Chivalry Alive and Well in Kingston

So, a few of us mommies ran 15 kilometres on Sunday just for the heck of it.

But this blog is not all about me, as my biggest fan/anonymous poster will be relieved. (But seriously, you're still reading this every day. Why, I ask? Why?)

After our run, we returned to the parking lot where we'd left our cars. Our legs hurt. Our bodies were tired. Our minds were relieved the route had come to an end and we were all dreaming about what we'd eat for lunch. And I was dreaming about air conditioning because it was dang hot on Sunday.

Then, one of the runners realized she locked her keys in the car.

Her back window and her sunroof were open a little and we could see her keys on the passenger seat.

Oh no! What were us helpless ladies to do?

I ran (yes, I actually put my sore legs back in motion and ran - tho it was just across the street) to a bar and asked for a coat hanger while the other girls found down a man who, luck was obviously on our side, worked as a taxi driver in Montreal.

Not only did the bar give me the coat hanger, they gave me a guy to come over and demonstrate how to retrieve the keys.

A plan was devised. The coat hanger was stretched out so that the boys could pull a MacGyver and hook the keys onto the coat hanger. Then, they'd lift them up, ever so gently, and pull them out the open window.

All this manly man work drew two more men who wanted to come over and help/gawk and by the time we were done and had the keys back, we had four men, one coat hanger, and a firecracker to help us get the keys. (Don't ask about the firecracker. We really would've needed Richard Dean Anderson for that.)

The guys smiled, went back to what they were doing, and we were free to go home to our families and honeys.

I'm feeling optimistic. These were nice guys. Maybe there are nice guys left in the world because, let me put it to you this way: we were looking hot, not HOT so they obviously weren't doing it cause we were all dolled up, looking like we were interested, or something.

So thank you, gentlemen. Chivalry isn't dead.

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Yeah, I beat him

Every single year around March, I start to say that I'm going to run Kingston's Beat Beethoven race, a fundraiser for the Kingston Symphony.

The race is an eight-kilometre run through the city's street with the goal of making it to the finish before the symphony finishes playing a selection of his music.

You've got to make it in less than 50 minutes.

I've never tried the run because every year when the run would roll around I'd realize there was no way I could walk it, much less run it.

This year, I've been running since January and I was ready to beat Mr. Ludwig.

Last Sunday was blistering hot. We were all sweating before the race started. The Fiance was with our boy so I had to run by myself. I've never run a race alone. When I did the 10-kilometre a couple months ago, I ran with a friend.
This time, it was just me.

I had my heart set on beating Beethoven because I was sure this was the one time in my life when I knew I'd fit enough to actually take him on.

There were 400 runners registered this year. I didn't care if I came last, I just wanted to hear the symphony still playing when I crossed the finish line.

I've been training with Tracie Smith-Beyak since January, running twice a week plus doing two powerwalking sessions a week. We've learned to run downhill and downhill. We've worked on starts. We've worked on dips (I'll let you take one of Tracie's classes to figure that one out.) It was now or never.

I set off on a good pace and kept glancing at my watch to see how I was doing. I was cutting it close, I was sure.

It was so bloody hot that two people near me dropped and had to be helped by medical personnel but I had enough Diet Coke in me to keep me hydrated.

As I neared the finish line on Ontario Street, I was sure the clock said 49 minutes. I had just one minute to run all the way down the street and duck under the clock so I dug deep, all the way to brand new $170 running shoes and sprinted.

I don't know who it was but someone near the end was shouting "You can do it! Push it. Push it real good!" (Um, Ok, that sounds like Salt N' Pepa but you get my drift.)

I ducked under the clock and then threw up in my mouth.

But I made it in 45 minutes - (I mistook 44 for 49 minutes...) - and when you have a baby, you're used to a little barfy barf.




Check out my official stats here.

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Medusa and Me

I'm horribly afraid of snakes. They could give me a heart attack.
My fear is my father's fault. One day, when I was just a little innocent girl, I was in our old stationwagon with my dad at the cottage going to get wood for the fire.
We came to a large woodpile and started throwing logs into the back of the car.
I remember specifically asking: "Daddy, is there any way there could be snakes in these logs?"
"No," he said.
"Of course not."
"Don't be silly."
As we began the drive home, I felt something flutter on my leg. I swatted it away, thinking it was a mosquito. Again, I felt something tickling me. Again, I batted it away. When I felt it a third time though, I took a look.
There was a snake slithering around my feet and trying to climb my leg.
I screamed, my dad almost drove off the road into the lake, and I got out of the car and walked the rest of the way home.
Traumatic, I tell you.
Last week, I was powerwalking with a group of friends. I was heading toward our trainer when she yelled at me to stop. I thought I was just going too speedy. No.
In front of me were four massive charcoal grey snakes. No, they were not pussy garter snakes. These were the thickness of Twinkies and easily the length of a man's belt. The other women saw these devil creatures to verify this. I'm not exaggerating.
When we had to get on the ground later that session to do pushups and situps, I swear I almost fainted. I thought they were going to slither over my neck and get me.
Later that night, I went to a convenience store to buy a lottery ticket so I could win me $30 million. I was standing in line waiting for my turn when I felt like someone was standing too close to me.
I turned around to see just how close this shopper was. He looked normal enough for a young guy. He had dreadlocks, a sleeveless T, Doc Martens and a cute girl on his arm.
But wait - did I mention he had a freakin' snake around his neck?
True story - there was a man in a Kingston convenience store with a pet snake around his neck right behind me and he was sticking his little forked tongue out at me. The snake, not the man.
I almost died. And then I probably would have won the $30 million and not been able to collect it, seeing as I'd be dead.
My mother is ultra superstitious so we all believe things come in threes.
That meant I had another snake sighting to go.
The next day I checked out our front lawn before I got in the car.
Maybe I even checked the toilet to see if a snake was coming up out of our plumbing.
Maybe I even looked under my carseat just to make sure.
But I did see it.
Later that day, in front of me at a red light was a black Impala - and around its licence plate were metallic cobras.
I don't want to know what all these snakes mean. I asked my reverend friend and she didn't think God was out to get me so I'm not too panicked.
The morale of the story is always buy fake firewood.
Just don't get it at your local convenience store.





And here is the rest of it.

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