There were no July entries, so here are the others!
Anyway, I do have a few pictures and will hopefully add a few more in the near future as some of the pics I want to add were taken on my cousin's camera, and he still has them. This year, besides riding with my friend Susan, my cousin Chris and his wife Christine joined us. It was nice to have a bigger group, and it was also nice for me because Chris and Christine were going around my speed, and none of us could catch up with Susan, although there was one leg where I actually could spot her on the road, which was a first! The heat was a little oppressive that day, but it was great weather, and they do a good job of keeping us hydrated, having lots of water, Gatorade, and fruit available for us at all the check points and meals. I was able to complete the ride in 4hrs 45mins of riding time, so not including stops and meals, and that's 45 minutes faster than last year. I think a lot of it this year had to do with my ability to ride up all the hills rather than have to walk up them like last year. I was rather proud of myself. I am rarely proud of myself, but this is one of those times because I'm able to do something I thought I would never be able to do as a result of my own ineptitude for all things athletic. It was really exciting for me, and I consider it a great achievement in my life, especially as I'm just short of my 32nd birthday at the moment!
In the evening, they have a dance after the dinner. Personally, I don't understand how people have the energy to dance so much. All I could think about was sleeping, and I also didn't feel well because my nose was really stuffy. I think I breathed in a lot of dust that day due to the drought in the province because I felt like I had hay fever, and I kept having to blow my nose. I was a little concerned for the next day, then, but it turned out well. I woke up with a clear nose, and my headache from the previous evening had also disappeared, not to return.
The second day goes a little faster because there are 3km fewer, but we also made sure not to spend as much time at the rest stops. That was a bit of a challenge at the first check point, though, because one of the dogs on the farm that lends their yard for this event came right over and plopped herself down on my right arm. My arm was pinned for a while as she lapped up the attention and love. Those are the pictures that Chris has that I want to put in my album because the dog was really nice. In any case, I was able to make it up the hills and inclines all on my own again, and I made it to the end in 4hrs 15mins despite the heavy wind during the second half of the day. It still wasn't like the wind of last year, so it was more manageable.
As for pain, I didn't have much pain other than the sore butt you get from sitting for so long, some quads that were a little stiff, and hands that lost feeling in them. I've figured out that my handlebars are not positioned correctly, so I end up leaning too hard on my hands, thereby pinching the ulnar nerve and losing feeling in a few of my fingers. Now that I know, I can get it remedied so I don't lose feeling anymore! I do think there's a point at which the body does eventually give in to the demands of the mind. When I first begin, it's like my body protests the continual strain I put upon it, but there comes a point where it admits defeat, and despite cramps, aches, and any soreness, it goes on as a broken horse knows to follow the reigns. You essentially make your body submit to your will. In any case, if I'm in the city next year, I'll definitely be doing it again!
August 12
It
is an ominous title to my post, I know. But sadly, this is the topic on my mind
at the moment, and I ask the reader's forgiveness for typos and errors that I
may make because I'm in no state of mind to pay attention to these things at
the moment. I am currently surrounded by a lot of death, which is why I use the
term "morbid." And I must write about this here because it is
therapeutic for me; words are things that can hurt, but they can also heal.
This
morning, I learned that the husband and only child of a close and beloved
friend of mine died in a car accident, and my friend herself is in serious
thought at least stable condition. It seems a miracle that she survived when
you see pictures of the accident in the news, but when I think about how my friend
might feel about it, she may be wishing she had died with them as she keeps
saying she has lost everything. The birth of her daughter did not come without
struggle and miracle, and now all has been taken away. Her own blood relatives
live outside the country, and since the accident happened in the US, none of us
can even be at the hospital where she is recovering from her own injuries and
subsequent surgery just to pray with her and hold her hand.
I
sent a text message to my mom because I needed to hear someone's voice, someone
who could stand to hear me cry. She and her husband had shed their own tears
yesterday as a doctor who worked at the hospital they work at died rather
suddenly and unexpectedly Monday evening.
I
decided, apprehensively, to come into work today, though I had been crying a
lot, was in shock (and am still), not knowing for sure if I'd be able to
function. But I wanted to be able to think about something else, something like
work, which has no emotional connection attached to it, so that I could
hopefully get my mind off the whole topic for a while. Moments after I got to
my desk, one of my colleagues came over to tell me that she just found out one
of her best friends had died in a plane crash. This girl was from Australia, but
I had met her when she had visited my colleague here in Canada just a couple of
months ago.
