Post-Christmas running update

Out for a pre-Christmas run

I did it! I survived another Christmas. The past month was a whirlwind because I was busy with work, holiday preparations, knitting projects, and of course various social commitments. When Christmas finally arrived, I came down with a cold (as usual) and had to spend the next few days recovering enough to go back to work yesterday. (Is it any wonder I dread the season?)

On the upside, we had lots of great running weather in December. Don't get me wrong, there were some cold, rainy, windy days to be sure. But there were also plenty of days like this:

And this:

And this:

The high point was a spectacular run with my buddy Dave along the trails at Gaff Point. I'd never been there before and, though we had to navigate a long stretch of stony beach to reach the trail and I twisted my ankle on the way back, it was totally worth it.

The trail was challenging and fun, the weather was fantastic and the company was second to none.  I look forward to running there again next spring - hopefully when the tide's out far enough to travel over sand from Hirtle's Beach to the point.

I hoped to run every day over the Christmas long weekend but, because I was sick, only managed to get out three times - well, two really. Husband and I did a relaxed 5k Christmas morning and I tackled a slow 17k on Boxing Day. On Monday, we attempted another 5k but turned towards home after 2k because I felt too sick to run any further in the nasty, cold wind.

Looking ahead to the New Year, I'd like to do more running and writing than I did in 2015. How much will depend on how life unfolds. Husband and I are still hoping to sell our two houses so we can consolidate to living in one full-time - preferably in the country but nearer the city. Needless to say, if that plan comes together, we'll be busy with real estate transactions in 2016.

Whatever happens, I'm determined to be philosophical about running outside this winter. After all, I've trained for marathons in plenty of cold, tough conditions - here in Nova Scotia and in Ottawa - so there's no reason to think I can't do it again. All I need is the right goal, the right gear and - most importantly - the right attitude.

I haven't settled on which races I'll do yet. Any suggestions? I'm thinking maybe Calgary in the spring and PEI in the fall - or Fredericton in the spring and Okanagan in the fall. Whichever races I select, I want to focus on training well and enjoying the journey. Running has brought me so much joy and fitness in the past 13 years. I'm determined to keep at it so that hopefully I'll be as healthy and strong as Maia when I'm 95.

Happy running and writing friends!

Running lessons: Running "naked" may be a good thing

It's been a good couple of weeks.

Last weekend, I did a run on Saturday morning with my buddy, David. It was pouring rain when we met up near the Blockhouse post office to head down the trail towards Mahone Bay but temperatures were mild and we hadn't seen one another since his daughter was born four months ago so there was no way we were going to let a little rain stop us. We covered 10 kms in a little over an hour, talking non-stop in an effort to catch up on one another's news. Our lives are so busy it's hard to find time to run together these days but, my goodness, I enjoy it when we do.  David's terrific company and we've known one another nearly 15 years now so it's comfortable hanging out together. We're hoping to squeeze in a 7k trail run out near Hirtle's Beach before Christmas but a lot will depend on what kind of weather we get in the next few weeks.

On Sunday, the weather improved enough that I was able to take Patti out for one more spin before putting her away for the winter. I didn't go far - just down to Peace Park, where I was hoping to take a few nature photos. My friend Renee has been encouraging me to work harder on my technique by shooting in manual mode. As it turned out, I wasn't happy with any of the nature photos I took, but quite like the portrait I snapped of Patti before leaving the park. Be sure to check out the link above to see samples of Renee's work. I think she's wonderfully talented so really appreciate her coaching.

I only managed one run during the week because I was super busy at work and we had a fair bit of nasty weather, but it was a solid 6k, followed by 5 or 6 strides, which felt really good. I can finally sense my muscles getting "juicy" - as if my training is starting to pay off.

This weekend's runs were terrific too. I headed out on my own yesterday morning and did an easy 13k run to the Cookville Bridge and back. The weather was a bit dreary but temperatures were mild and my legs felt reasonably good - despite a long week at the office. High points included getting beeped at by Santa Claus (maybe because I looked like an elf in my matching green jacket and running cap?), spotting an impressively large eagle in the tree near the bridge and discovering a couple of old wrecked cars just off the trail. I can't believe I hadn't noticed the cars before given that I've run past them hundreds of times in the past five years. I suppose, the underbrush hides them for much of the year but still... It's interesting to think about how they ended up there. From their position, it looks as if they were left to rust away after an accident but it's odd they weren't hauled out and sold for scrap at some point.

Our old friends, Gail and Marcus, came up from the valley for a visit last night. Since we stayed up late talking, Husband and I were slow getting out the door for our planned 8k run today. I was worried I might be too pooped to enjoy another run so soon but, as it turned out, I felt fine. In fact, I had to keep reminding myself to slow down. By the time we started the run, temperatures had dipped to 2C and I was wishing we'd started earlier - until we reached our turnaround point, that is. The setting sun was largely hidden from view but its light created a wonderful "cotton candy" effect that made the return journey especially lovely.

