Andrew & I had a few chill nights in Fredericton. We didn’t do much touristy stuff there because mostly, we wanted to decompress. We spent our nights at Jay’s Fredericton apartment (because he’s a rich lawyer and has TWO apartments) ((not really, he’s a law student and is subletting in Halifax this summer)). Our first night was spent struggling with how to put in a window air conditioner. It was broiling in Fredericton. We got there, it must have been 95°F (that’s 35°C for my Canadian readers) and 99% humidity. You know, right below where the air itself is made of water.

I’ve had experience putting in a window air conditioner. Two summers ago, our central air decided to not work anymore, so we stuck a few window units in the house and it made life better. That was the one summer of my life where my room was actually the temperature I wanted it to be at night. I have the worst room in the house for temperature control. It’s small, but has two windows that don’t shut properly, so the heat escapes in the winter and the heat gets in in the summer. It was fine this summer though, because it was gorgeous.

…I digress. My point is that I have experience with putting in a window unit. But I have no experience with a window that’s above waist-height. This window was about chest-height, and I have no upper body strength. Poor Andrew was very patient with me as we struggled to heave this thing up and install it. It took us about an hour. But it was worth it, because that was a powerful air conditioner and the apartment – not just the bedroom, but the whole apartment – became instantly cooler.

That night I didn’t sleep.

I told Andrew I just wanted to sleep under a sheet because I was so hot, and we installed the AC right before we went to bed. We also cranked the AC down because it was so hot and closed the door and I insisted because I do like sleeping in cold rooms when I go to bed.

I forgot that I like to sleep in cold rooms under thick blankets.

I ended up nearly pushing Andrew off the bed in the middle of the night. I kept snuggling closer and closer to him because I was so cold and he was warm. He crankily told me at about 2:00AM that I was cramping his style. And pushing him off the bed.

At around 5:00AM I gave up on the bedroom and went back to the living room to crash on the couch. It was much warmer in the living room because we had shut the door to the bedroom and I slept the rest of the night in there.

Needless to say, Andrew was very confused when he woke up.

That pretty much was our adventure in Fredericton. We also went to a really, really cool art museum, the Beaverbrook Art Gallery. They had a few Dalis and a few Bottecellis. The coolest thing, however, was the docent who practically followed us around. The docents I usually come across in art galleries answer questions, but this guy was amazing. He made us lay on the floor to view the giant Dali masterwork they had, to see the 3-D effect Dali had painted into it. It was supposed to be an alter piece of St. James and the ascension, intended to be hung farther above the ground than it was in the museum. He also quizzed us in the Medieval room after studying the Dali for a while, to have us find St. James in the tapestry we were contemplating. We found him – he was riding a wooden horse and carrying a shell. Apparently, all the saints had symbols associated with them so that the common people could pick them out of the tapestries & statues and paintings, and Dali incorporated these traditional symbols into his work. (I spent an hour later that day looking up saints & symbols and it’s very creepy. Apparently, most male Saints are pictured with symbols that are used for what they did in their life, and women are pictured how they died. One of the St. Catherines the docent showed us had a sword piercing her neck in the Medieval painting, and St. Anne had pliers in her hand that pulled out her eye. Creepy!)

There was also a painting by Lucian Freud, a grandson of our buddy Sigmund. He’s a very popular British painter, and recently, one of his works went for £16M which is about CAD$35M. This Freud that they have is a self portrait and depicts his ex-wife in bed. The docent thought that the painting they have might be the most expensive painting in the gallery because of those particular aspects.

So that was Fredericton.

We headed to Halifax, where we met up with Jay and his girlfriend Lisa in his second apartment. Psh, rich law students. (Speaking of, Andrew might take the LSATs.) Anyway, we got there and happened to be driving through Truro, NS where Jay works around the same time he left work, so the two of us met up with him at a Tim Horton’s outside of Truro and we followed him back to his place. Lisa had the MCATs the next day, so Jay, Andrew & I went to a “patio” – basically outdoor eating. Very popular in Halifax. Every place to eat had some place to eat outside, and they were all jam packed. We went to the rooftop patio of a place called Your Father’s Mustache, which I thought was ridiculously amusing, because my father definitely has a mustache. The three of us had some good food there, then went to a microbrewery in the basement of the same place, where Jay and I spent 20 minutes playing no-think speed chess, where you make moves without thinking. He won, but I took his queen. Thus, my chess record stands at 0-13-1. (I am awful at that game, but I did stalemate with a Russian freshman on a bus trip to a marching band competition in 11th grade once.)

