Planning Faux Pas Or Fabulous Fashion Sense?

Some mornings start out perfect.

Wednesday was the perfect morning. Up at 5:30 am, drinking french press coffee, writing, and then cycling to the office on a beautiful, summer morning.

I couldn’t help by stop and take a picture of the gorgeous morning sky. 

As I was enjoying the view, my biking nemesis pedalled by. The daily chase of the man on the red bike was on. While I nearly caught him on the uphill and was foiled but the changing of traffic light, I had a thought.

I should really keep some work clothes at the office. You know, have a backup outfit or three in case something goes wrong. Yes. I am SO organized. I will do that.

Just moments later, it went wrong.

Pulling my clothes out of my backpack, I had everything but my wraparound blouse. No matter how much I rummaged in the backpack, it was not there.

  • Disaster.

A woman really needs a shirt to get through the day. Especially when she is the HR Manager.

Who talks to the HR Manager about her inappropriateness at the office when it is the HR Manager who is running around with a skin tight bike jersey on or just her bra?

Exactly.

Zipping my sweaty, skin tight bike jersey back on, I hurried to my office to see what my options were. A spring coat was hanging in my wardrobe. It is a funky coat I keep just in case the office is extremely cold. Quickly buttoning up the three massive buttons, I partially unzipped my jersey so it would no longer be visible and tucked the corners under my bra straps for safekeeping.

Not sure if I should put my running shoes on and have a quick jog to the nearby mall, I had a quick confab with the Executive Assistant.

DonloreeSo, I have a personal question to ask you.
Executive AssistantUh, sure?
DonloreeDoes this look like an outfit to you? (small twirl)
Executive AssistantWhat? Yeah … it’s a cute coat. (Pause) What is going on?
DonloreeI forgot my shirt today. Do you think I can wear this all day and get away with it?
Executive Assistant (laughing) – Yes, totally fine. You are always cold in the office. Perhaps your office is extremely cold today? *wink*

Sitting down at my desk, I wondered if people would think it odd that I was wearing a coat when it was going to be nearly 30 degrees outside.

“Nice outfit!”

“Such a cute top!”

“Love the print, where did you get it?”

Perspective.

Apparently I was wearing the best outfit of the day. The compliments kept rolling in and even came the day after.

“I just love your tops. Especially that top you were wearing yesterday. Or was it a coat? Whatever it was, stunning.”

I just laughed and tried not to tell everyone that they were witnessing a massive planning faux pas, not a fabulous fashion choice.

Due to the meeting schedules, there was not time to run the 2 km each way to the mall and try to find, buy, change into an appropriate shirt, and cool down enough not to be pouring sweat during my afternoon meeting with the boss.

Even if I did have time, I am still cut off from running. Re-injuring my hamstring in an effort to be less weird didn’t seem like a good idea. One ridiculous adventure shouldn’t be followed by another, if one can help it.

I rocked the jacket look all day long and applied extra deodorant when it got too hot.

specialized ruby edmonton

Own your weirdness!

After three compliments and five applications of deodorant, I realized no one was the wiser and it seemed I made the right choice to just stay put and pretend I meant to wear the jacket as a top.

Let’s be honest, I am weird, might as well embrace it.

Let’s just say, I am compiling some ‘emergency‘ clothes for the office because I am not sure what I would do if I forgot my pants … and that is not something I want to find out any time soon.

  • Somehow I don’t think I can craft a wrap skirt out of my pashmina and get away with it …

I am simply going to try to keep future adventures to things like biking 50 km after work, hiking to the tops of mountains, and enjoying fabulous corners of the earth.

Anyone else out there found themselves shirtless at the office?

Cycle Chic {On Riding}

Most mornings, April to October, I can be found clipped into my bike pedalling towards work. My hair, sometimes still damp, is flying out behind me and my small, packed to the hilt backpack is crammed full of high heels, a dress, dangly earrings, and some sort of lunch.

  • Let’s just say I have come to embrace wrinkle free fabrics and become an expert clothes roller.

After a few years of cycle commuting, I finally ditched the hairdryer and straightener … there is only so much you can haul back and forth before your pack or back gives up the ghost.

All of this results in a rather interesting hairstyle.

I call it Cycle Chic.

Within nine minutes of arriving at the office, I have transformed from the woman in the stiff cycle shoes and chamois padded spandex shorts to high heels, a dress, and a hairdo that embraces a wave reminiscent of bicycle helmet hair vents.

  • You can only do so much in life and apparently having fabulous hair isn’t high on my list of priorities.

Within twelve minutes, a messy bun or a cute side pony to show off my earrings has been pulled into place and then the next eight hours are spent around a boardroom table or doing HR things which sometimes makes my head want to explode.

Donloree and her bike

I trade having great hair for happiness. Sometimes you just can’t have both!

The ride home is always the perfect way to decompress.

Usually by the time 5:00 pm rolls around, I rarely want to ride but as soon as I clip in and my Garmin reaches 25 kph, you couldn’t wipe the smile off my face if you tried.

One of my happiest places in the world is being clipped into my bike, exploring a fabulous trail or racing down a bike path as fast as is safe for a clumsy woman such as myself.

This week it has been snowing which means riding to the office was not in my best interest. Sliding off the road and having another trip in the ambulance with my bike is not something I want to do again any time soon.

  • Welcome to May in the subarctic!
YEG River valley bike trail

My happy place. Clouds, open trails, and my bike.

When I came home from work on Monday and found a quiet house filled with expectations of making dinner, cleaning, invoicing my clients, and other miscellaneous adult tasks, it didn’t take much for me to swap my heels for clips and hit the trails.

The morning snow was gone and before I could decide to be responsible, I was layered in spandex and Gortex and was speeding towards the river valley.

I rarely ride with anyone but myself.

In fact, I shy away from riding in groups or with others because when I am in the saddle, listening to the hum of my hub and trying to avoid death while clipped in, my thoughts and feelings meet me.

I sort through the days and years and take time to think through who I was and who I am becoming, remembering that the only thing I have control over is right here, right now.

Edmonton road biking

Sometimes you’re the only one out there … and oftentimes, it is more than ok!

Your now is incredibly important, despite how it often feels.

The moments and days go quickly and seem insignificant, but they are the things that add together to make your life and shape the potential and opportunities of the future.

If you want something tomorrow or to be someone who can do something incredible, you have to work for it now and choose to keep going despite how hard, ridiculous, or demoralizing it can be at times.

Success is when opportunity knocks and your unique blueprint of hard work, skills, and experience is the key that unlocks the door.

I often feel like I don’t fit in and am the odd woman out everywhere I go. Which, after all these years is no longer stressful, it just is. There are moments in life which require a woman who embraces Cycle Chic hair and when those moments come, there I am.

There is more.

Being able to climb hills that used to require me to hop off and finish on foot brings a smile to my face and gratitude for the me who decided to start biking all those years ago. Gratitude for the woman who couldn’t do what I can do now, but opted to fail time and time again in search of elusive success and fitness.

I ride with the woman I was yesterday and the woman I will be tomorrow, striving to make them both proud of my effort and who I am each day – both clipped in and not.

Starting is important, but even more important is continuing and practicing your craft and sport no matter your speed, no matter your current limitations.

Each and every day, I strive to practice who I want to be.