I can't say how fast my runs were this week because I'm running "naked" these days - by which I mean "without my Garmin". It's an old 305 I stopped wearing a few months ago when the battery started acting up. I keep thinking I should replace it but, for the moment, I'm enjoying the freedom of being without it. On shorter runs, I push myself to run a pace that feels "comfortably hard". On weekends, it's all about running slowly enough to feel good at the end. Listening to my body - instead of watching the clock - seems to be paying off. I can definitely sense that I'm getting stronger and faster, and I felt something very like a runner's high a few times lately. Here's hoping the progress continues. Maybe running naked is what I needed to get back in the groove. It would be nice to start marathon training from a solid base in the new year.

Hope you're enjoying the fall running season too!

Just for fun, here's a photo I took of Nemmie "Black Friday" night...you know, because every blog needs some cat photos. lol!

Painfully Personal Post #1: Why everyone should see a good therapist now and again

Last fall, I wrote that I wanted to start writing some "painfully personal posts". I admire bloggers who do it but I've never had much stomach for writing stuff that makes me feel vulnerable. However, after an excellent session with my therapist this week, I decided it was time to revisit a post I started back then and see if I could work up the nerve to hit "publish". Here goes.

I see a psychologist every month or two. It's not a big secret but it's not something I talk much about either because - you know - people might think I'm "crazy" or "emotionally unstable" or something. In fact, the opposite is true - that is, I'm saner and more emotionally stable when I've got someone to talk with about things that are worrying me.

Not all therapists are created equal, of course, but the best ones offer a safe place to test your perceptions of yourself and others and strategize about how best to deal with life's challenges. They also provide objective perspectives you can't get from friends and family and put your issues in the broader social, cultural and behavioural context so that (a) you feel less weird about having issues and (b) you learn from others' experiences.

The first time I sought counselling was during my freshman year at university 30+ years ago, when I felt overwhelmed by the realization that the world was a truly awful place that was going to be much more difficult to change than I thought. It sounds ridiculous now but that was honestly what was distressing me at the time - the fact that I couldn't fix the whole world.  Fortunately, my counselor was a very wise woman who recognized my desire to bring about positive change was sincere, and helped me develop an appropriate Plan B, which was to focus on contributing in more modest ways to advancing causes I cared about.

The next time I went looking for help was soon after I began practicing law. Like many lawyers, I was disheartened by the cutthroat realities of private practice - even in a relatively small firm. To be frank, the psychologist I saw that time didn't impress me much but she did offer some practical advice that helped me make some difficult professional choices - choices I've never regretted - and I'll always be grateful for that.

The last time I was referred to a psychologist was a few years ago when suffering from insomnia and struggling with assorted personal relationships, I found myself at risk of sinking into clinical depression. During the darkest part of that period, I found it nearly impossible to drag myself out of bed some days, there was no joy in my life, and (occasionally) I even considered suicide. Depression's a tough thing to talk about - especially when you're acutely conscious (as I was) that your life is so much better than the lives of most people on our little blue planet. How could I be depressed? How could I feel so hopeless, helpless?

Once again, I was fortunate to find the help I needed - therapists who not only commiserated (because we all need sympathy from time to time) but, more importantly, helped me sort out what I could do about the things that were troubling me. Their goal and mine wasn't just to figure out why I was confused and hurting but to get me on the road to recovery as soon as possible. Together, we re-framed my situation in more hopeful terms, developed action plans that enabled me to regain control of my life, and celebrated each step out of and away from the abyss into which I'd fallen.

Clearly, therapy has helped get me through some tough times but why do I think everyone could benefit from having a good therapist?  Because, in my view, we live in a pretty screwed up culture - one that encourages people to believe things about themselves and others that are downright destructive. The beliefs serve advertisers and others who with an interest in modifying/manipulating our behaviour, but do little to help us find peace and contentment.

For example, there are far too many of us working to make money to pay for toys we never have time to use with friends we rarely see. Worse, we're told we're unambitious if we don't aspire to have a bigger house, a more expensive car, a higher paying job, the perfect look, etc. And the flipside is that we place very little value on time to just be, or on being compassionate with ourselves and others.

I can't know for sure I'll never fall into a dark place again but having more tools gives me confidence I'll be able to cope if I do. In the meantime, occasional sessions with my psychologist (incidentally, one of the coolest women I know) help me deal with routine challenges before they balloon into something more serous.

Having trouble thinking through a problem? Need to talk with someone objective? Looking for ideas for dealing with a challenge in your personal or professional life?  My advice is to book an appointment with a good therapist and see what the two of you can figure out together.  Oh, and go for a run. Running's good therapy for whatever ails your head and heart.

