Exercise, victoria b.c.

The Tweed Ride

I don’t even know where to begin with this one. About two weeks ago Paul and I were walking downtown. We were about to cross the street when a string of bicyclers soared in front of us. Typically I would have thrown my purse in the road hoping to trip all of them using a domino effect. But this time I was too transfixed to even attempt to cross, never mind cause them to crash.

All of the riders were casually biking, not racing. And they were dressed in what seemed to be 1920’s and 30’s British attire. All of the outfits looked so authentic. Not a bad one in sight, really. And everyone had a bit of tweed incorporated into their outfit as well.

I was really intrigued, watching them go by. I felt like I was on the set of a movie. Some people had their children on the back of their bikes and they were dressed up too! So much detail. One of the best bikers actually had a penny-farthing. I don’t know how he found it, but he looked awesome.

Yeeeah. I decided to find a picture because I know none of you knuckle-heads knew what I was talking about.

I guess the Tweed Ride started in London in 2009 and has been picked up throughout the world. It’s described as “a cosmopolitan ride with a bit of style.” Righto.

Usually I wouldn’t be interested in an activity that included exercise and public appearances. But for some reason I want to participate in it next year. I’ll have to start looking for an outfit. And a bike.

Congratulations Canada. This is the first cool thing I’ve seen in a while. Massive props.

Everyone in this video is super annoying and British, but you get the picture.

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Exercise

Note to Self: Running Stinks.

I don’t know why I insist on pretending that I’m athletic. For some reason I bought a volleyball last weekend. What am I going to do with a volleyball by myself? Nothing, that’s what. I also kind of ran a 10k last weekend. And by ran, I mean jog/walked. 10ks are really hard. They’re like, 6 miles of pure pain and wishing that things would end. I even prayed that there would be a Rapture just so I wouldn’t have to continue running.

Paul and his sister like to run. His sister recently participated in a 10k before I left for home. When I came back to Victoria, the weather was super nice and they wanted to jog around a lake that measured out to a 10k. I agreed to go with them, thinking I would just putz around and hopefully get tan. Paul told me that I should run until I felt like I was half way done with whatever amount that I wanted to run, and then turn around. He warned me that there was no way of getting back to where we parked unless I ran the whole thing or turned around. There wasn’t any shortcut. Unless I wanted to swim through the lake. No thanks.

I turned on my music and started to jog, as one does. Paul and his sister got farther and farther away until they were out of my sight. That’s when I held onto my key tightly, ya know, just in case anyone tried to rape me or anything. Keys are surprisingly great weapons. If someone attacks you, just jam it into their eyeball, or throat. That’s what I would do. Not that I’m a pro on getting raped or anything. When I was running, I played out a whole scenario in my head–someone knocking me down, me cutting up their face with my key, and then me kicking them in the head while they’re down. My parents think I should invest in some boxing classes because it seems like I need to get some aggression out. I have no idea what they’re talking about.

The good thing about using a key, is that you also have your rapist’s DNA. I’ve thought about this way too much.

A little bit into my run I saw a marker that said “6k”. I was so happy! Wow, I’m like, REALLY good at running 10ks! Maybe this is my thing. Paul and his sister will be so impressed with me! So I kept jogging. I slowed down a lot, but I kept it up. I saw the sign for “8k” and looked to my left. I could see the point where I started exactly across the lake. Hmm The lake must be longer on one side. I only have 2k left to run, it’ll be fine, I thought. At this point I was running in bursts. I would set little goals like, run to that tree, or run until this song finishes. And then I would allow myself little breaks.

I was getting super tired. Maybe 10ks weren’t for me. This course also offered a lot of obstacles. There were bikers, dogs, horses (!), horse poop, tree roots jutting out from the ground, etc. Oh and rapists, obviously. Eventually I reached a sign that said “10k”. Yes! After this last kilometer, I will be back to where I started. I decided to run without stopping. I wanted to have a strong finish! So I kept running and running and then I saw a sign that said “2k”. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. Was I trapped running around this lake for the rest of my life?! Did I take a wrong turn and end up at some other lake? My ipod was almost out of juice. This was not a good situation. My legs hurt every time I tried to make an effort to jog.