I want to be the woman who takes time to see you, all of you, when you show up at my desk in crisis, the woman who doesn’t care what people think and rides to work in spandex and has high heels in a backpack, and a woman who embraces failure as a means to develop success.

Mactaggart Sanctuary

Get out there and explore, even when it looks like it might storm. The destination is worth the journey

When you choose to fail at something over and over again, there are small gains and improvements, despite the continual failure. To finally make it to the top of a massive hill without walking, having your chest explode, or falling over while still clipped in is an amazing feeling – both in the saddle and in life.

You don’t know if you can do something until it is done. So don’t stop …

… even if it means embracing Cycle Chic hair.

If You Let It

Auntie! Build a castle to the sky with us!

The call of her sweet innocent voice from behind a pair of pleading brown eyes framed in windblown hair lured me away from the waves and back up to the beach.

It is hard to turn down one of the cutest little girls on the planet.

Sand.

The beach has taught me something profound about life.

When scooping up sand to build castles to the sky for my nieces, the best way to get a lot of sand all at once is to put my hands together open, palms up. Although effective, it is precarious. The sand can fall and anyone can knock it out of my hands, but if I try to protect the sand by making fists I can barely hold any sand at all.

  • The tighter my fists, the less sand I can hold.

I find this is true in life too.

As hard as it is, I try to live with open hands and not clench the people I love, my dreams, work, and plans in my fists.

It is vulnerable to live like this; it means I am not in control nor is there guaranteed security with what I have in my life, yet I have more than I thought possible when I keep my hands open.

Photo

Keeping my heart open.

Living with open hands and an open heart means you get to receive as well – you are ready to receive amazing people and great things when they come. If all I did was clench my hands around what I already have, I wouldn’t be ready to receive when opportunities come along.

The longer I keep my hands open, it seems the more I am able to hold.

  • And the more I have to lose.

While updating my personal information at my Financial Planner’s office awhile ago, we went over the fact that the job on file was no longer my job because the company I was working for went bankrupt. It had been awhile since the woman who was starting over at the age of 35, had just been handed a mortgage that two people were supposed to be paying, and still had thousands of dollars in divorce *ahem* freedom bills coming her way showed up on his doorstep. The woman with a broken heart, a few pairs of fabulous shoes, and a hope of a much less traumatic future who was putting one step in front of another day by day and painfully making her way through the world.

Financial Planning Man – “Wow. You really have been through a lot, haven’t you?”
Donloree – “And you only need the half of it.”
Financial Planning Man – “Some people have it rough … not sure why …”
Donloree – “The only good thing about tragedy, heartbreak, and loss is that it can make you an extremely compassionate person.”
Financial Planning Man – “Really? It seems to make people bitter.”
Donloree – “Well … only if you let it. Who you become, in all circumstances, is up to you.”
Financial Planning Man – “Hmmm… never thought of it that way.”

Open heart.

All of us know so little about what really has gone on in each other’s lives. We don’t know the journey the person in front of us has taken or what the experiences they have gone through to make them who they are; we simply see them and know them now.

  • And we judge. Oftentimes harshly.

What if we stopped the judging and simply saw each other and accepted each other with open hearts?

What couldn’t we accomplish if we chose to accept, receive, and let people be who they are rather than try to make them who we want them to be?

Photo

What if we chose love instead of selfishness?

So many people grasp their grains of sand with a death grip, desperately trying to preserve the little that they have left, that their hearts atrophy and love is something they only know of from fairy tales and in other people’s lives.

  • I know what it is like to lose. To lose nearly everything. To have empty hands and have to start over again.

In these moments of loss, when the sky turns darker than a moonless night in winter and the future seems hopeless, the bravest and most courageous thing you can do is simply stay open and choose to keep going and get ready to receive, to choose to love, and put one fabulously clad foot in front of the other.

Open up your hands and build a sand castle to the sky while waiting to see what the wind brings.

  • Wind has brought me some incredible things and people over the years.

Eventually, the winds of change will come and when it is your turn to both let go and receive, try your best to have open hands and an open heart.

Photo

The gift of loss and brokenness is learning how to expand, how to rebuild, and how to let the light shine through.

When the winds of change come, are you going meet it with open hands and heart? What kind of person will you let yourself become?

Running for Rape Prevention

Running away from reality for weeks on end is something I think everyone should do now and again.

Some people call this vacation; I call it keeping my sanity.

Now my style of vacationing is not for everyone. I like to run around and explore things, climb mountains, walk for 20 kilometers one day in a city seeing what there is to see, and tromp across a country going from place to place to place.

El Chalten, Laguna Torre hike

Whenever possible, find yourself in beautiful places and ENJOY!

  • I usually need a vacation from my vacation by the time I am back home.

Something interesting about vacation is that you learn about yourself in new ways, you see yourself in places and are in situations that you aren’t in every day and there are some ah-hah! moments along the way.

For instance, after spending three weeks in Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile, I now know that I:

  • Actually do like fruits and vegetables and would miss them if they were no longer in my diet.
  • Can overcome my Canadian ‘niceness’ and leverage all my Spanish skills to get us on a plane that we have tickets for but no seats and somehow ensure we are first in line of the 12 people that the airline decided to screw that day.
  • Am still not agile enough to grab a camera lens before it rolls down a massive sand dune and is lost forever.

My biggest revelation this trip was figuring out why I run.

Nearly every time I run with the Speedsters, someone asks me the dreaded question.

What are you training for?

Nothing, the answer is nothing.

I am not going to solo Sinister 7, the Death Race is nowhere on my agenda, and running a three hour marathon is nowhere in my genetic potential.

  • My running goals usually have to do with staying upright and not getting lost from the group.

You may find me running a random cross country race, a 10K, or even a half marathon, but that is about it and usually with about 12 minutes of notice, simply because I feel like it – nothing more.

So imagine my surprise when I find I actually do run for a very specific and practical reason.

I run for rape and pillage prevention.

Not in general, just for me … my own personal rape and pillage prevention foundation.

We spent three weeks exploring the south of South America. Buenos Aires, Colonia del Sacramento, El Calafate, El Chalten, Puerto Natales, Torres del Paine, Punta Arenas, Calama, San Pedro de Atacama, and Santiago.

  • 269 kms hiked, 10 places visited, and logistics galore.

With the agenda I had created, there really was no room for error; all the flights, buses, car rentals, and boat transfers needed to work.

It was encouraging when we arrived at El Calafate that there was a man at the rental car counter and he knew we were coming, even if it did look like we woke him up from a nap.

After a lot of conversation about how to drive in Argentina and what to do and not to do when driving as well as a lot of highlighting about how to not break the car, including watching the doors for wind, we were on the road in a cheap, white Ford.

Perito Moreno, here we come.

Perito Moreno

Seeing this gem was high on my list!

Photo

Experiencing this massively tall glacier was high on my list. After a quick bite at a corner café, we were on the road.

  • After about two kilometers of driving, there was a little ding. I looked to see what it might be and nothing seemed amiss.

Perhaps the cheap, white Ford was just happy to be on the road?

I shrugged and we kept driving towards the glacier. After all, we had to get there and enjoy it before it closed since we were only in El Calafate for the afternoon and it closed in 3 hours.

It was getting warm in the car, so I turned on the air conditioner, full blast. Heat came out.