Friday, while Lisa was out celebrating her MCAT triumph, Andrew & I went to see the Citadel of Halifax. We got the official tour this time, and I have some cool pictures of and from the Citadel. It’s at the highest point in Halifax. There’s no way that anyone would have been able to penetrate it when it was built, so it was never attacked. Smart Canadians.

Friday night, we went out to help Lisa celebrate. We got together with Jay & Lisa’s friends Liz & Dave and they made a delicious curry for us. I love Indian food, even when made by non-Indians. After a few sheets of Naan, we decided to go out to a membership-only bar. It used to be a place for old men to hang out, when a few college students found a way to become members it filled up with college kids & grad students and became a popular place to be. That being said, the college students didn’t scare off the old men, who were abundant and whom I’m sure were trying to scare off ME. Scary, scary old men.

It was Open Mic night, which in Halifax means a bunch of really talented people play together for an hour and then hand over the mic to another bunch of really talented people. Really, this was no Open Mic night like I’ve ever seen. For one, everyone could actually play their instruments and sing, and for two, there was a fiddler. An actual fiddle player who was awesome and improvised and yeah. I love the Atlantic provinces (this happens in Newfoundland too).

Saturday night, we boarded the ferry for Newfoundland, followed closely by “Hurricane” Bill. Apparently, Hurricane Bill was really just small, gusty, rainstorm Bill. That being said, the captain of the ferry said they were going to book it and arrive in Newfoundland ASAP to make sure we were ahead of the “hurricane.” So a boat that was supposed to arrive at 7:00AM arrived two hours ahead of schedule. What the heck! If they can get the boat across that fast, why not just advertise that? Andrew & I slept in a cabin for the night, and by slept I mean Andrew slept and I tried to not notice the constant motion of the boat up and down and up and down… I could never be a pirate.

We arrived in Newfoundland at around 5:00 and were deboarded by 5:30. Pretty impressive and efficient. I was on moose watch because it was dark, but as soon as the sun crested and Garmina Burana went back into daytime mode, I napped. I needed it because I was really, really tired.

We’re finally in Newfoundland. We hung out with Andrew’s sister Paula, her husband Shawn and our nephew Ryan and niece Rachel yesterday. Not until after we napped in Ryan’s room though. When I woke up at noon, I headed to the bathroom. As soon as I exited, a cute little 8-year-old girl was curled up in a ball on the floor staring with anticipation and excitement at the bathroom was waiting for me, sheepishly grinning. What a way to wake up, huh?

I spent the day hanging out with Little Rachel and learning all about her friends and watching her play guitar and playing video games with her and Ryan. Andrew & I bought them Mario Kart and set up their Wii for internet access. Yeah, we’re probably the best American-based Auntie and Uncle out there!

After the kids finally went to bed (I say “the kids” but really, Ryan was diligent and listened, Rachel put up a fight until about 11:30 and was very overtired at that point), Andrew & I hung out with Paula & Shawn and watched the Miss Universe pageant and made fun of it. Those girls are so dumb.

After Paula & Shawn went to bed, we watched the Discovery Channel in HD and I forgot the word “sideburns” and called them ear mustaches. We also watched this program about the earth’s oceans and it was really awesome, especially the part where they talked about how a ship with containers of bath toys lost some of its cargo in the middle of the Pacific and they found rubber ducks from Hawaii to Alaska and how some of the ducks crossed the arctic and ended up in Scotland. That’s when I learned oceans are amazing, and bath toy ducks are ridiculously indestructible.

We’re now on the road back to Bay Roberts. This means I will be having some sort of Newfoundland blueberry-based dessert made by my mother-in-law and I am ridiculously excited. This also means that we’ll be in Newfoundland for about a week before we head back, while Andrew settles some matters.