I eventually got back to where we parked. No one told me that we started at the 4k mark though. WOULD’VE BEEN SLIGHTLY HELPFUL. I figured that Paul and company would have sent out a rescue squad since I’d been gone for an hour and twenty minutes. Not a bad 10k time considering I walked a lot of it! I saw Paul and his sister walking to the car. Did I finish at the same time as them? Am I a better runner than I thought? Nope. Paul sprained his ankle trying to avoid a drain that was jutting out of the ground. When he stepped around it, his foot landed in a ditch. He hobbled the last 2k of the loop and he still beat me.

Side note: There was a race going on while we were running. Not just a normal race though, an “Ultra Race”. Competitors would run around the lake 8 times. That’s an 80k. Which converts to 49.7 miles. There’s no one that I hate more than the people that would pass me, sprinting around the lake for their 8th time.

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Animals, Exercise, Judging, victoria b.c.

Strange Characters

I feel like I’m an observant person. Since moving to Victoria, I’ve seen some pretty colorful folks. Some of them I see every day! Or at least once a week. These “characters” set the scene in my normal, everyday life in Victoria. It’s like I’m Belle from Beauty and the Beast, “There goes the baker with his tray like always–the same old bread and rolls to sell. Every morning just the same, since the morning that we came to this poor Provincial town…” I guess our town isn’t poor, but it is part of a province! I can relate to Beauty and the BeastĀ on a whole new level now.

But seriously. Where’s the baker? I’m starving.

Lets start with Crazy Dachshund Guy. This guy has 3 dachshunds and he walks them all at the same time. Thus making him “crazy”. He’s pretty hard to miss. He never trips over his pups. It’s surprising how graceful he is, really. I would never own a dachshund solely because I cannot, for the love of all that is holy, figure out how to pronounce the word dachshund. I usually say docks-hund really fast and hope that no one calls me out on it. Apparently it’s pronounced dahks-huunt. I guess I’m not that far off. It still gives me anxiety so I just call them wiener dogs and hope that I don’t offend anyone. Plus, I get the pleasure of bringing the word wiener into the conversation.

The Moka House Coffee Crew and The Starbucks Coffee Crew. I’m referring to the people who sit outside of these coffee shops and people watch. I’m almost certain that these people have no jobs. They will eyeball you for the duration that it takes to walk past each establishment. We all know Starbucks is a chain that everyone loves. People at SBucks love to judge. People at Moka House are even worse. They want people to see them judging you. At least people at Starbucks are secretive…kinda. Basically, in Victoria you’re either a Moka House-r or a Starbucks-er. I play both sides. Can’t everyone just get along? Moka House is definitely the worst though because they have an awning to sit under and judge passersby even when it’s raining. You can’t beat that.

Schizophrenic “The World Is Ending” Guy. Twice a week this guy stands on the corner of our street covered in signs that casually mention the Earth being melted by lava. Where is this lava coming from? All of his signs have to do with either fire or lava. I think he does a lot of research because he always cites a Bible verse at the bottom of each one. “The Universe will be engulfed in flames. John 10 :2” Ummm, Crazy Face? I’m pretty sure John didn’t say that. He shouts at cars a lot. Whenever I see him , I make sure to walk to the other side of the street. If I didn’t, I’d probably end up getting in a Bible fight with him. Which would consist of me, throwing a Bible at his head.

“I’ll show you fire” Leviticus 21:5

Prance-y Jogger Guy/Girl. There’s this jogger that literally trots around like he’s a Lipizzan stallion. I’m 75% sure it’s a guy. Short hair, petite, really tan. It could go either way. Let’s just pretend it’s a guy because it’s funnier that way. He prances a lot. I study his method whenever I see him “jogging”. And by study, I mean that I drop whatever I’m doing and literally stare him down. It’s fascinating. Paul and I have tried to re-create the majestic way in which he dances along, but it cannot be copied. It’s almost too perfect. Also, it seems to work as a really good weight loss program since this guy has little to no body fat. I would try his approach, but I have this thing called dignity. And not to mention a reputation to uphold.