Strange.

As we started up a hill straight into the extreme wind, the car struggled. I thought it was due to Ford’s choice to make a gutless, extremely basic car – it was no match for the wind.

Putting it in fourth did nothing. The car started to choke, sounded like it was stalling, and then it slowed.

  • With the pedal to the metal, the gutless car was able to muster 60 kmph up the hill.

The ding happened again and this time when I looked at the dash, the red engine light was on and we were overheating. Pulling over onto side of the road near the top of the hill, we wondered what to do as the car buffeted and threatened to topple in the wind.

No cell coverage. No town. No water. No food.

Just a whole lot of wind and arid, empty landscape.

El Calafate

Beautiful … but rather devoid of help when you need it …

Springing into action, we applied sunscreen, I pulled my hair into a bun, we put all our money and ID in our pockets, and then started down the hill to look for a cell connection and help.

Nervous to leave the car behind, but more nervous to die on the side of a windy hill in nowhere Argentina, I followed, hoping no one would steal our stuff.

  • Losing all your belongings in Patagonia, just one week into a three-week trip seemed less than ideal.

Being kidnapped from the side of the road and sold into slavery wasn’t high on my list either, but a woman’s got to do what a woman has got to do when life hands her a crappy rental car in the middle of nowhere.

Speedy said what I was thinking. “I really wish I knew more about this part of the world, if it is safe for us to leave our stuff here or if one of us should stay with the car.”

Relief filled my veins. I knew we needed to divide and conquer.

“I will go. Give me the papers. I speak Spanish and I have my new runners on. I am ready.” I replied as I pointed to my new-for-the-trip trail running shoes which I had slapped on my feet earlier that morning for some reason rather than my ballet slippers.

  • It was fate.

With hesitation, he turned his back to the wind and expertly tucked the rental papers in the plastic file folder that I had with all the travel information and then kissed me goodbye.

“Worst-case scenario, I will be back with a taxi. Wait here.”

And I was off running.

“You don’t have to run you know!”

“I know. But the wind is pushing me.”

As I ran, I wondered what the heck we were doing … perhaps my adventurous spirit had gotten the better of me.

Cars and buses full of tourists whizzed by, all confused at the very white woman who was running with a clear plastic zip file folder full of papers.

I was just glad that they were all tourists and not the South American mob.

The threat of having a car of bad men patrolling the area for foreign women that they could sell into slavery seemed low, so I just kept going and somehow a smile and laughter found its way to my mouth.

I couldn’t actually walk down the hill with the force of the wind, so I let it push me at a slow run back towards civilization. The sweat poured off my elbows as I jogged and I was glad that I had drank a whole bottle of water at lunch. And then I was nervous for Speedy, alone and without food or water. I had no idea how long this was going to take.

As I ran, I saw what looked to be an Estancia off in the distance. I wondered what the people there were like and if they were friendly … if they would be ok with a Canadian woman with crazy hair and medium Spanish skills landing on their doorstep, asking for help.

As I neared, I realized it was the Glaciarium, a place I had mocked when reading about it in the Lonely Planet book. Never so glad to see a museum about ice in my life, I checked the hours of operation on the road sign and was happy to see they are open daily until 7:30 pm.

Glaciarium El Calafate

Help might be on the way!

It was only 5:15 pm – perhaps I had time to be rescued.

The road sign let me know that I had another 1,300 meters to hit the front door. With help in sight, I started running uphill on the rocky terrain. I actually felt athletic and was glad that I go to Fast Trax twice a week.

  • A girl needs to be able to run for help when life requires it!

Coming through the front doors, I made an effort to not look like I was in complete crisis, which was hard since I was sweating like crazy and my hair was a complete disaster from the wind.

Luckily, I had taken the kilometer and a half up the hill to practice my speech.

I opened the door and pretended to look at the signs and brochures, as though I was there to see the video on glaciers. I wiped the sweat pouring off my brow and sauntered up to the desk and asked if the woman spoke Spanish. She looked at me with a furtive smile, “A little.”

“Bueno. Hablo un poco de Español.”

I had no idea how to call anyone in the country, my previous attempt at trying to call a taxi company in Buenos Aires proved that no matter how many numbers I put into the phone, I would never make the phone ring.

After watching her eyes widen at my story of disaster on the side of the road, I asked her to call the rental car company for me. She dialed like a phone maven and handed it to me once it was ringing.

From her intense listening to the phone after punching 48 numbers into the phone, it seemed like ringing after dialing wasn’t always a thing that happens in Argentina.

Thus began a long, random conversation with the man at the car rental place.

After we agreed that I did in fact rent a car from his company just hours previous, we had to get to the part where it broke, how it broke, what we didn’t do to make it break, and where both Speedy and I were and how we weren’t together.

The hardest part was ensuring that he knew that Speedy was with the car and that I wasn’t with the car, but at the Glaciarium, NOT the Glacier.

  • The second and third largest issues were ensuring that he picked us up, not just the car and that there would be a replacement car for us as we were due in El Chalten for the night.

“Glaciarium. Museo. No hielo.”

“So you at glacier? It is very pretty.”

“No. Estoy a la Glaciarium. Es un museo circa de El Calafate. You have to pick me up and pick up the car – two places, two people. Hay dos lugares a los que debe ir.”

“I call you back. 5 minutes at this number.”

The most troubling part was there was no hope or clear plan when the dial tone sounded.

Eight minutes later, I acquired help to call back.

“I was just calling you. A truck is coming for the car. Una hora.”

“But what about me? I’m not with the car.”

“Ok. He come for you. Then you get car.”

“One hour?”

“Si, una hora.”

“What is the name of the man coming for me?”

“Antonio. Big truck. You will see him. Adios.”

The sweat had finally dried and my internal body temperature had returned to normal. There was a plan. I am a woman who loves a plan. Now with time to kill, I shopped in the gift shop, bought postcards for my nieces and wrote in them, looked around the outside of the building, and bought some water.

38 minutes left.

When you’re waiting for rescue, life goes slowly.

65 minutes later, my North American time clock was ticking and Antonio was late.

Lateness brings its friend anxiety with it every time it shows up.

Suddenly, the petite woman with the ability to dial numbers and make the phone ring came up and rattled something off in fast Spanish.

My brain was moving under water. “No entiendo.” I don’t understand.

“You have to go to road. Man in big truck get you there. He called. He is coming now.”

“He’s picking me up on the carretera?”

“Si. Ahora.”

Yelling, “GRACIAS POR TODO!” over my shoulder, I started the kilometre and a half run back down to the highway.

  • I didn’t want to miss my ride back to civilization.

Arriving at the road, it was just me, the beautiful view, and some tumbleweed … for a really, REALLY long time.

5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes.

Buses and cars full of tourist on their way to the glacier zoomed by. No big truck. Looking towards town, I scoured the highway in hope of seeing a big truck driven by a man named Antonio.

Nothing.

15 more minutes.

Did I miss him? The Glaciarium was closing soon … in about 20 minutes I would be without someone who can actually dial a phone in Argentina and make it ring on the other end.

  • Disaster and being sold into slavery started to feel like a possibility.

I decided to not panic for another 10 minutes. With the time for losing my mind set for 7:15 pm, I relaxed and enjoyed the view of the lake and interesting landscape.