Meanwhile, I’m going to enjoy Joan’s cooking. Tomorrow is our two-year anniversary. Hopefully we’ll do something cool. Like eat blueberry cake.

Edit: Can I call it or what?! There was blueberry cake!

(Written on 8/19/09)

Leg one of our trip is over. On Thursday morning, the 13th, I woke up bright and early with a dreadful cough. I was meaning to get out of Horsham at around 6:00 am, but ended up leaving around 10:00. I drove the 8-hour drive to Montéal by myself, relying on my iPod and just general boredness to get up there sanely. Did you know it takes 13 minutes to complete “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall”? Also, the Adirondacks are very beautiful, and full of very cool clouds that bounce around the tops of the hills. And thunderstorms.

I knew I had arrived in Québec because I turned on the radio and there was this French eletronique music on the radio. It was really funny. I enjoyed it.

Montréal was really cool. Everyone was laid back and, more importantly, knew English. Whenever someone attempted to speak French to me at first, I would freak out and say “English!” They didn’t seem to care so much, and they were cool with me being a little freak-outy. It’s kind of sad, though, that I completely forgot a lot of my French.

Andrew’s immigration interview (or whatever the official name of it was, I completely forget) was Friday morning, 8:00. I’d go through the nitty gritty, but really, I don’t care that much and it was nerve-wracking, so I’d rather not relive it. That being said, Andrew’s all sorts of approved, and that’s the important part. We have to go pick up his passport in Newfoundland when we get there, but he was approved and we can stop worrying about this stupid process. Except Andrew’s social security card and getting him a job. But no more immigration worries. Yay!

Montréal was a pretty sweet city. I’m calling it a laid-back Philly, because it was full of tall buildings and shops and history and stuff, but it was much more chill. Everyone walked slower which, as a typical east coast city strider, was difficile to get around at first. Andrew tended to be a little fast-paced too, so the two of us got frustrated at first with how slow everyone was going, but we eventually slowed our pace.

The other cool thing about Montréal was that there were bikes EVERYWHERE. Everyone took bikes from one place to another, which was kind of intense because there were a lot of steep hills. My mucus-filled lungs groaned in pain whenever I saw people biking up the hills. Going down looked like a lot of fun, but there were stop signs and lights and it was a little. Being that I did the triathlon in June, it didn’t intimidate me that much to be biking with traffic, but I couldn’t convince Andrew to do so. Understandable, he’s not used to the traffic of a big city. (Philly’s much worse than Montréal so I had no problem with it.) Montréal even has this bike/taxi service called “Bixie”… because it’s a combination of bicycle & taxi. They were on almost every corner and a lot of people were using them to get from one place to another. For five bucks, it would totally be worth it to use instead of a taxi or even walking some places.

Andrew & I spent most of Friday wandering around downtown Montréal, stopping in random churches (which I love to do). I was sad because I forgot my camera. Saturday, Andrew & I hopped on the Metro and went down to the Biodôme and the Olympic Stadium. The Biodôme is NOT just like the Pauly Shore movie – it’s actually like an indoor zoo with different climates for each habitat. I love animals, and I loved that Andrew knew to take me there!

We then took a tour of the Olympic stadium, where the summer olympics were held in 1976. We went up into the tower – which was not completed for the 1976 games. Our tour guide was saying how Montréal was procrastinating on building stuff for the games & didn’t end up finishing the tower in time. I assume that’s where the olympic flame was supposed to have been shining for all to see – but no one told me. Anyway, the inside of the stadium is a public pool now – there were people inside diving off of the lowest high dive and whatnot.

The stadium where the track was is completely torn apart. It’s all concrete and stands and looks kind of sad. Apparently, the Expos played there before they became the Nationals. And there was a football team that played there before moved because they couldn’t fill half the stadium. Now, it just hosts concerts like U2 and Van Halen. It looks impressive though, and the architecture is really cool.

Saturday, we packed up our stuff and headed over to Québec City aka Québec. Apparently, only Americans call it Québec City. It’s like saying “I’m going to New York” when it’s really New York City. But we all know what you mean.

