Rock MOOSEic

Just got back from ten-days in Newfoundland and brought back a souvenir whale.

Oh crap… that’s my husband.

It’s an easy mistake to make. In the past couple weeks the freshest thing we’ve eaten is a pound of butter.  Deep fried everything topped with gummy worms was on our daily menu and beer took the place of water.

I really knew I was in trouble when on our first day I asked our gracious hosts if they had any Gatorade and they replied “how hung-over do you think you’re going to be?”

But here’s the thing – I loved it! Nearly two weeks of pure gluttony may have put a dent in my quest to become Oakville, Ont’s most mediocre runner, but I sure did enjoy myself.

And what’s more, is that while I ate badly, I still ran. And the runs were some of my best ever.

The foggy 18-degreeish weather was a welcome respite from the smoggy 30-degreeish weather that is Southern Ontario and even though I packed fries in my fuel belt, I felt like I was flying.

For part of the trip, we were staying at our friends’ house in St. John’s and a typical run went something like this — friendly neighbourhood, more friendly neighbourhood, massive hill up, massive hill down, stunning cliffs, ocean views, lush green pine valley, beautiful bog, ocean views again, repeat.

While there, we spent a week in Gros Morne National Park and it’s surrounds. My first tempo run took me along a coastal inlet to the Lobster Cove lighthouse. The run for me was fast, but could have been faster were it not for my head spinning with a new “holy shi** that’s beautiful” every few seconds.

Sorry Oakville, but no matter how hard we may try the beautiful brown grass surrounding our most famous attraction – the Ford Plant – just doesn’t measure up. See for yourself:

Vs.

On the first repeat of my hill workout (which, by the way took me 1 hour and 25 minutes to complete because the hills are just that big) I was running with my head down and my eyes on the unpaved, wet and rocky road in an effort to avoid injury (remember my co-ordination issues), when I was quite literally stopped in my tracks by a massive moose crossing just steps in front of me.  Retrospectively maybe I should have been scared of horny-moose pursuit. But, the moose stopped a few metres away, chewed his cud and watched me do four repeats before getting bored and wondering off, so it didn’t occur to me to feel anything but incredibly lucky to be there.

I feel that way a lot these days.

It wasn’t long ago that even the thought of bringing work out clothes on a trip sounded ludicrous and the idea of choosing to run sounded more like punishment than pleasure. But that’s changed and so have I. I find I’m running now not just to minimize the damage of my deep-fried indulgences, but quite simply because I love to do so.

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