Those are just some of the characters that I see everyday. It’s perfectly normal to be jealous of my life.

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Exercise, Vacation

Blackhawk Pool

One of my greatest childhood memories took place in our subdivision’s public pool. I spent my elementary years in Ft. Wayne, Indiana. I don’t remember much of it besides my house, my neighbor’s yards, the library, my school, and of course, Blackhawk Pool.

The fact that I could find a picture of Blackhawk pool online makes me sick.

Blackhawk was a pretty typical neighborhood. The houses weren’t too big, but they weren’t small either. You could get a lot for your money during the 90’s in rural Indiana. I remember spending lot of my summers at the pool. I think it was a good go-to activity for most parents. Take your kids to the pool–they have fun, you get a tan!

I remembered getting there early. Like, at 9am. Who goes to the pool at 9am besides my mom? No one. Literally every time we’re on vacation my mom wakes up, has breakfast and goes to the pool or the beach. It’s nice because I always have a spot reserved!

Because my brother and I spent so much time in the pool, we became pretty great swimmers. Well, I did at least. I loved swimming in the deep end, diving for rings or sticks or whatever the hell kids dive for. I also loved jumping off the high dive. I remember it being SO tall. There was a while when I just did little jumps, but once I learned to dive, there was no going back. I didn’t have time for jumps any more. It hurt my head when I hit the water diving off the board. Like I was diving into a pool of bricks. But any pain is worth it if you think you look cool in 4th grade.

All the Sandlot kids admiring my diving skills.

During the day, around lunch time there would be half an hour of adult swim which I loathed. UGHHHGH adults can swim any time! But I guess they just wanted time when kids weren’t jumping on their shoulders and swimming in between their legs. The only thing that adults do during adult swim is walk up and down the lanes like totally lame-os. Possibly the only good thing about adult swim was the snack bar. Since kids weren’t allowed in the pool at this time, we flocked to the food stand. I remember my brother and I always got Airheads or Whatchamacallits. A Whatchamacallit was a chocolate bar that was kind of crunchy and chewy. Airheads were…man, I don’t even know. Kind of like taffy, but a thinner consistency. We were pretty easy to please when it came to snacks. Unless it was fruit. Sick.

So yum.

The best part of Blackhawk pool was the radio. They had the radio on all the time. The station played the top songs of 1997…at least those were the ones that I remember the most. Whenever I hear one of these “Blackhawk pool songs” I’m instantly taken back. I remember exactly where I was. Some examples are:

Sunny Came Home-Shawn Colvin

Where Have All The Cowboys Gone-Paula Cole

If It Makes You Happy-Cheryl Crow

Building a Mystery- Sarah McLachlan

Tubthumping-Chumbawumba

Who Will Save Your Soul-Jewel

All For You- Sister Hazel

Bitch-Meredith Brooks

Breakfast at Tiffany’s- Deep Blue Something

Semi-Charmed Life- Third Eye Blind

Ahhh classics! I don’t ever want to revisit Blackhawk pool because I know it won’t be the same. The high dive will be small, the music won’t be the same, and I’ll be allowed to swim during adult swim.

Do you have any summer pool memories?

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Exercise

Over-selling

Have you ever walked into a store and you’re immediately greeted by a salesperson? And then they follow you around the entire store telling you what items they really love. And then tell you about every product that you glance at. I hate those people. Surprise, surprise.

I feel like Los Angeles would be home to a lot of those types for some reason. Maybe because everyone there annoys me? Or because they all think they know what everyone wants. Or how much someone wants to spend. YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE.

There’s a way to stop a salesperson from doing this. If they come up to you and say “Don’t you absolutely adore this new coat we JUST got in?” You simply reply with, “Actually, I don’t really like that.” OR “Ew what kind of tacky hoe would wear that?” OR “Don’t talk to me.” They all usually work. Just depends what kind of mood you’re in!