Québec is crazy. It’s ridiculously old. The streets are very close together. It’s very European. I think the best way to describe Québec is to just view my pics on Facebook. Old buildings, lots of history. Too much to say here. I loved it, and would definitely want to go back and just spend a bunch of time there. Also, it was in Québec that I did finally speak French to someone to taste ice cream.

Now, Andrew & I are on the way through Nouveau Brunswick to Fredericton. The trip, which takes about 6 hours, has been pretty interesting. My GPS has been obnoxious. Right now, and for the past 50 km or so it’s been convinced that we’re driving through the middle of nowhere even though we’ve been driving on the highway. It also told us to take a ferry at one point. Um… no thanks Garmina Burana (my GPS’s name). Clearly I need to update my maps.

Other gems from the road:

*Sign says: Potato World Museum, next exit*
Me: “Potato World! Let’s go to Potato World!“
Andrew: “I’m not going to Potato World.”
Me: “But I want to go to Potato World!”
Andrew: “We didn’t go to Captain Lobster, and we’re not going to Potato World!”

Me: “Why does it say we only have 250 miles to Fredricton, but that it’ll take three and a half hours? We’re going 100 km/h.”
Andrew: “Um… that’s weird.”
Me: “*lightbulb* OH. We’re in Atlantic time zone. Alright, let me adjust my watch….”

We should arrive in Fredricton in about an hour. Atlantic time. More from me later!

After years of riding my LL Bean mountain bike everywhere, I have discovered a true love in my Not-Uncle Yong’s certifiably cool Fuji Aloha road bike, or, what I’m calling The Queen of Speen. (“Speen” is speed and mean put together. Or maybe it should be spean? Anyway, this bike is fast, and it is mean!) It has impossibly tiny tires and is about 12 ounces and is really kind of awesome. And it is FAST.

(Not-Uncle is my affectionate term for my Aunt Mary’s boyfriend. They’ve been together as long as I can remember. Yong is a very youthful character, bikes century rides on a regular basis, and is tortured by an adult calling him “Uncle,” especially my cousin Heather, who is only seven years his junior. As he is not officially an Uncle, and hates being called Uncle by adults, I jokingly refer to him as my Not-Uncle.)

The first time I got up on the bike, it was bad. The Queen has clipless pedals, which means that the shoes are attached to the pedals and you have to flick your foot in a very specific way to detach the shoe. I’ve heard of clipless pedals before and I thought they were kind of cool and was really excited to try them out.

What I didn’t realize is that when your shoe is attached to your bike, your shoe is attached to your bike. Suddenly, the convenience of being able to just put your foot down whenever you darn well please – say at a stop sign – is gone. You have to flick your shoe in that very specific way and THEN put your foot down. I quickly found out that if you don’t do it quickly enough, you go down instead.

My first time out on The Queen I had three accidents, and shed blood each time. I hadn’t fallen off my bike since I was in fifth grade when I took a dramatic nosedive over my handlebars, simultaneously scraping both knees and both elbows, which is odd, because if you think about it, your elbows are definitely on different sides of the body, facing away from each other. I still have the scars from this particular fall. (When I extend my arm, the one of the left elbow looks like a brain.) Going down at age 26, in front of a bunch of family and family friends (this was at my mom’s surprise 50th birthday party) was a little embarrassing, but it hurt less to bleed this time than 16 years ago.

However, even when I fell my second and third times down on the path behind my house and scraped up even more, I was kind of proud. It was kind of like I had battle wounds. (Even though, at this point, the battle’s score was Bike: 3, Rachel: 0.) I made my mom take pictures. I made sure I had evidence that I was in the battle, even if I hadn’t won. Those pictures were motivation, as if to say, “You may have won the battle, but I will win the war!”

So with the images of blood dripping from my knee emblazoned in my mind, and the weather a delicious 75°F (that’s 24°C for my Canadian friends), I embarked on battle number two.

I started out today’s ride rather cautious. I knew from my past battles to clip in one pedal at a time. I practiced unclipping and stopping. I practiced walking my bike with one pedal clipped in, using the bike and my body weight to keep me steady. And then I rode.