Without notice, a very large truck rolled in behind me and bared down on me. Apparently my time to panic needed to be moved up from 7:15 pm to NOW. Being all alone, I wasn’t sure what to do when the door opened and the men in the truck started in on whatever it was that they had in mind. I fervently prayed that some tourists would drive by and rescue me as I was being pulled into the truck kicking and screaming.

The door opened and Speedy tumbled out. It was my rescue! Somehow he got Speedy, the car, and all our belongings, and didn’t grab me.

In fact, it seemed like he didn’t actually know to get me.

When he rolled up to the car, he had no English words for Speedy, just a winch and expertise of fetching broken rental cars on this road.

I climbed up into the cab, made space amongst tools, greasy rags, and the gearshift, and wedged myself between a man named Antonio and Speedy.

“You are Antonio! Amazing.”

“Si.”

Antonio is apparently a man of few words.

After dropping the car off at the repair shop and being dumped on a corner in town, we were in line to get a replacement car and continue our adventure which included having a Dutch woman throw herself at our car in the dark on the highway and demand ride into town. Her boyfriend was trapped on a cable run and hanging over a river, trying to avoid a horrible death; in fact she was pretty sure he was dead.

  • My Spanish and calming panicked people skills were required once again as I translated the crisis to Spanish for the rangers.

In the end, just like our car, it turned out to be a rather minor incident and deciding the worst is about to happen is never a good idea; it never helps you make good decisions.

El Chalten road, fitz roy

The road to adventure is a beautiful thing.

When people ask me what I train for while running, I am now going to tell them to be able to run for help when traveling in a foreign country.

I run for rape prevention.

Not in general, just for me – my own personal rape prevention foundation.

It is nice to have a reason for doing what you do.

Maybe I am not crazy after all.

Sucker For Punishment

Earlier this winter, while attempting to be sporty I fell hard on the ice in a dark corner of the river valley.

Lying on the ice underneath Edmonton’s newest attempt at upgrading our city, I stared up at the funicular, wondering if I was going to pass out or throw up from the pain and also how many homeless men just witnessed my ridiculousness.

I decided to tough it out, but three weeks later I was still not sleeping and biking, running, weight training, and getting dressed in the morning were harder than they should be, so I went to a physiotherapist for some help.

A thin, blonde, judgemental physiotherapist.

When I called the clinic, I was disappointed that I couldn’t get in to see the recommended physiotherapist, but there was an opening with the blonde, so I took it.

Before I went to the appointment, I was surprised that I was able to get in so quickly but once I experienced her judgements, I realized I was never going to come back and that I wasn’t the only one.

Thin, Blonde, Judgemental Physio – So you fell and didn’t go see a doctor? And now you’re here because you’re in pain? How much pain are you in? On a scale of one to ten?

Donloree – What’s one and what’s ten?

Thin, Blonde, Judgemental Physio – One nap on a beach, ten you’re bleeding out on the highway after just being run over.

Donloree – Well that’s quite the range … four? Maybe I do have high pain tolerance. Maybe it is a six on your scale?

Thin, Blonde, Judgemental Physio – Sure. So if you’re not in much pain, why are you here?

Donloree – Because I am in pain, can’t sleep, can’t move my arm, and I have no strength …. but I am going to live. No calls for 911 required.

Thin, Blonde, Judgemental Physio – But you didn’t go to see a doctor? Why? 

Donloree – Sometimes it hurts with white hot pain and then gets better. At least I can concentrate at work again, but I can’t lift my purse. Perhaps I need to take some things out of it? Of course I do, but as you know, a woman needs things! And she should be able to put her purse on the passenger seat of the car without weeping, right?

Thin, Blonde, Judgemental Physio – It’s fine. We are a primary care center. We can treat you. It’s just that if you were in as much pain as you claim, don’t you think you would have gone to a doctor?

Needless to say while she was jamming her fist into my rotator cuff, I nearly jammed my fist into her solar plexus. But being Canadian and a woman, I took her patronizing instructions to heart and nodded in a docile fashion, after all, I was paying for the adventure in scolding, might as well get something, anything out of it.

I left with a few feet of yellow physio banding and instructions on how to move my arm and where to shove a lacrosse ball into my shoulder until tears leaked out of the corners of my eyes.

Diligently, I did those things for a few weeks, hoping strength and mobility would come back.

Sleep remained to be fleeting and lifting more than 10 pounds over my head remained impossible. Sadly, chasing down my goal of a 100 pound overhead shoulder press was put on the back burner.

Christmas, an incredibly busy job, additional contracts for writing and coaching to do in my non-existent spare time, and some random home renovation projects, along with being a human who loves people filled up every inch of my life.

Time to go to physiotherapy didn’t exist and fear of the Bearded Physio Man kept me from booking an appointment.

  • It would get better on it’s own … right? 

While lying awake, again, at 3:17 am, wondering what it would take to learn to sleep on my left side and then getting up to rummage around or some Advil to help me sleep for another 2 hours and 28 minutes, I realized I needed to swallow my fear and book an appointment with the Bearded Physio Man.

In reality, after he shoved some needles armpit deep into my arse and rendered me useless and unable to walk, I was actually healed. I have been running without excruciating pain for months now.

Embracing the pain.

Bearded Physio Man – You’re back! Where have you been? What are we treating today? How’s the glute?!

Donloree – I fell. Two months ago. I still can’t lift anything over my head and I am pathetic. Everything is hard and my pants are starting to feel tight due to less physical exercise. Help. I just want my pants to fit again.

Bearded Physio Man – And your shoulder to stop hurting, right?

Donloree – Side benefits are welcome.

After the tests which involved trying to push him all around with my right arm and being officially pathetic at most of it, the diagnosis of a strained rotator cuff and strained long head bicep was pronounced.

Bearded Physio Man – So how do you want to do this?

Donloree – The way where I don’t see you much. And when I am in South America in a few weeks exploring the Andes, I am able to put on a backpack without crying.

Bearded Physio Man – So the painful way. You hate needling, right?

Donloree – Who likes it? 

Bearded Physio Man – True. It always hurts you way more than it hurts me.

While shoving a needle into my shoulder, we discussed my upcoming travel plans and how not having children makes my life better than his in an effort to keep me from screaming and swearing too loudly.

Donloree – Sorry about that. I really don’t mean to grab onto you while we do this. You really think I wouldn’t grab you anymore.

Bearded Physio Man – True. I’m used to it by now. So you did this running? 

Donloree – Trying to be sporty, embracing life and all.

Bearded Physio Man – You know you could just go to Mexico and get a tattoo in an inappropriate location if you are looking to feel alive. Fitness could kill you. They have a cure for Hepatitis now, which makes it pretty much risk free! You should really consider making wiser choices.

My retort was squelched by a primal scream as my arm flopped around on the table like a fish out of water.

Bearded Physio Man Looks like someone was doing some decent work at the gym before she fell. Look at those shoulders.

Donloree – What every girl needs to hear – check out the linebacker shoulders!

Bearded Physio Man – I didn’t say you and Peyton Manning share a tailor or anything.

Donloree –  But if the football pads fit?

Why does the path to betterment always hurt when your name is Donloree?

  • Lesson of the week. Go with what you know works, even if it makes you scream and unable to effectively shift your little red car on the way home.