The other day I had a situation that I couldn’t talk my way out of. It was terrifying. Paul and I were in a sporting goods store and I was looking at running shoes. There were some really cool Nike ones that there turquoise and purple that I liked. I asked if I could try them on and the salesman (who looked like a thicker version of Mark McGrath) said, “Can I check your feet first?” Assuming that he was going to measure my feet, I took of my shoes. He asked me if he could see how I walk. Looking back, I should have said no. But I walked and he said that my feet need a stability shoe. So the shoe I picked wouldn’t do anything for my feet.

Kind of like these.

I guess that makes sense. And maybe he had my best interest in mind, but that still annoyed me. What if I wanted the Nike ones?! I usually wear Asics and that’s the kind he recommended for me and the kind that I ended up buying, but it just annoyed me that he put me in a position where it was weird for me to ask to try them on. The thing is, he was nice. But he acted like he knew everything about feet. Paul asked about his feet and oddly enough, his type of shoe was stability as well. I think this guy just diagnoses everyone the same. If he knows so much about feet, why isn’t he a podiatrist? Why is he working at the shoe department in a sporting goods store?

Do all slimy guys look like this?

These kinds of people can ruin a perfectly good shopping experience. I especially hate when people take their jobs so seriously. Me purchasing shoes doesn’t depend on how well you sell them. It depends on how badly I need shoes. At least I don’t have to smell people’s feet all day.

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Exercise

Gym Rats

I’m not taking about people who are at the gym all the time chiseling their bods. I’m talking about people who are at the gym that actually look like rats. By now you all know that I love observing, people watching, judging, whatever you wanna call it. The gym is an awesome place to do this. However, you run the risk of being judged yourself because you’re most likely sweaty and/or dead from doing the StairMaster for 15 minutes.

Now that I think about it, the StairMaster is the greatest machine to workout on if your into people watching, like myself. It’s almost like your on a tower, high above the rest of the common gym folk. Most of my spying happens whilst climbing 61 flights of stairs.

One day, a yoga class had just finished and as the people emptied out of the room, they were all carrying their mats and their shoes. They paraded across the room in their bare feet. Is that really necessary? I don’t want to see your sweaty feet during my workout. How hard is it to put shoes on? I’m pretty sure yoga isn’t the most grueling of workouts (unless it’s hot yoga, in which case God bless your soul).

Ew put those away, you psychos.

Later in the day this guy was working out on the elliptical in front of me. I don’t know what kind of look he was going for, but it wasn’t cute. I’m going to start at the top and work my way down. He had jet black greased back hair that went back to his neck. I don’t know what was holding his hair in place–grease, hair gel, sweat?–but not one hair was out of place. He had on a black wife-beater TUCKED into a bathing suit. If there’s one thing that’s super unattractive, it’s men working out in swim trunks. Ew okay I hate saying swim trunks. A bathing suit. Like, why? What is the reasoning? You can literally buy running shorts anywhere! Go to Wal-Mart.

It gets even worse though. He was wearing black socks pulled up to the middle of his calf and black boots that looked like they had a bit of a heel. That’s your outfit to workout in? That’s what you choose? After he picked his wedgie right in front of me, I decided to stop observing because there’s not much else to see after that.

Right up there.

On a completely different day, I was running on the treadmill, minding my on business when I see this very large man. He’s wearing a bright red shirt with a maple leaf on it, tucked into dress shorts (I don’t know how to describe them–like nicer khaki shorts?) with suspenders. He gets on the machine next to me, and I’m just chillin’ listening to my tunes when I almost jump off of my machine. He made the loudest, HEYYYYHOOHOOO noise when he saw two of his buddies. He bellowed. There is really no other word to describe what he did. Everyone in the gym was staring at him as he hugged his friends, drenching them in his sweat. At this point I was glancing around the room to make sure my friend saw what I was seeing. She did. We were frightened.

His friend got on the treadmill on the other side of me and the proceeded to talk across me as I was trying to run. I punched my emergency stop button and got off the machine. The YMCA is a great place to work out if you can dodge the creeps. Looking back, I should have taken the spray bottle that’s used to clean the machines and just sprayed both of them. Next time….next time.

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Exercise

The Biggest Loser

There is nothing I love more than watching morbidly obese people exercise and get yelled at. I didn’t realize that I liked this so much until I started watching The Biggest Loser.