And I rode FAST.

My dad and I went out for a leisurely ride, and then I realized that this bike is much MUCH MUCH faster than my industrial-strength mountain bike. I guess it helps that the bike weighs oh-point-four pounds and that everything’s set up for a streamlined ride with the weight being placed JUST SO so that you have good balance and torque. The clipless pedals make for a more efficient ride. “Wait, you can pedal UP as well as down?!” was a thought that ran through my mind as I skimmed the pavement, suddenly taking advantage of this newfound discovery.

I whizzed down hills and easily pedaled up them. I could have had a conversation if I wanted to. It was hardly like doing any work. I used to bike up and down this trail every day to go to my old job, and I realize now that if I had a bike like this instead of my mountain bike, I could have woken up ten minutes later every day because my commute would have been shaved in half.

I came to the end of the path and waited for my dad to show up, as I had passed him a long, long time ago. He came in, smoothly and surely on his mountain bike. On our way back, I lost him completely – I had gone very far ahead and he had decided to go another way home. I went back to search for him by biking up and down the path a second time.

As I was speeding down the path back home a second time, I realized that I had not fallen once. I was so proud of myself! I had beaten the bike, and no doubt I could make it home in one piece. I had already crossed the busy road with ease, and the rest of the trip, for the most part, was downhill. Smooth sailing.

I had it made! I had power, I had speed, I had–

…TO GET MY FEET OUT OF THESE PEDALS BEFORE THAT GIANT DOG TOPPLES ME OVER.

Dixie, a five month old Great Dane (yet, no less Great than her adult counterparts), came springing from a local backyard to play. I had met her on my way in, and the reaction was similar, but as I had seen her from afar the first time, I was able to easily slow down and stop to pet Dixie before I continued my ride.

This time, I saw her bounding in. I tried to unclip, and upon trying, lost balance and toppled over. As if to rub it in, my foot came out of the pedal as soon as I hit dirt.

Dixie gave me a big wet kiss as I lay in the grass. Her owner came running out of the backyard, bright red, apologizing profusely for Dixie’s behavior – “Did she jump on you? She’s only five months old, she loves things with wheels, especially things that go fast…” et cetera, et cetera. I laughed, saying it wasn’t Dixie, it was me, I was trying to get used to these dang peddles.

So I sped off, Dixie behind me, once again humbled by the bike. Riding home, I became somewhat introspective about this whole triathlon thing. See, recently, I’ve been going through what is probably a slight case of depression. There’s really no way to hide it. Okay, that’s a boldface lie. Or not… I did not put the font for the lie in a bold face. (Typesetting joke, for my mother.) I can totally hide it. I am actually extraordinarily good at hiding it.  But I can’t hide it from myself, and sometimes, I can’t hide it from other people.

I had one of those moments at practice today. After swimming, we all went for a run, which, for poor little asthmatic me, meant a walk and then a run, and then a walk, and then a run… you get the drift. As my teammates jogged off into the distance, I walked at a “brisk pace” (according to dude who tells me when to walk/run). By the time I turned the first corner, I was on my first run, but the rest of the team was no where in sight. They had completely gone.

I ran my 90 seconds, becoming exceedingly frustrated with myself. Why can’t I run like they do? By the time I got to my first 3-minute run, almost entirely uphill, I had such a defeatist attitude about the running. I’ll never do it, I told myself. Everyone else can run, why can’t I? I started to feel my chest constrict and my tear ducts well. My heart started pounding in my chest as I grimaced and tried not to panic, tried not to let my emotions get the better of me and get me all asthma-y. (This was extremely important as I had left my inhaler in my car.) I realized as I was running down City Line Avenue, one of the busiest streets I know, that any car passing me would see my face and just know I was frustrated, in pain, and about to cry. I’m surprised no one stopped. I couldn’t hide my sadness at that moment.

My iPod told me to walk again, so I walked. I walked and tried not to cry, tried to catch my breath. I did another two rounds of walking and running, and when my time to run was over, I just wanted to collapse. At that moment, I just wanted to give up.