Instructions to ice twice a night and do many seemingly ridiculous exercises shall be followed by your’s truly. The epic, south of the equator adventure is looming and I just want to be able to put my backpack on all by myself.

Also? Maybe I should take up a few less risky behaviours and learn to skydive or downhill BMX …

Running may just kill me.

My Happiness Secret

2018 has nearly come and gone, which means my 39th year on the earth has nearly come and gone.

Being born two weeks before the end of the year means, at least for me, that planning, goal setting, and dreaming of accomplishment starts early for the upcoming year. The planning is always a bit ridiculous, but what else are you going to do on the short, cold winter days, other than plan for the days when the sun never sets and adventure is calling?

And the reflections … those happen too.

It seems that every year has a theme, whether I chose it or not. The last year has been about acceptance, more specifically self acceptance.

What you want and what you get aren’t always the same.

Acceptance is an art form which requires perseverance to go through things when life hits hard, wisdom to know when you need to give yourself a break or keep pushing, courage to change things in your life that don’t work for you, and optimism to remind yourself of everything you have and what is possible.

Photo

  • Acceptance is anything but passive.

Oftentimes I wonder why I run, especially this past year. 2018 has been a year of injuries, plateaus, and inability, culminating in a fall on the ice that resulted in a severe rotator cuff strain. While laying on the ice in the dark river valley and trying not to pass out from the pain response, all I could think was, “I was just trying to be athletic … will I ever be competent at this sporting thing?” The tears on the 3 km walk back home were more about my inabilities than the pain.

Nearly half of my 2,250 kms this year were modified, trying to recover from injury and going slower than I wanted to go.

Yet where else can I practice the art of active acceptance like I can with running?

I am one of the most competitive people I know. I am also one of the least athletic people I know.

  • When you put these two things together, well, it is just funny. And deeply disappointing on a personal level.

A childhood full of reading books, studying Spanish, working at McDonalds after school, and baking ensures that my biomechanics are severely underdeveloped and my imagination and ability to create a future out of words is overdeveloped.

Now, if you need me to walk up and down mountains all day long and carry heavy things long distances without caring how long it takes, I am your woman. Unfortunately, this is not a valuable commodity in today’s world.

Like any good cake, it is good to have a few layers; let’s add in being a woman.

My Eastern European heritage and fabulous autoimmune disease ensures that I will never be thin and willowy unless I embrace an eating disorder. Trust me. About 10 years ago, I gave it everything, and I mean EVERYTHING to become society’s picture of perfect and it literally nearly killed me.

  • Enter the battle of ‘er’.

Thinner. Hotter. Smarter. Richer. Funnier. Cuter. Curvier. Fancier. Faster. Stronger. Smoother. Younger. Prettier. Bustier. Perkier.

Part of being a woman is not being told you’re not enough and fighting the constant losing battle of age and society’s expectation of perpetual youth.

The comparison trap is real, even when you’re 38, nearly 39-years-old.

The hardest realization I’ve had to accept as an adult is that I am severely average.

I am never going to win a race if more than 10 people show up; a sponsored athlete, I will never be. Giselle has nothing to worry about with me running around in the world in my size 8 pants. And I didn’t burst onto the scene at the age of 25 as an amazing writer who wowed society with her abilities which outshine her age.

Growing up and being told that you’re special and amazing is sweet … but suddenly one day, you just realize that it’s not true.

The gift of this realization and resulting acceptance was a deep relief that I’ve been living up to and expanding my potential even though it didn’t previously feel like it.

Through these past years, I have found the secret for happiness – be weird, lean into the chaos, and enjoy the ride.

Just accept your weird self and do not try to fit into any societal molds or measure yourself by other people’s expectations.

  • Do your thing, be great at what you want to be great at, and don’t worry about things that you aren’t great at if they don’t matter to you.

I will never be a domestic goddess or athletic superstar, but loving my people well, writing, being great at my job, experiencing wonderful corners of the world, and summiting beautiful mountains; these things I will be amazing at and do with my whole heart.

Suddenly the world opens up and you find yourself doing things that you never thought possible, living a happy life which results in not being able to think of one thing to put down on a ‘What to Accomplish Before I Turn 40” list because you’re already doing everything you had previously been dreaming of.

Donloree Angel's Landing

Grab the moments when they come and savour them. Getting to the beautiful places isn’t always easy, but it is always worth it!

Acceptance is a deep understanding of what is true and what exists, but it doesn’t mean you have to live in your current situation or boundaries.

Acceptance is the starting line, where you go to next is up to you.

Pushing, building your capacity, failing, getting up, smiling, and remembering that the whole thing is a journey and not a destination is active acceptance.

And perhaps that is why I run, simply to practice expanding myself so I can build my capacity to keep going, do more than yesterday, and build an amazing life. Even if I am only merely average to the onlooker, I am amazing compared to the Donloree of yesteryear and that is all that matters. I have spent the last few years doing incredible things with very special people and living a better life than I ever knew was possible and it all started with acceptance, a full heart, and open hands.

Practicing acceptance allows you get to grab onto beautiful experiences and live a great life because you’re not caught up in trying to change other people, complaining, or holding onto bitterness.

And yes, it is true, with a full heart and open hands, you are ready to receive and also lose. The fact that both happen isn’t important. What is important is how you manage through loss and gain; both require acceptance.

Donloree bike country road

When you find yourself in the country, smoked out of the mountains from the summer fires in BC, adventure can still be found. Happiness comes when you are where you are with your whole heart.

Accepting the daily struggle and finding the glass that is half full leads to having bigger glasses to fill.

And eventually you find that you can fill your glass past half full.

What if your glass eventually starts to overfill? What if you just get to be happy?

If I Hold Your Hand, It Doesn’t Mean I Love You

Or even like you all that much.

Even if I do show you my pink, lacy underwear. Again.

Bearded Physio Man – “You really have to stop holding my hand.”
Donloree – “I know. It isn’t because I like you. I don’t trust you.”
Bearded Physio Man – “How about you help by just holding your IT band steady and stop moving?”
Donloree – “It is hard to not want to harm you while you shove needles into my hip you know.”

It is hard to like someone who is stabbing needles into the the tightest part of your arse and then twanging them for good measure.

  • It is possible that I don’t know how to follow instructions. Or that I don’t really read or refer to them much at all.

Needless to say, you never want to build IKEA furniture with me … mostly because I will build it three times, incorrectly in a new way each time, and then finally fish out the instructions with the Oompah-Loompah shaped man showing you what to do. Chagrinned, I will follow his pudgy lead and eventually build it correctly.

I just don’t like instructions.

I am a learn by doing kind of woman.

This is probably why I found myself, once again, desperately trying not to slide off the physio table while squirming away from the Bearded Physio Man and sweating like I was running a marathon in Death Valley in the heat of summer.

If you make me stab myself, it is really going to put a strain on our relationship.
~ Bearded Physio Therapist Man

I thought I followed his instructions. Truly. And I was so happy to have graduated and I really didn’t want to see him again which, in my opinion, is the sign of a healthy patient – physiotherapist relationship.

Apparently I referred to the instructions and threw them in the garbage. Taking it easy to me is biking to work and back 3-4 times a week, running slowly after the Speedsters twice a week with my new, amazing running form, and then hiking up a mountain or three on the weekend.

