emo racer

At one point during my run yesterday, I almost cried.

I had just finished the 10km loop track through the forest, complete with hills and tree roots and long stretches of sand. It's a pretty technical trail at some points and can be slow going at times.

I had started off again in search of the 4km marker. I was determined to run 18km. And a few kilometres into my second stretch I just suddenly thought, man. This is what I'm doing. This is my body, running. This is my body which used to be so out of shape. A body which never exercised, which was overweight and unhealthy, which felt the strain of just walking a few blocks. And I am running. I am flying through a forest and I am sweating and I am puffing and I am in pain and I am exhilarated and my back is dripping and my face is hot and there is music in my ears and I am doing this.

I have a feeling this is something I'm going to keep coming back to every time I increase my distance, every time I run a race, every time I push my boundaries.

I mean, given where I've come from? I honestly believe sometimes, as I'm running, as I'm running - something I dismissed a long time ago as an activity I would never consider attempting - that I can do anything.

It's similar to the feeling I had when I first started dancing. When I first learnt enough moves that I could dance an entire song with a partner; I could allow him to lead me around the dance floor, and I could follow, and this goofy grin would break out onto my face because I was dancing. Me! Me!

But 18km wasn't enough. I ran another 10km this morning which brings the weekend's total to 28km. I am astounded sometimes at where I am now. At where I am, given where I used to be.

The reality of what I'm doing keeps hitting me with every new goal that I achieve. And I am overwhelmed.

banishing the grinch

How am I kicking off another year of being alive?

For two nights in a row my girlish tendencies were allowed to flourish; Saturday night I had plans for dinner with wonderful old friends, and Sunday found me on a double non-date with someone I'm not actually interested in romantically. Both nights I departed the house in a flurry of activity, leaving a pile of tried-and-failed dresses on the floor in my wake, makeup still fresh and perfume trailing its scent behind me.

I relish evenings like that. They were a good end to 25; a year which brought more heartache and crushed dreams and closed chapters than I would have liked, than I could almost deal with. But 25 didn't break me completely and I am beginning to live again.

26 started with slothfulness, but only in the early hours of the morning. Midnight saw me quietly ushering in my birthday by watching old episodes of One Tree Hill online, in my absent flatmate's bed. I still don't have a room after returning from my working holiday of fail, but that is okay. A solution is pending, maybe, perhaps, possibly.

Defying the late night, come 10am I was pulling on my Mizunos and a few minutes later I was running energetically through my favourite forest. I took it gently, gently, not pushing myself too much, being kind to my body and just taking some time out to enjoy the scenery. I'm gearing up for another week of running followed by a 15km attempt this Saturday which is going to take all the strength and determination I possess, and then some. This half-marathon training is really calling on stores of energy and motivation that I didn't know existed within me.

After cooling down and showering I was straight back out the door for my next task. I downed some water, I gathered my thoughts, I filled out some forms, I answered probing questions, I had my finger stabbed. And suddenly I found myself in a familiar old chair, a pressure cuff around my arm and a squishy red ball in my hand, a nurse poking at my veins and frowning at their evasiveness. But we pushed through together and my body complied just enough to deliver another 488mls of blood into their care.

Though it's not the only day I donate blood, it has become my birthday thing.

The rest of the afternoon has been quiet but productive so far. If you consider purchasing large quantities of t-shirts online to be a productive thing. But there were also more important achievements amidst all the consumerism! Such as filling out an application to study, an application for a student loan, and scheduling a School of Engineering tour for tomorrow morning.

Yes. I am contemplating study. I joke about how I don't think I can stand the thought of becoming a student again, especially at 26, but it only requires a year to be qualified for an entry level position, and besides, after the disaster that was my last year I figure that I can handle almost anything these days.

My obligations for the afternoon have been tended to, so all that's left is fun. I never plan celebrations or events; I typically like to let the day slide by as unobtrusively as possible. I'll spend some quality time in the kitchen to create a culinary masterpiece (or rather, meat and three veg meal) for my flatmates for dinner, and in the evening I'll be found at Ceroc to dance the rest of the night away.

I imagine a well-deserved beer will be on the cards when I get home.

Not too bad a day for a birthday grinch, huh?

in the orange glow

There was a moment this weekend. I was a back seat passenger in a car driving down the open road. My sunglasses on, head resting against the back of the seat. We were heading towards the low evening sun and everything was cast in a bright orange glow. There was conversation punctuated by laughter, there were arms resting casually on doorframes, music on the radio, trees passing by out the window, the sound of tires on tarseal. With everything lit up orange, the world instantly felt serene and perfect.

Right then, life was exactly what it was meant to be. I could have lived in that moment forever.

-

So, I came back to New Zealand when being in Canada stopped making sense.

It was a hard decision, and it was a hard transition.

It is a hard transition.

But after being back for two weeks now - though I am homeless and carless and jobless - I am absolutely certain that this is the place for me right now.

It helps, being surrounded by a plethora of amazing people. I've ended up with plans every single night since being back, which is welcome relief after five months of near silence.

At first, yeah, I felt like a failure. Big time. I felt weak for not having the courage to stick it out, for not being able to make it work. I thought I could have tried harder, I could have put in more effort, I could have endured it for longer.

