When you see me lacing into my Nikes, iPod discarded next to me on the porch, you squint and give me that oh another overachiever look: ‘Why do you run?’ It should be an easy question to answer, but it’s not. I started for the typical reasons. I didn’t want to get fat. Social approval. X does it, and I think X is pretty cool, so I’ll do it too.

But why you start running isn’t why you keep running, although the two trip into one another. Last week you could only run 4 minutes without feeling your lungs give out. This week you can run 10 uninterrupted. And then you run your first 10k, and then you can’t stop, because if you went from 10 minutes to 10 kilometres in a couple of months, how far could you go if you push further?

(Same thing we do every night, Pinky – try to take over the world!)


Dune Walks


The sand’s heat has relaxed through the long afternoon, and a faint sliver of a moon has made its way over the trees, wriggling in between the stars. The bonfire has slow-burned through the night, down to embers, and our bellies are full when the three of us venture out into the dunes. Flip-flops are abandoned in the dark. Matt carries a Tupperware of cool white wine as our feet sink, silent, into liquid white sand.

Getting the Worm


There’s something about waking before morning does. Not the process of it – the alarm’s incessant beeping, staggering to the bathroom in the dark, the sting of contact lenses biting raw eyes. Yawning despite the coffee as you move around with lead feet.

You creep from dread to a sleepy anticipation slowly, like water warming. You see the car pull up outside, tires crunching frozen snow, leaving ripples in puddles. You hurry down the slushy driveway with selective steps, sucking in the hollow-wet Vancouver air, but then you’re curled into the front seat with another half-asleep human. He drives. You watch the sky start its slow glow in the distance, lazy window wipers erasing the last few falling snowflakes. 

Grouse Grind & Crown Mountain


In the time between living in Ottawa and moving into my new place in Victoria, I’ve spent a couple of days with my brother Eric. For those of you who don’t know Eric, picture a tall, grown-up version of Calvin (from Calvin & Hobbes) with a penchant for doing asinine things despite being smart enough to build a robot. Don’t understand it? Don’t worry, I don’t either, and I’ve spent 19 years around the kid.