I really didn’t think I was pushing it.

Now I am back to square one – cut off from everything once again. This past week has been torture just doing my strength exercises as assigned by the Bearded Physio Man, Running Yoda, and my massage therapist who cringes every time I land on his schedule.

After a week of being completely boring and a long weekend that included picking out paint colors and cleaning out the storage closets in my house rather than fun, outdoor adventures, I needed a reprieve.

While trying to get off the physio table and not slip off of it from all the sweating, I brokered a deal.

Donloree – “So am I done? Can I leave the den of torture now?”
Bearded Physio Man – “Yes, off you go to do nothing other than your exercises.”
Donloree – “I have to do something. Please. I am tired of being pathetic.”
Bearded Physio Man – “What do you want?”
Donloree – “I want to hike.”
Bearded Physio Man – (Watching me struggle to stand up) “How long?”
Donloree – “10 km?” (Thinking one way and not saying it out loud)
Bearded Physio Man – “How much elevation gain?”
Donloree – (bats eyelashes while trying to stand up like a normal woman) “900 meters?”
Bearded Physio Man – “Fine. 2 hours. 10 km. No more than 900 meters of elevation gain.”

Proud of my negotiating skills, which definitely need more honing since he gave me everything I asked for, I lumbered out of the office like a drunk elephant.

So I have my instructions, which I have already modified in my weekend planning. If I take out some elevation, doesn’t that give me more distance?

My math makes sense … doesn’t it?

Mountains here I come!

All You Own Is The Effort

In the continuing saga of, Donloree Tries to Become A Runner, I decided to go a different route with the professional help.

  • The one thing that is clear with all of this is my need for professional help.

After graduating from physio, I continued to hurt while running and even hiking. I have continued to do everything I was instructed to do, except for stopping when it hurts. If you are 19 kms into a 34 km hike on top of a mountain, there isn’t much to do other than to keep going.

Skyline Jasper

19 kms into Skyline in Jasper on a blustery day. Sometimes being in the storm is just where you need to be!

Calling for a helicopter seemed like an over reaction to the Bearded Physiotheraptist Man’s instructions to, “When it hurts … STOP.”

In an effort to avoid more needles being shoved into me and then twanged, I sent an SOS message to Edmonton’s running guru and owner of Fast Trax, Jack Cook.

Jack is the Yoda of running.

He is a man of few words with a running resume as long as the North Saskatchewan and also a bit elusive. You never know if he is going to be at the shop, running a race, or even in town – he simply appears from the behind the running shoes in the shop some days. Where he wasn’t, suddenly there he is.

Seeing how there is nothing Yoda-esque about me and I am usually tripping over something, I realized our schedules would never align to talk about my inabilities and get some personalized advice while waiting for everyone to show up to run on a Wednesday night or Saturday morning.

So I sent a smoke signal, AKA Facebook message.

It went something like this ….

Hi Jack – random question. Do you help people figure out how to run better / correctly? I am pretty sure this might be half of my problem. I can’t seem to make it more than 10 km these days without seizing up and I am tired of hurting constantly and being SLOW. Or if you have a recommendation for someone who does this, it would be appreciated. I have also been told I run like Captain Jack Sparrow, if we could work on removing the pirate from my gait, that would also be appreciated. THANK YOU!

Apparently technique advice is something the Running Yoda does – who knew?

I showed up in all my pirate running-esque glory on a Thursday evening just as the work day was ending. My wrap dress, heels, and pearls were quickly swapped out for shorts, a running t-shirt, and my new running shoes specifically made for people with high arches who supinate and heel strike … whatever that means.

All I knew was that I was ready to be assessed.

Which I loudly announced to Jack and the other people in the shop. What can I say? When I get nervous, I tend to talk louder.

A giant smile from the Running Yoda and we were headed towards the treadmill.

The first thing we did was break into a slow walk and then a medium paced walk. Let me tell you, I am amazing at walking. Suddenly confidence that I probably shouldn’t have had filled in all the places fear had been hiding.

  • 5 mph on the treadmill and I was still walking. Like I said, I am amazing at walking.

Finally the treadmill went fast enough that I was forced to run. And I did so in all my heel striking, supinating glory. It was even caught on video. After a bit of running, we assessed my inabilities in slow motion.

Then the exercises and practicing began.

It turns out that my amazing walking is screwing me over. I run like I walk, which is an injury waiting to happen.

  • I actually have yet to become a runner.

I suppose this is why you go see the Running Yoda, how else are you supposed to know these sorts of things?

Due to all my bike riding and weight lifting, I am a quad and calf dominate woman who doesn’t use her posterior chain to move herself forward the way I am supposed to. I basically muscle myself forward and walk extremely fast, so much so that it appears to be running to those casually watching.

Lovely.

Running Yoda“How does it feel when you run?”
Donloree“It hurts. Everywhere. All the time. And it is demoralizing. I am slow.”
Running Yoda – Nods thoughtfully
Donloree – “I just want to be able to run and be happy. And not have EVERYONE run away from me ALL THE TIME. You know those weirdos who say it was fun? I want to be able to say that one day. I guess I want to be a running weirdo.”
Running Yoda – “I see. At least your problems are easy to fix.”
Donloree – “Amazing. I love easy to solve problems. Music to my ears.”
Running Yoda – “We are going back to the beginning.”

  • Anyone who has gone back to the beginning of anything knows that it is absolutely demoralizing.

For the next 30 minutes we worked on my running form while running 2-3 mph.

It is hard to even walk this slow – running at this speed took all my mental discipline.

Many videos of the slowest running on the planet were taken and reviewed and then coaching, exercises, and tweaks were applied. By the time I left, a hoard of snails had lapped me and were at the bar drinking martinis, laughing at the tall, very white woman who runs like an elephant.

I would also laugh if I saw a very white woman running at 2 mph with her arms crossed. In fact, I did laugh … a lot.

Another one of my nervous ticks – laughter.

My new running mantra:

  • Start running earlier, run slow, sooner.
  • Little circles, little circles!
  • Core, chest up, less arms.

I put it all into practice on Saturday morning. Instead of running 26 one-minute intervals with the Speedsters, I simply ran to make the Running Yoda proud. 8 km later, I was suddenly walking extremely fast again and not running. I began to hurt and I lost my ability to make little circles. So instead of trying to muscle out the remaining 4 km back to the shop, I simply called it a day and walked it in.

The good news of Sunday was that everything was sore, not just my right calf. Muscles I hadn’t used in awhile were talking to me and I knew I had done the right thing.

I struggle with the fact that I am nowhere even close to being a decent runner and that on race day, I come across the finish line long after all the Speedsters do.

While the snails were passing me and laughing, the Running Yoda reminded me that none of us are going to the Olympics.

At the end of the day, all I own is the effort.

How much did I give it? Did I give my day everything? Did I make myself proud with how much I tried?

  • Outcomes rarely belong to you. In fact, they don’t.

The only thing you can control is how much effort you give towards your work, training, relationships, and the things you want in life. There is never a guarantee that you will achieve anything, so you had better learn how to have fun along the way.

Photo

Somewhere along the way, I lost my ability to have fun while walking so fast that I appear to be running.