Okay, so it turns out that wasn't so hard. Look for another painfully personal post soon.   :-)

Scotland: Part 2 - In search of my roots

After a wonderful five days in Ballachulish, our next destination was Kinloch Rannoch - a tiny village nestled against mountains on the shores of Loch Rannoch. I'd included it in our itinerary because I wanted to visit the place my great great great great grandfather, Donald McIntosh, lived before he emigrated to Canada.

As it turned out, the village wasn't an easy place to reach. It's only about 20km from Glencoe as the crow flies but there's no road connecting the two directly so we had to drive 150kms around the moor and approach it from the east. Given that the roads were so narrow and winding - particularly for the last 40kms or so, the trip took several hours!  Fortunately, it was another perfect day and the scenery was gorgeous so we enjoyed the journey.



Serendipitously, our route took us past Castle Menzies, the ancestral home of the Menzies Clan, to which a dear friend belongs, so we stopped long enough to take a few photos for her before making our way to Kinloch Rannoch.



We don't know much about Donald McIntosh, other than that he settled in New Annan, Nova Scotia, around 1825 and beget a large family of McIntoshes (now known as MacIntoshes), who still call that part of the world "home". We didn't intend to do any serious geneological research while we were in Kinloch Rannoch - just wander around the village imagining what it might have been like in the early 1820s before Donald left for Canada.





It was another mild, sunny day so we ate our picnic lunch sitting on a bench in the village square. After lunch, we wandered across the river and happened on a fairly large graveyard, where we searched the headstones for some evidence that McIntoshes had lived in the area. At first, it seemed our efforts would be in vain since we couldn't find any grave markers with that name but, as I circled around the chapel to check the older stones in the far corner of graveyard, I spotted a small marker that read simply:

In memory of Donald McIntosh who died the 7th of June 1854 aged 54 years.

As far as we know, "our" Donald never returned to Scotland so it seems unlikely the stone marks his grave. On the other hand, how likely is it there were two Donald McIntoshes of about the same age living in the Kinloch Rannoch at the same time - particularly, given there are no other McIntosh stones? The position of the marker too - tucked away in a corner - made me I wonder if someone who remained behind when my ancestor left for Canada erected the stone in his memory when he died.



We noticed other stones commemorating people who'd died overseas so it's a plausible explanation but I don't suppose we'll ever know for sure. Still, it's nice to think that three decades after he emigrated Donald may have been remembered fondly by someone in Kinloch Rannoch.

Once we'd had our fill of Kinloch Rannoch, we climbed back in the car and headed up the road to Rannoch Station, where we intended to spend the night at the Moor of Rannoch Hotel. The hotel was a bit of a splurge for us since we were travelling on a budget, but I'd read marvelous things about it and we thought we ought to have one night in a romantic inn given that we'd made the trip to Scotland to mark our 25th wedding anniversary.



We weren't disappointed. Though the road to from Kinloch Rannoch to Rannoch Station was single track and somewhat nerve-wracking at times, the Hotel made the journey totally worthwhile. It's operated by a wonderful young couple, Scott and Steph, who obviously know a thing or two about hospitality. Everything was perfect - from the comfortable decor in the common rooms and Steph's delicious meals, to the roaring fires, cheese and whisky hour (with whisky appreciation lessons by Scott) before bedtime, the resident deer herd, and a perfectly appointed room, complete with an antique tub for two! And did I mention there was no radio, TV, or Wifi?  Heaven for someone who appreciates peace and tranquility as much as we do!







Though we arrived too late in the day for a proper hike on the moor, we still had time for a short meander to Loch Laidon, where we spent a  pleasant hour relaxing on the beach, drinking in views before returning to the Hotel to sample a couple of local brews before supper.





If and when we return to Scotland, Rannoch Station will certainly be on our itinerary once again, though of course we'll plan to stay longer. There's something magical about the moor, and the Hotel would be a wonderful base from which to explore it.



For more photos from our time in Kinloch Rannoch and Rannoch Station, follow this link to my Flickr album.

Scotland: Part 1 - My heart's in the Highlands

We arrived in Glasgow early Saturday morning after a comfortable overnight flight from Halifax and picked up our car at the airport. Our plan was to take all day to reach our first port of call, North Ballachulish, just a few kilometres from the Village of Glencoe.

En route, we stopped for a couple of hours in Luss, a picturesque village perched on the shores of Loch Lomond. After enjoying a delicious breakfast at the Village Rest, we took a short walk along the river that meandered around and through the village and stopped to observe folks prepping for a wedding in a local church. So far, so good. We were in high spirits as we climbed back into the car to head north.