If
that hadn't been enough, a friend I had emailed this morning told me he had
just lost a good friend on Friday, dying of a heart attack at the entirely too
young age of 27.
The
term I use to describe myself today is "bewildered." I do believe
there's a reason for everything, but we don't always get to know what that is
right away, if ever. If anything, these types of experiences, while grievous,
cause me to put many things in my own life into perspective, such as certain
personal problems or what have you. I've already experienced that type of
sobriety on several occasions in life, which is why I so rarely freak out about
anything in the work place or when friends come to me about their problems. If
it's not life or death, it really can't be that bad. At the same time, I also
can't help thinking about mortality in general and how much I need to make sure
my life counts and that I do everything I need to do before God decides it's my
time to leave this world. This was the conclusion I reached when I used to
think my life was so bad I just wished I didn't have to go on. I decided then
to live every day like it's my last, to make sure the people I love know I love
them, to pour my life into caring about and for other people, and to do
whatever job it is for which God placed me on this earth, at this time, and in
this place.
12:25 PM | Permalink
August 02
This is not an entry about words as you might think, a
scoff at some grammatical injustice that someone has committed or a grievous
typo found in a most concerning place. This has to do with words themselves as
the bread and butter of communication, food for thought but also nourishment
for the soul.
I'm trying to expand the breadth of the scope of literature I read. Mostly, as you can tell from the fiction on my favourite books list, I read novels that were written before 1900. I have rarely read any after that I've felt were as well written as the classics, and as a result, I generally shun them when it comes to my own reading pleasure. I do not shun them for others who read them because I so strongly encourage the act of reading that I would rather have a person read any book that he or she finds interesting than not reading at all. By increasing the scope of the literature I read, I intend to read books by authors from countries outside the US, Canada, or Britain, for example, which is usually the only selection of influences we get exposed to in school. Since I have a number of Colombian friends and a number of literate friends, all of these have recommended I read Gabriel Garcia Marquez, so I have a couple of his books, one in Spanish and the other in English. I started reading the English one, which is actually the memoirs of Garcia Marquez, called Living to Tell the Tale, so it isn't fiction, but his life is so colourful that it reads like fiction. For all of those people who have told me I should write a book about my life, I think even this author's life tops it!
In any case, this book helps me to learn a lot about the history and culture of Colombia, and the reader gets to see how Garcia Marquez is necessarily a fundamental player in the formation of that history. That part alone is quite fascinating.
However, reading Garcia Marquez is also a confirmation that people can have convictions about words and phrases, short stories versus novels, as much as some have convictions about Macs versus PCs or digital TV versus satellite. What he writes about being a writer doesn't seem to describe me accurately as Lynn Truss did in Eats, Shoots and Leaves, so I'm not sure if I can come close to comparing myself to a writer as he is, the kind who breathes writing and out of whose pores is a literary prowess more powerful than anything else in my life. Yet write I must. Maybe not short stories or novels. Maybe it's just poetry, but Garcia Marquez uses metaphors the way I've always wanted to and never knew if it made any sense. He is bolder at using these words out loud in feats of oratory genius that many admired, though he doubted himself. And I am a coward compared to that. I supposed if I walked around and claimed to be a poet, it would be easier. People would perhaps even expect it, and that might make things easier, but until that time, my cowardice lies in saving my best words and my best expressions to poetry written on paper, hidden in books that few may know. It would be so great to devote a life to writing, to painting, and to singing. Garcia Marquez was skilled at all, and it's like finding a kindred spirit that I will never know but who will inspire me and change my life in immeasurable ways.
I'm trying to expand the breadth of the scope of literature I read. Mostly, as you can tell from the fiction on my favourite books list, I read novels that were written before 1900. I have rarely read any after that I've felt were as well written as the classics, and as a result, I generally shun them when it comes to my own reading pleasure. I do not shun them for others who read them because I so strongly encourage the act of reading that I would rather have a person read any book that he or she finds interesting than not reading at all. By increasing the scope of the literature I read, I intend to read books by authors from countries outside the US, Canada, or Britain, for example, which is usually the only selection of influences we get exposed to in school. Since I have a number of Colombian friends and a number of literate friends, all of these have recommended I read Gabriel Garcia Marquez, so I have a couple of his books, one in Spanish and the other in English. I started reading the English one, which is actually the memoirs of Garcia Marquez, called Living to Tell the Tale, so it isn't fiction, but his life is so colourful that it reads like fiction. For all of those people who have told me I should write a book about my life, I think even this author's life tops it!
