activities use different steps, say I go to Curves and that is it, a curves work out is about 2,500 steps, so Curves alone is not enough. If I walk there as well, I might almost reach the 10,000 step mark, so on the weekend, when I can walk to Curves, I can reach the 10,000 before breakfast, and that feels fantastic.

On Monday, I was too tired to go to Curves (felt like shit actually), but I still had a list of jobs to do around the house. I was really surprised at the end of the day, to find that I had recorded over 11,000 steps, just by doing the housework.

Currently the step counter is a bit of an obsession, but it is a healthy one. I want to be active, who it helps to have something that tells me the truth about just how active or inactive I have been on any given day. A pedometer is a fairly simple device and reasonably inexpensive too. If you have a chance to get one, I would recommend it. I don't want to be sedentary - do you?

I walked all day...

I went for a walk today, with a friend and the kids. It was the PERFECT winter day in Canada, and I don't mean snow - I mean it had snowed in the mountains, but not where I was standing, and the sun was gleaming off the mountains exposing a panoramic sugar dusted picture-scape against blue sky - STUNNING.

The sun was out and the breeze must have been tucked up under a log somewhere I think, because on clear winter days like these, the wind-chill factor is normally enough to send anyone diving back under the bed clothes exclaiming - "let me know when it is spring".

We walked along the dike at Steveston in Richmond; old river houses, many of which had seen better days, creaked on water logged stilts, looking cramped, cold and uninviting. And yet, though in a largely dilapidated and abandoned looking state, surrounded by old logs, black and heavy, bobbing in the wake of a passing river barge, these old river houses had a beauty about them. I don't really know what it was, perhaps an energy that encapsulated and radiated a long and colourful history.

There were definitely a few stories in those dank walls and darkened windows, dull like dead eyes. In the windless air your could almost hear whisperings of the souls of departed tenants....houses seem to do that to me.

There was also something about the entire area'; the bare trees stretching for the seldom seen winter sun; a large letter box stuck high in a towering tree, acting as a makeshift bird house (I suspect); an abandoned train track leading to a modern day industrial building that had never in its life had a used for the old line; the lulling of the water lapping at the river bank. It was all so peaceful. I could have walked all day.

After that walk, we all went to a cafe, had coffee, and then went our separate ways.

The day was too lovely to spend indoors, so we took the dogs and walked around the block. My son rode his bike.

And to top it all off, the friend who I had walked with earlier, rang and urged me to go to my Nordic Walking group. I hadn't been since the flu and my slack old self was coming back to haunt. It is too easy for me to stay home. I feel so much better when I do venture out; so I was held accountable, and I am grateful for that.

The walking group was fantastic. I was dressed appropriately, unlike last time. I got so into it that I went into a zone. I could have run even (bit drastic).

I must have been a lot sicker last time than I thought, because I had none of the pinball kidney pain, like I experienced the last time and I could have walked longer. I am pumped for next week, and also for a repeat of today's weather.

Leave a light on for me

The other night at the Nordic Walking group, a woman said to me, "Lovely evening for a walk. Don't you think?"

It had snowed the week prior. The snow was still evident on the ground, although it had been well trodden - packed and icy. The air, though crisp, swirled with the scent of burning wood, which conjured up all sorts of warming imagery; like couples cuddling beside open fires, sipping mulled wine, or families playing board games, a raging fire in the background and hot chocolate carried in on a tray with a plate of cookies.

The night was clear enough to reveal a net of stars overhead, while night noises seemed to be more pronounced. Indeed, it seemed a perfect evening for a winter walk, so I agreed with much enthusiasm.

"I love looking into the houses", the woman announced, motioning to the house we were passing. The curtains were open wide; a soft yellow glow beckoning into a navy night.

At the time, I thought her comment a little off - voyeuristic and nosey...and why the hell don't these people close the drapes! So I kind of looked over at house to acknowledge the woman's statement and muttered "yeah", before attempting to change the subject. I noticed a chandelier. It was a well to-do neighbourhood, consisting of reasonably new houses that lined the streets like veneered teeth; perfect, proud, clean and well tended.

During the past week, I decided to go for an evening walk in my own neighbourhood. I was feeling a bit down, and just needed to get out of the house. There was no snow on the ground that night. In fact, it was quite pleasant to be out, and I only required a light jacket to ensure my comfort.

As I walked, I noticed many lights on in the houses I passed, and remembered what the woman had said.

The street over from my own is very nice and is considered affluent (why the disparity from one street to another around here, I will never know). The houses are all large with manicured gardens, that now loom in the evening shadows. Many of the houses appeared empty and seldom frequented (if you know what I mean), just as they do in the daytime; the windows closest the street were all dark, like soulless eyes.

One house I passed, had every light on throughout its lower level. I noticed a winding wooden staircase reaching into the obscurity of an unlit second floor. The walls of a freakishly large sitting room were painted eucalyptus green - not my favourite colour - too much in such a large space, and it looked a bit drab. A middle-aged man was working on his computer. His back was turned to the road, as was his computer monitor. He seemed to be the only one home.

A little further down the road I came to a gorgeous little house; one in which I had actually the fortune of entering. The owner once told me it had been a heritage home that was relocated into town a number of years ago. The owner and his wife had bought it, and renovated it themselves.
The house is painted in a lovely periwinkle blue with white trim. Shining polished wooden floors greet visitors, along with stain-glass windows and antique lace curtains. The space inside is intimate, warm and tastefully decorated. From the road it appears a tiny home, especailly when compared with its neighbouring gaints, but it is a deceiver. For once inside, you'll find that it actually contains three levels. A black steel staircase spirals from the corner of the dining room, opening up to a darling attic that harbours two of the sweetest little girls rooms one is ever likely to see. I just LOVE that house.

On the evening I went walking, the lace curtains were drawn, but through the curtains the family could be seen sharing a meal under soft golden hues. I imagined the happy banter of the family, sharing news about their day. It seemed such an idyllic scene.

Further down the road, I spotted a woman standing in a sitting room. The TV was on, but her back was facing it. She folded a white blanket in half, then lent down out of view. I imagined a child that had fallen asleep on the sofa, the mother leaning down to wrap her child in the blanket before carrying her slumbering bundle up to bed.

The scene drew me back to my own children. I had been desperate for a break, but it was supper time, and I would be absent from our table that evening. If I did not return soon, I would also miss tucking them in and receiving the last bear hug for the day. Bedtime is probably my favourite time of day with them. a time when they tell me all their thoughts and secrets, in an attempt to avoid the inevitable separation, and falling asleep. I knew it was time for me to head home.