The next few hours were a good deal less relaxing as we negotiated the narrow winding roads along Loch Lomond and the Moor of Rannoch. Given that the roads were so narrow, the stone walls so unforgiving, and the buses and lorries so threatening, I was grateful we'd rented a tiny car. I'm sure my blood pressure was a few points higher by the time Glen Coe came into view.  Fortunately, the scenery made the journey totally worthwhile.



From the moment we arrived, I was bewitched by the Glen, It's hard to put into words but I immediately sensed the spirit of the place - as if every drop of MacDonald and MacIntosh blood flowing through my veins responded to ancient music playing just beyond my hearing. In some primordial way, I was home.





Our studio in North Ballachulish was a wonderful base for the next five days - not least because the views were terrific, our rooms were clean and comfortable, and our hosts (both of whom were musicians) invited us to join them for a couple of traditional music jams at local pubs.



We were blessed with excellent weather for much of our time in Glen Coe. Plenty of sunshine and mild temperatures made spending time outdoors a joy.

Our first full day day, we visited the Glencoe Massacre Monument before exploring the trails around Glencoe Lochan in the morning and Glen Righ in the afternoon. Unfortunately, we got a bit disoriented on the trails at Glen Righ so ended up walking 4 or 5 kilometres farther than we intended but it was no great hardship. We had plenty of time and the views were gorgeous. Needless to say we slept well that night.









The next day, we drove to Oban for a more laid-back day. After a fantastic lunch of steamed mussels and fish sandwiches on the pier, we toured the Oban Distillery, then hiked to the top of town to visit McCaig's Tower (aka McCaig's Folly). The Tower was commissioned by a wealthy banker to create employment for local stonemasons during the winter months. Though it seems a little out of place, it has the advantage of providing wonderful views over the harbour.









We really liked Oban. It was friendly, attractive little place, well worth visiting again when we have more time. There were plenty of pleasant looking guesthouses with breathtaking views of the harbour.



En route back from Oban, we stopped to visit Dunstaffnage Castle. Now in ruins, the castle has a fascinating history. It was originally built by the MacDougalls, but the small graveyard adjacent to the ruined chapel is filled with Campbell headstones because they were the last inhabitants of the property.







This photo of Husband gives some sense of the size of the massive rocks upon which the castle rests.



As is so often the case, my eye was caught by light spilling through windows in the ancient stone walls.



On the third day, we tackled our most ambitious "walk" so far - a 4 km hike along a trail winding between two mountains into the Lost Valley (Coire Gabhail). It's considered an easy route compared with others in the area but, given we were still recovering from jetlag, we found the 335m climb along narrow, rocky paths challenging enough.

The weather was perfect - mild and sunny - and we had the trail and the valley almost entirely to ourselves. It's said the MacDonalds hid the cattle they "borrowed" in the valley so I found myself imagining what it must have been like to spend long dark nights huddled round fires built close to the base of the huge rocks that were left behind by the glaciers that created the valley.





After a picnic lunch and a short rest, we hiked out of the Valley. Husband took this photo on the return trip. If you look closely, you can just make out the road and a couple of trucks far below.



We also stopped to take a few photos of the Three Sisters. Some day, I'd like to try hiking up the Pap of Glencoe.





We thought we might tackle a second hike after lunch but it was so warm and we were so weary, we opted for a pint on the deck of the Clachaig Inn instead. When I went inside to collect our drinks, I was amused to see this sign in the lobby. Given that my great grandmother was a MacDonald, it was a sentiment I could appreciate.



We spent most of our last day on the west coast aboard the Jacobite Steam Train (aka the Harry Potter train) travelling from Fort William to Mallaig and back. We enjoyed the trip, especially our lengthy conversation with an impressive young couple from Stirling, but I confess I'd have preferred to spend the day hiking. The weather was incredible! Fortunately, after a delicious lunch of fresh fish and local beer, we had an hour or so to explore the Mallaig waterfront before boarding the train for the return journey.







I've not yet mentioned the sunsets in Ballachulish. Nearly every evening, we found ourselves back at the studio in time to take in the stunning sunsets while sipping a pre-dinner glass of wine. Needless to say I couldn't resist putting my camera to work.







On our last evening, we walked to Ballachulish Bridge to get better views of a last glorious sunset over Loch Linnhe, and found ourselves envying some kayakers we spotted returning from a paddle along its shores. Being on the water must have been magical.





Preparing to leave Ballachulish on our last morning, I realized I was leaving a piece of my heart behind. Or perhaps it's truer to say the Highlands had taken up residence in my heart. Whatever the case, it's a beautiful part of the world I'd very much like to visit again one day.

For more photos from our Highland adventures, you can check out this set on Flickr.  If all goes well, I'll be sharing more of our Scottish adventures in the weeks ahead.