What I like about the show even more than watching the contestants battle to lose the most weight, are the coaches, Bob Harper and Jillian Michaels. Jillian isn’t actually on the show anymore. RIP Jillian. I mean, she didn’t technically die, but she’s dead to me now that she quit the show. She was my favorite coach because she would literally scream at the people on her team. She would make them cry. I have purchased all of her workout dvds in hopes that she would help me cry my way into weight loss. But nope. Her wizardry didn’t work on me. I must be too tough. Maybe I should join the army?

I'm going to army, mother.

The other coach, aka the love of my life, is Bob. His workout dvd’s actually made me sore. Hard core workout. But he used respect and kind words. Love conquers all, guys.

This season is really dramatic. There’s this ultimate biatch named Conda (I know) and she bothers me so much because she’s the biggest complainer of all time. And then she’ll act like she’s the best team member. She pisses me off a lot because she’s a loud and angry all the time. I hate that. That’s the exact reason why I’ll never live in New York. Isn’t everyone loud and angry there? She should just be grateful that she’s on the show. Hell, I want to be on the show. But even at my highest weight they wouldn’t accept me. So shut up CONDA.

I’ll just continue to sit on my couch and talk at the TV while stuffing my face with chips. I’ve actually thought about gaining an immense amount of weight just so I could go on the show and transform my body. Such a normal thought process.

This could be my future.

 

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canada, Exercise, living in canada

Profiling Canadians

Canada, much like the US, has different types of citizens. I’m not talking about races–more like different groups of the community. Here are the most prominent groups in my dissection of Canadians:

The Earth-Loving Hippies: Typically found throughout B.C. (lucky me) these folks practice yoga, use eco-friendly house cleaners (if they have houses) and drink oolong tea. Normally spotted wearing patchwork clothes and dreadlocks. They’re basically walking stereotypes of what hippies are. Often found playing sitars or mandolins in local coffee shops and spreading the word on how we, as humans, can help preserve our planet. These people terrify me.

Oh Lord, Kumbaya.

The Down-Home Industrious Type: These people are easily compared to the people of the Western and Southern States. Hard working, boot wearing, beer chugging people. They probably have the thickest Canadian accents, using words like “hoser”, “eh”, “canuck” and “aboot”. Usually found in “The Prairies” which include parts of Alberta, Manitoba, and Saskatchewan. I don’t know how to act around these types. I just start giggling at the first sign of a thick Canadian accent.

Rick Moranis and some other guy.

The Trendy Hipsters: Every country has them. Every country except maybe Poland. I can’t picture any Polish hipsters, but what do I know? These types are almost always 30 or younger and are found in and around big cities. Their favorite bands are ones that you haven’t ever heard of. And they buy their clothes from vintage stores in order to make them more unique than the other hipsters. They don’t drink Starbucks or eat at any mainstream restaurants. Quinoa and other next generation foods are consumed by this trendy crew. You wouldn’t understand their lifestyle. And frankly, why would you want to?

He's dressing like this ironically. If you don't understand the irony, then you don't understand life.

The Athletic, Rich, Middle-Aged Cool Cats: These people are the kind of people that the world loves to hate. They win everything, they’re naturally skinny, and they have the newest and best of everything. Basically all the characteristics I would want in a best friend. They’re always biking, or kayaking, or doing other skinny activities. They’re smart, have great jobs, yet they always have tons of time to do cool things. They make up a lot of Canada. For some reason there are tons of cool cats here and I don’t know how I feel about it yet. Too much competition for me.

I can't decide if I hate them or if I want to be them. Can't it be both?

I think that’s a pretty good list. I mean, there’s only so many different types of people here. Most of them include types of people that I hate. Question of the century: Do I have really high standards, or do I just hate the world?

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Exercise

YMCA

The leather-clad handlebar moustache man is going to haunt my dreams.

Paul and I just joined the YMCA. It’s in an older building so it gives off a slightly ghetto impression, but the equipment is new and they offer a lot of classes so whatever. We worked out this morning successfully and now Paul is going to play squash with a friend. Wtf is squash anyway? More importantly, why is he working out twice today? Psycho.