Remembering that the only person I ever need to race is the Donloree of yesterday is an amazing gift. Kicking her ass is a whole lot of fun and the only thing I should ever care about.

At the end of the day when my head hits the pillow, being able to say, “Yes!” in response to, “Did you kick Yesterloree’s ass?” makes a smile stretch from ear to ear.

Impress yourself.
~The Running Yoda

Smiling through life, no matter how hard it happens to be at the moment, is an amazing way to live.

All you own is the effort.

I Thought I Might Need New Friends {Havasu Adventures}

A few months ago, while the subarctic was still in its annual deep freeze, a conversation about running down to Havasu Falls started up with some of the Speedsters. Don’t ask me how, but I was included in the crazy adventure planning. For a few months I just let the conversation swirl, after all, there was no way I could run to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back in a day … nor could I possibly run 30+ kms .. the farthest I had ever previously run in one stretch was 28 km. That adventure nearly killed me and made it clear that I am never going to be an ultra marathoner.

So the conversation swirled.

And I agreed, it would be fun … because it would be! Theoretically speaking, of course.

  • They took my agreement of fun as confirmation of my participation.

I had seen the pictures and definitely wanted to go … but it seemed impossible.

Finally the day for signing up for a spot at the overnight campgrounds was around the corner. We met for coffee to discuss logistics and plans.

I confessed my inabilities and fears about dying at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. I told them I was not going to do it … that I am not a Speedster and they have the wrong woman.

Somehow, an hour later, I found myself agreeing to run to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and back in a day over the May long weekend.

It was clear that I needed to find some new friends.

Their confidence buoyed me and I was excited.

Then I was nervous.

And then scared.

Then I was going to back out … after all dying in a canyon is a bad way to go, even if it is grand.

More conversations ensued.

I was doing this thing.

Then I was injured.

I submitted myself to all kinds of physiotherapy in an effort to be able to see Havasu AND get out of the canyon in a day without requiring helicopter assistance.

  • Flights were booked, plans were made, and then the googling began.

Panic set in once again.

  • Water – how am I going to have enough? How do I purify it?
  • Heat – how do I avoid sunstroke?
  • Running – how do I keep up?
  • Shoes – which ones do I use to avoid tripping and falling into the canyon?
  • Rules – no day hiking … what does this mean? We are running, not hiking … we have a reservation and paid to be there, but do they tag you when you come in and go out?! Can you ‘day run’?
  • Running backpack – I need one. Does cute and functional in this kind of a thing exist?

My poor, speedy friends … they heard it all … several times.

Finally, the day of departure came. My suitcase was filled to the brim and included my cute little purple running backpack, water purifying solution, snacks galore for the run, three different pairs of running shoes, and about seven different clothing options for whatever weather might come our way.

  • Getting on the plane at 8:00 am on Saturday morning, I was both prepared and petrified.

As a ‘warm up‘ we decided to do some hiking in the Grand Canyon on Sunday, the day before the big Havasu Falls day, you know, to build confidence for the next day.

Grandview Trail

I took this picture on the way up on one of my MANY breaks. The Grand Canyon is so massive that in some ways it is hard to ‘see’ it.

While down three miles down into the canyon at Horseshoe Mesa on the Grandview trail, it seemed doable.

  • And then we had to go up.

Which, in theory, should have been just fine. After all, I do a lot of hiking and climbing up steep mountain paths – the 800 meters of elevation gain in roughly 6 kms should have been tough, but doable.

Instead, I gasped for breath, poured sweat, and felt ill – extremely ill.

  • So much for a confidence booster.

While in route to Seligman, the small, hilarious town that is a home base for nearly everyone going to Havasu Falls, I considered my fate while wondering how I could be this out of shape. Not sure if the day’s poor performance had to do with dehydration, slight altitude sickness, heat, or a combination of all three, I was anything but sure about the next day’s adventure.

Seligman, Arizona

The town has 450 people, two restaurants, about three motels, and a lot of personality!

Coming to the conclusion that I should at least start the adventure and give myself permission to turn around whenever I felt it would be too much only took a two and a half hour car ride of discussion with Speedy, more dissection of the current state of affairs with the other two Speedsters over dinner and the largest piece of carrot cake know to humanity, and the realization that the only thing to do is Seligman other than go to Havasu Falls is to literally watch the tumbleweed roll by.

I am not a tumbleweed watching kind of a woman.

When 4:30 am rolled around and the alarm went off, I was already awake and had been for nearly two hours.

30 minutes later, we were on the road munching and on breakfast.

Despite being sleep and caffeine deprived, I was confident.

Confident that I might die.

The drive from Seligman to the Supai trailhead is about 90 minutes of single lane highway that winds down to the giant crack in the earth known at the Grand Canyon. At 6:30 am, we were parking in the large lot filled with the cars of the brave souls who have literally gone before us.

  • Sunscreen was applied.
  • Icky trailhead outhouse was visited.
  • Pre-death pictures were taken of the start.
  • A giant deep breath of resolve was taken.

From my hours of research on Google, the trail to Havasu was described as everything from ‘easy‘ to ‘epic‘ and the elevation loss was anywhere from 750 to 1,200 meters. Seeing how I barely made it through 800 meters the day previous, all my confidence was scattered somewhere on Horseshoe Mesa.

The one thing that is clear about the trail on the internet is that the first few miles are switchbacks and then the following 7 or so miles are a very gradual descent into the visitor centre in Supai Village.

I decided to do the switchbacks and then make a decision.

After all, even if I got three miles in and decided it was impossible to do the whole day, climbing back up would be completely possible by the time the Speedsters finished exploring the falls 7 miles down the trail.

The trail zigged and zagged down for about 30 minutes and then suddenly levelled out. Surprised by the lack of difficulty, I put my camera in my backpack and started chasing the Speedsters when they started running.

Havasu Falls Trail

Let the slow descent begin! Easy trail running at its finest. PHEW!

Social pressure of running with the group and passing people on the trail (you don’t want to run by and then have them pass you later) kept my feet going.

An hour and a half later, I somehow found myself at the Supai Village checking in with the rest of the group.

With my wrist band in place and shoes full of sand, I was ready to explore the falls.

Havasu Falls - Supai Village

Check! Rules are being followed and we are ready to see the falls – let the gorgeous views begin! (This is my ‘fierce’ face.)

Starting out so early in the morning meant most of the hikers were still behind us on the trail and everyone at the campground was either sleeping still or had already packed up and we had surprised them on the trail as we ran by them on their way out.

  • We nearly had the falls to ourselves.

By 11:45 am, after a few snacks and rehydrating, we were ready to head back. Everything except Beaver Falls had been seen by your’s truly; the several water crossings and additional 4 miles didn’t seem worth it to see an even bigger copy of the two falls I had already seen. Besides, I had another 10 miles / 16 km to go and I had already put nearly 20 kms on my feet which were starting to feel more than just a bit blistered.

Havasu Falls

So happy to have found the falls! The miles there and back were worth the beauty!

After wading through the sandiest parts of the trail close to the town and emptying my shoes three times, I was ready to start the run up to the car.

My resolve to run back to the car lasted for nearly a kilometer.

My legs protested and I agreed. Falling over and hurting myself because my legs were turning to jello didn’t seem like a good idea. There was another 8 hours of daylight left; even if I hiked at a sloth’s pace, I would make it to the car with daylight to spare.