But now I can see I made the right decision at every juncture. Moving there - I had to see about possibilities; deciding to stay for that one extra month - I needed time to acclimatise to either outcome; and finally deciding to come home, leaving behind the life I'd been slowly moving towards for the last three years.

I joke about my Working Holiday of Fail, but actually, I'm coming to terms. On paper my life looks laughable right now, but I feel alive again. I am full of warmth. I am mostly happy and healthy; my mind is no longer the dark and scary place it frequently was over in Canada.

-

Now I just have to figure out how I want the rest of my days to look.

Maybe I'll start by baking another loaf of beer bread.

balancing the scales

Another update of goodness?

Sure.

Let me at least try to average out these posts. So far I'm at a 4:1 ratio for unhappiness. I've got a fair way to go to level the field.

After some rummaging around, I have found more images of life in Canada. Here.


Fruit platters. Yes, they get a mention. They are amazing. The grocery stores here really are all about convenience, and I have occasionally succumbed. This was my favourite purchase ever:



Aggressive storm clouds with chilly temperatures announced the arrival of fall:



Don't hate me, but I think North America has really got the market on celebrating the seasons. Fall is all about orange, about pumpkins and costumes and leaves and corn mazes and hay rides and apple cider. It is an exciting time of year, in contrast to autumn in New Zealand which is greeted with hesitation; it means a long winter with nothing to look forward to is on its way. It's so different here, the way the seasons are embraced:













I have been informed (and it has been demonstrated more than once) that I am cheek-pinchingly cute. I was not entirely impressed:



We visited the closed gates of a magical, fairy tale, story book garden and had fun anyway:





I met a chipmunk that was cuter than anything I'd seen to date:



And who knew that a place with "Bog" in its name could be so beautiful?



There was an attempt to convince me that there would come a time when I would enjoy life again:



I chased Canadian Geese which amounted to, well, nothing:

I baked cupcakes which were met with rave reviews:



This blue shame was endured...



...to provide access to this:





Niagara Falls was stunning, breath taking, mesmerising:







Look, a genuine laugh! Proof that I am still alive:



Clifton Hill in Niagara Falls was certainly an experience. Lights and sounds and smells everywhere. There was a visit to a haunted house where I screamed like a little girl, many many times.



Overall, the falls and surrounding attractions were a success. As you can see:



A picnic in the bitterly cold wind filled us up the next day...



...and gave us strength to create masterpieces later that evening. It was my first time and I was nervous, I was shy, I was scared of making a mistake...



...but after the first incision, I stopped worrying and really got stuck into it:



And finally! Michael's on the left (o_O) and mine on the right (grr).



Again, these are reminders that I am having a very little bit of fun here amidst all the not-fun.

But, it's just not enough.

the smiles amid the fails

It occurs to me (well, it's blatantly obvious really) that I haven't taken the opportunity to write about the positive.

Don't be surprised. There are - and have been - a few good things amongst the Cloud of Fail that has been my life over the last third of a year. Yes, it's been that long. No, I can't believe I'm still sticking it out. Yes, I have more determination than I thought possible, considering that I first wanted to fold my hand after week one.

I have to look back and consult some photos to properly remember the good. Bear with me and you may see some smiles.

Michael and I took a trip to London (but not the real one) a few months ago. I was introduced to the terror of batting cages:



At one stage on our journey I declared that I was craving an oatmeal and raisin cookie from Subway, and I demanded to know what he was going to do about it. Ten minutes later he took an exit off the highway. I looked at him, confused, until I saw a sign for Subway. I had long since forgotten my desperate need, but he hadn't. Sweet:



We stopped at an old fashioned diner in the middle of nowhere for milkshakes and hot dogs:



It had a second-hand-junk store attached:




Another weekend we got caught in a torrential downpour on our way back into Sarnia. The streets were flooded and groups of children leapt around on the sidewalks, dressed in their swimsuits and begging cars to speed through puddles to soak them. We did. Fun:




The summer storms were incredible; rolling in suddenly and drowning the landscape before quickly moving away again. That same weekend I accepted a dare to jump out of the car and run to a power pole a few metres away:




I saw the Counting Crows in concert (not that you can identify them), and there was a rib festival with messy results:





We had beer and important conversations at our favourite hotel:





We found a deserted spot of beach to call our own and visited it a few times near the end of summer:





We almost got struck by lightning in one particularly epic storm. We'd jumped out of the car in a parking lot to run around in the torrential rain and whipping wind, thinking the heart of the storm was still a safe distance away. Then a fork of lightning struck a lamp post in the corner of the parking lot where the car was. Sparks flew, the crack was deafening, and one or both of us swore as we ran for cover.



We celebrated our survival of the near death experience with pizza (some more than others):



I tried to befriend a toad that wanted nothing to do with me:



We raided a vending machine and started working our way through the first season of Veronica Mars:




There was a camping trip in a tiny tent:



Marshmallows and AMAZING pizza concotions over a bonfire:




More junk stores, a beach at sunset, and campground visitors:






Michael has given me an excuse to exercise my dormant culinary skills. And when I say 'excuse', it's actually just that he's demanding proof of my long-standing claims that I can cook:



These are just a few of the moments that have kept me sane throughout the months. Without them, I wouldn't have made it. I have been living for the weekends, and I'll continue to do so until something breaks, one way or the other.

The weekends are what I'm really here for. There are more to come, and more stories to be told. Fall is an exciting time of year over here, after all:




I'll get there.