In any case, this book helps me to learn a lot about the history and culture of Colombia, and the reader gets to see how Garcia Marquez is necessarily a fundamental player in the formation of that history. That part alone is quite fascinating.
However, reading Garcia Marquez is also a confirmation that people can have convictions about words and phrases, short stories versus novels, as much as some have convictions about Macs versus PCs or digital TV versus satellite. What he writes about being a writer doesn't seem to describe me accurately as Lynn Truss did in Eats, Shoots and Leaves, so I'm not sure if I can come close to comparing myself to a writer as he is, the kind who breathes writing and out of whose pores is a literary prowess more powerful than anything else in my life. Yet write I must. Maybe not short stories or novels. Maybe it's just poetry, but Garcia Marquez uses metaphors the way I've always wanted to and never knew if it made any sense. He is bolder at using these words out loud in feats of oratory genius that many admired, though he doubted himself. And I am a coward compared to that. I supposed if I walked around and claimed to be a poet, it would be easier. People would perhaps even expect it, and that might make things easier, but until that time, my cowardice lies in saving my best words and my best expressions to poetry written on paper, hidden in books that few may know. It would be so great to devote a life to writing, to painting, and to singing. Garcia Marquez was skilled at all, and it's like finding a kindred spirit that I will never know but who will inspire me and change my life in immeasurable ways.
June 17
It has been a while since I last wrote, but I
haven't been doing a whole lot, and some of the fascinating things that have
been going on at home are things I can't really talk about in public spaces
like this, so I'm just keeping to myself a lot these days. This past weekend
was a lot of fun as I did the MS Rona Bike Tour for the second time. I figured
it I made it last year and survived, I should be able to do it any other year
because it really couldn't get much worse. There wasn't nearly the wind we had
last year, although it was much hotter this time around.Anyway, I do have a few pictures and will hopefully add a few more in the near future as some of the pics I want to add were taken on my cousin's camera, and he still has them. This year, besides riding with my friend Susan, my cousin Chris and his wife Christine joined us. It was nice to have a bigger group, and it was also nice for me because Chris and Christine were going around my speed, and none of us could catch up with Susan, although there was one leg where I actually could spot her on the road, which was a first! The heat was a little oppressive that day, but it was great weather, and they do a good job of keeping us hydrated, having lots of water, Gatorade, and fruit available for us at all the check points and meals. I was able to complete the ride in 4hrs 45mins of riding time, so not including stops and meals, and that's 45 minutes faster than last year. I think a lot of it this year had to do with my ability to ride up all the hills rather than have to walk up them like last year. I was rather proud of myself. I am rarely proud of myself, but this is one of those times because I'm able to do something I thought I would never be able to do as a result of my own ineptitude for all things athletic. It was really exciting for me, and I consider it a great achievement in my life, especially as I'm just short of my 32nd birthday at the moment!
In the evening, they have a dance after the dinner. Personally, I don't understand how people have the energy to dance so much. All I could think about was sleeping, and I also didn't feel well because my nose was really stuffy. I think I breathed in a lot of dust that day due to the drought in the province because I felt like I had hay fever, and I kept having to blow my nose. I was a little concerned for the next day, then, but it turned out well. I woke up with a clear nose, and my headache from the previous evening had also disappeared, not to return.
The second day goes a little faster because there are 3km fewer, but we also made sure not to spend as much time at the rest stops. That was a bit of a challenge at the first check point, though, because one of the dogs on the farm that lends their yard for this event came right over and plopped herself down on my right arm. My arm was pinned for a while as she lapped up the attention and love. Those are the pictures that Chris has that I want to put in my album because the dog was really nice. In any case, I was able to make it up the hills and inclines all on my own again, and I made it to the end in 4hrs 15mins despite the heavy wind during the second half of the day. It still wasn't like the wind of last year, so it was more manageable.
As for pain, I didn't have much pain other than the sore butt you get from sitting for so long, some quads that were a little stiff, and hands that lost feeling in them. I've figured out that my handlebars are not positioned correctly, so I end up leaning too hard on my hands, thereby pinching the ulnar nerve and losing feeling in a few of my fingers. Now that I know, I can get it remedied so I don't lose feeling anymore! I do think there's a point at which the body does eventually give in to the demands of the mind. When I first begin, it's like my body protests the continual strain I put upon it, but there comes a point where it admits defeat, and despite cramps, aches, and any soreness, it goes on as a broken horse knows to follow the reigns. You essentially make your body submit to your will. In any case, if I'm in the city next year, I'll definitely be doing it again!