They refer to the gym here as the YMCA/YWCA. I’ve never heard anyone say “I’m gonna head over to the YWCA.” Why do they have to include women? Why does anyone care that much? Burning questions.

I guess 10 years ago the gym took a vote whether or not to install hot tubs in both the men and women’s locker rooms. The women said they didn’t want one. THANKS A LOT LADIES.

Working out next to random people is so weird. Oh hi, I’m gonna stand next to you and run faster than you and sometimes look over to see if you are paying attention to how great I am at working out. Go away please.

In other news, I literally saw an 80 year old woman doing the rowing machine. She’s probably an X-men. X-man? A mutant.

You know the YMCA song that they play at school dances and bar mitzvahs? I’m pretty sure the Village People had never been to a YMCA because they make it sound like the best thing ever. “There’s a place you can go when you’re short on your dough.” Not true. The YMCA costs “dough”. And you can’t stay there. I’m sure you could in the 70’s or whatever, but now they’ll kick you out at 10pm. That’s no fun.

“They have everything for you there to enjoy you can hang out with all the boys.” They have everything? Do they have a petting zoo? Do they have a roller coaster? Do they have a pizza buffet? I didn’t think so. How old are “all the boys”? I don’t want to hang out with a bunch of 7 year olds and I definitely don’t want to hang out with a bunch of 40 year old men that refer to themselves as boys. *shudder*

“You can get yourself clean, you can have a good meal, you can do whatever you feel.” Getting yourself clean is probably the only thing that 70’s YMCA’s have in common with the YMCA’s of today. No “good meals” are ever offered. Unless you consider water a good meal. I can do whatever I feel? I can kick everyone out and have my own personal gym? I don’t think so little black police officer. I don’t think so.

Who do you think is the scariest Village Person?

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Exercise, P0wning N3wbs

Hot Yoga = Highway to Hell

I assume Dexter only takes cold showers.

For some reason I thought doing yoga poses in a hot room with other smelly people sounded like a good idea. I used to have no regrets. Now I can honestly say that I regret doing something. If you’re into self-inflicted torture, hot yoga is for you.

I got a Groupon for a full month of hot yoga. I hate the word groupon almost as much as I hate hot yoga. I got a really good deal though. Who knew causing pain to yourself could be so expensive?

When I arrived to the Bikram yoga center, a class had just gotten out. Everyone was so sick and sweaty. That should have been my first sign to run. Run far away and never come back. I also made the mistake of going in the locker room. Let me just say, locker rooms can either be luxurious, or cellars full of naked people. This one was the latter. I know, I know. Everyone is the same. Everyone has a body. That’s fine. But, everyone does not have a body with saggy butt skin. Just because you are allowed to be naked in a locker room doesn’t mean that you should be. Barf.

I was already semi-naush from seeingĀ  pale, old bodies when I got up to the yoga room. It was really warm. Probably set at 90 degrees. Laying down felt good. It kind of reminded me of being in a tanning bed (I don’t care about skin cancer) but with more humidity. Once we started doing poses, I started to get a little light-headed. It wasn’t just me though, lots of people were sitting down and/or leaving. I deemed anyone that was smiling or having fun a mutant.

I thought the class today was only an hour. Turns out it was 90 minutes. I decided to leave after an hour and 10 minutes, like a trooper. When I got up, the teacher said, “Are you sure you want to leave and give up on yourself?” Oh sorry, now that you phrase it that way, YES. How did she know that I wasn’t standing up because I wanted to run a few laps around everyone? So quick to judge! Anyway, she’s on my hit list now.

The room downstairs that once felt warm when I entered the building, now felt frigid compared to the heat upstairs. My whole body was shaking. Is this what people feel like after getting beat up? Probably. I took a cold shower when I got home. A cold shower. The only people that take cold showers are serial killers and dictators. And people who are close to death after hot yoga.

The thing is, I really like yoga, Pilates, stretching and dancing. This just wasn’t my cup of tea. All I’m saying is, if you like this kind of activity, you’re a world-class psycho.

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