Besides, I didn’t think the Bearded Physiotherapist Man would approve of all the uphill running and after nearly dying three times, I would do anything to avoid having him stick needles into my hips and proclaim that my showgirl days are over.

Two of the Speedsters decided to check out Beaver Falls – after all, this is most likely a once in a lifetime adventure. They caught up with us about a kilometer before the climb began. Hearing that they didn’t make it there due to the amount of water crossings that were above waist high confirmed that I made the right decision to simply turn around and start back.

The previous day’s tribulations were fresh in my mind.

I let the three of them start the climb and then took a deep breathe and began.

As always, climbing is not easy, but it was the correct amount of ‘not easy’ on this day. I made it to the top about 15 minutes after the Speedsters and felt on top of the world.

  • Why do I make everything so difficult?

While pounding back some water from the dust covered rental car, a frazzled woman came into my view. After a few days down at Havasu, she had arrived to find that her car wouldn’t start. Jumper cables and directions on when to start the car and how you should NOT to turn it off right away were given. Receiving a giant hug from a tiny woman who was amazed at my knowledge of all things mechanical wasn’t the worst way to end a day that I thought might end in disaster.

Avoiding disaster and fixing someone else’s at the same time was just about perfect.

We drove back to the tumbleweed town and ate dinner at a cafe who’s slogan is, “You kill ’em, we grill ’em!” Getting up from dinner, my legs buckled. Tired, worn out, and stiff, I had to take a wide circle towards the door.

“How much wine did you have?!” asked one of the other tables.

Laughing, I simply responded, “Havasu – in one day. It isn’t the wine!

Sweet, blissful sleep came in about three seconds after lying down, even though my feet with the twoonie sized blisters on both heels hung off the end of the very small bed.

Havasu falls, Grand Canyon

A lovely place to visit, but I am sure glad we didn’t camp down there. A real bed, a hot shower, and not hauling 50 pounds of camping paraphernalia out of the canyon is the way to go!

It is important to risk failure.

To do the things you think are impossible. And to have amazing friends in your life who will help you go farther than you knew you could, friends who believe in you when all your faith has been scattered to the wind.

  • So now that I don’t need new friends, I simply need a new adventure.

I wonder what will be next to be checked off on the Donloree Have Done List

And as I set out on the next adventure, which will have its own set of fears, stress, challenges, and questions, I will remember to not judge yesterday’s fears with today’s wisdom.

It is, as they say, impossible until it is done.

What are you willing to risk being a failure at? Why not leap off the cliff – what if it turns out you can fly?

SaveSave

SaveSave

What Girl Doesn’t Want To Walk Like Quasimodo?

After having to cancel last week’s physio appointment due to strategic planning sessions at work, I wasn’t very motivated to show up for today’s appointment.

Seeing how I am able to clip in and bike 30+ km in a day and even go for a 10 km hike after biking to and from work which is a 20 km round trip, I decided I was cured.

  • But running is still a bit of a disaster and if I am being completely honest with myself, I just wanted to be cured.

When the reminder popped up on my phone that my appointment with the Bearded Physio Man was looming, I wanted to call in sick for the day.

But a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.

Besides, the pesky trip to the Grand Canyon where I am supposed to go to the bottom and back up in a day is looming

My fear of dying at the bottom of the Grand Canyon is greater than my fear of the Bearded Physiotherapist Man which resulted in me showing up for torture at 6:15 pm.

Waiting for the impending doom is never pleasant.

Whenever I am nervous, I tend to sweat.

It is one of my less sexy attributes.

Lying on the table, I was warm enough without the heat packs – by the time 15 minutes passed, I was feeling dehydrated and glad I had applied a second coat of deodorant.

Bearded Physio Man – So it’s been awhile since we’ve seen you. What’s the verdict?
Committed to the Process Donloree – Well, I had to cancel last week due to work. Did you know there isn’t an option for, ‘My boss doesn’t understand real life problems?‘ for your cancellation reason? I opted to say I was better and didn’t need the appointment … but here I am. Again. I am not better.

After reviewing my inability to run and the vice grip which wraps around my ankle while running, especially after a day of wearing heels, we had a diagnosis.

Bearded Physio Man – So it’s your soleus. That’s a bitch to work out. Are you ready for it?
Committed to the Process Donloree– Awesome? But after this I can be done? Never see you again? That is, if I survive?
Bearded Physio Man – It’s going to hurt. A lot. No two ways about it.
Committed to the Process Donloree – I even stopped wearing heels! If you know me at all, you would know what a big deal this is. All of those cute shoes … and for what?
Bearded Physio Man – You don’t need to wear heels. You’re tall.
Committed to the Process Donloree – No. Heels are a must. You have no idea. A girl has to be able to wear heels! I’m down to four pairs, FOUR pairs of shoes for work. It is a complete disaster.
Bearded Physio Man – Well then, let’s get you back in those heels!

I love a man who has a firm grasp on the priorities.

While he shoved needles into the deepest parts of my calf and my leg flopped on the table like a fish gasping for water on dry land, I remembered that I was paying to have this done.

  • It turns out the the Bearded Physio Man is an equal opportunity torturer.

As I flipped onto my back to have the front side of my calf receive similar treatment, I nearly slipped right off the table.

That pesky sweat response had come out in full force.

Committed to the Process Donloree – Who knew one woman could sweat quite so much? 
Bearded Physio Man
 – It is because you’re an athlete. The athletic ones always leave here drenched.

I think he was just trying to make up to me after hitting a nerve in my ankle. For about 2 seconds it felt like I had dropped a toaster into the bathtub with me in it.

  • Its always good to feel alive.

Or something.

Getting off the table was virtually impossible. Bent at the waist and unable to fully stand up, we reviewed my next set of exercises and the get back to running plan.

Bearded Physio Man – So running. Try 5 minutes.
Committed to the Process Donloree – Tomorrow?
Bearded Physio Man No. Not even close. Maybe, just MAYBE, five minutes on Wednesday.
Committed to the Process Donloree – Then 10 minutes on Thursday? And maybe even twenty on Friday. I am supposed to do this Grand Canyon thing in a few weeks – that’s 20 miles. Am I going to be able to do 20 miles?
Bearded Physio Man – You should be fine as long as you’re not ridiculous.
Committed to the Process Donloree – Well, now we are really in trouble … aren’t we?
Bearded Physio Man – If it hurts, what do you do?
Committed to the Process Donloree – Stop. I am supposed to stop.
Bearded Physio Man – And come see me. But if you take it easy and aren’t ridiculous, perhaps we never have to see each other again. You are done with me for now!
Committed to the Process Donloree – Done?! I graduated? I am done!!!

After a high five and a handshake, I lumbered to the front desk to pay for the torture and then did my best to drive my little red jeep home without crashing.

Note to self – get an automatic car next time.

  • Apparently when you graduate from physio, you look and walk like Quasimodo, but this girl is not complaining!

Despite the fact that I can’t walk without throwing my right leg forward while being bent at the waist, I am apparently going to be back running on Wednesday … for a full five minutes.

Photo

Starting at square one is never pretty, but at least I get to start again.

Now, to just avoid being ridiculous … there is always hope that the impossible is possible!