Thankfully, a song come on that changed my mind. I purposefully put this particular song after a workout to get my spirits up. It’s a song called, “Just a Ride” by the artist Jem. (No, not of the Holograms.) The lyrics are particularly poignant and basically say, don’t sweat the small stuff, life’s just a ride. It really struck a chord with me when I first heard it, and its message has reverberated ever since.

Today, in this instance, and in the instance with Dixie the Dane, I was humbled. Jem reminded me again and again (as I have this tendency to listen to a song on endless repeat if it’s resonating with me) that life is just a ride. Sometimes you’re up, sometimes you’re down. But don’t forget, enjoy the ride.

There have been others with harder rides. I remembered my mother. I remembered the struggle she went through and what she needed to do to be here today. Visions of her visage surrounded by a beautifully bald head (with a strategically placed frog tattoo) swirled through my mind. And as the opening chords for “Just a Ride” strummed for the third or fourth time, I decided that I was going to push it. Though I thought I could run no further, just down the hill was my destination. So I ran.

Life is just a ride. I just need to sit back and watch. I don’t need to compare myself to others, they’re on their own rides. My ride is different than everyone else’s. Sometimes, your ride is attacked by a big, goofy puppy wanting to play. Sometimes, it’s attacked by cancer. Sometimes your ride can be filled with grief, and sadness. Sometimes, joy. My ride, right now, was getting back to that locker room with my head held high.

As I turned the final corner to come back to where we started, I saw about a dozen fellow team members standing at the entrance to the gym. And as I jogged in, slowly, gasping for air, they clapped  and cheered and smiled shouting, “Go team!” My coach held up his hand for a requisite high-five.

I teared up. This wasn’t about who was fastest… or, who was lastest. It was about the team, it was about the mission. It was about my mother. My Aunt Betsy. It was about making sure that what has happened to them does not happen to others. These people knew that, and finally, I am realizing it myself.

If my life’s just a ride, this section of my journey is headed in a great direction. It’s up to me to choose how to spend my time while I wait to get to my destination.

So, don’t forget, enjoy the ride.

While reading up on triathlon training, I read somewhere that “running is natural for your body” so the run leg would be the easiest leg to complete.

…What a bunch of malarky.

That is to say, if I was in Africa in 10,000 BC as a primitive human being, I would have to say that I would absolutely be a victim of Darwin’s theory and the lion would eat me.

I was just NOT built to run. Almost every time I complete a “run” workout, I sort of feel like I’ve been hit by a steamroller. I have asthma, which is the first problem, so running any more than 30 seconds (especially toward the end of my run workout) usually makes me want to collapse in a sudden heap. It’s HARD. Let’s say that I’m absolutely not looking forward to my first three-minute run tomorrow. It should be interesting. (

However, I am made to swim. Swimming, I have no problem with. Swimming I could do for ages. Hours. So in that respect, Darwin has it right. I may not out-swim a shark, but I may get less of my leg bitten off than some of the other people on my team.

…I’m being a little morbid with the death-by-animal analogies today, aren’t I?

Anyway, my point is that running is HARD. I am currently trying to complete week three of a Couch-2-5K, a nine week course set to get you off your bum and started running. I’m on week three, as Robert Ullrey (my podcast “coach”), though I did repeat week 2 because I wasn’t feeling up to running three minutes in a row yet. Ninety seconds was hard enough.

But thinking about it, running? That’s nothing. That’s nothing compared to losing all your hair and throwing up on an hourly basis. I mean, I once took medicine that took me to the hospital for throwing up for seven hours straight. It was the most horrible pain I’d ever been in.

I can’t imagine doing that for eight weeks straight.

My mother did.

So running for three minutes? 10K? Does jogging & walking the whole time make me weak? No, it makes me strong.  Literally and figuratively!

If I can run three minutes, why can’t I run five? And if not five, why not ten? I may think it’s hard at the moment, but there’s harder.

Malarky? From here on out, my workouts are no malarky allowed.

So, I have this friend David Lu!!, who is awesome. He made me a non-monetary present:

By David Lu!!

Yay David Lu!!