(For some reason this didn't post on Saturday. But I'm posting as it was written while stuck in an airport.)
I'm sitting in the Halifax airport right now and will be doing so for the next six hours. This actually isn't as bad as it could have been. I awoke at 4 a.m. in St. John's, got downstairs, tried getting in a cab, which can be very, very difficult at 4:30 a.m. when it's the George Street Festival. Who knew people are still awake at that time, I know I haven't been for years. (Oh that sentence really makes me feel old.) I arrived at the airport and every flight was being cancelled due to fog. When I got to the counter, the person beside me was told not to come back until Monday! Now I'm starting to panic. The nice Air Canada agent told me I was being rescheduled until later this afternoon and would arrive in Fredericton at 7:30 p.m. Better than nothing, I thought. I was also put on an earlier standby flight and as luck would have it, I made it on that plane (and in executive no less). That meant I arrived in Halifax at 7:45 a.m., my plane to Fredericton was not scheduled to leave until 6 p.m. I ended up getting routed into Saint John, where I'll get picked up. It will get me home four hours earlier. Thankfully this airport has wireless Internet or I'd be ripping out my hair. If I had thought of it, I could have had my luggage pulled so I could get my running gear. But alas, doubt that is possible now.
So I likely won't be running today. I didn't run yesterday but let me tell you all about Thursday's run!
When I travel to these premiers' conferences, I'm staying in some of Canada's greatest cities, but each time I'm stuck for 12 to 14 hours a day in the lobby of a hotel or a filing centre. As has become the norm, I never get to see anything. I arrived too late on Wednesday to run before I had to work and finished too late to run. But Thursday, I was going to run at all costs. I was staying in Canada's oldest city, how could I not run? I finished writing around 8 p.m. and the historic St. John's fog was rolling in. My night's mission, regardless if I accepted it or not, was to run up Signal Hill. I knew nothing about how to get to Signal Hill other than what the cabbie told me, "Folla Duckworth Bye, 'n jist keep runnin' uup da hill, Bye." (I loved the people of St. John's!) Obviously there would be an incline involved. Obviously. I'm used to running in Fredericton where everything is flat and even the hills are flat, compared to what I was about to encounter. So I'm running down Duckworth and I'm leaving the downtown and the incline is starting to kick in. I'm thinking this is not too tough. Then I turn onto Signal Hill Road and all I see is a road leading deep into the fog. I had about a hundred feet of visibility, so just enough to look around me but not too far. What was plainly and painfully obvious was the incline was getting steeper. Lungs are now pumping pretty hard. I pass some motels and house, before entering the gates of Signal Hill National Park. I'm welcomed by possibly the steepest hill I've encountered since I ran in the Rockies at Banff (at the last premiers' conference). I look at my Garmin and like this road, my pace is soaring skyward: 4:30, 5:00, 5:30, 6:00. My breathing is growing increasingly laboured now. I'm concentrating on pushing up this hill and its grade is relentless. My stride is shortening and my arms are pumping harder than ever, trying desperately to maintain any semblance of momentum. I was giving everything I had to get up this hill with my legs still moving.
Once I crest it, I see the Cabot Tower resting on the summit, which is about the only thing I saw with all the fog. I ran up and overlooked this jagged cliffs and could just imagine what the harbour looked like (I could only use my imagination because of the pea-soup like fog). At that point, I felt like crying out, "Hey Marconi, wanna use my BlackBerry!" But decided not to scare the children, plus my BlackBerry was back at the hotel, so that posed a problem to transatlantic wireless communication. I only paused for a few seconds to drink in the scenery when I spotted a trail ... a runner's dream. I had dreaded running back down that tight, winding road with all the cars with drivers, who, presumably, would be too busy looking around at the cliffs and not watching out for runners hurtling themselves down the hill. I started down a narrow staircase, which I had side-step down because the steps were too small to run down. At the bottom, I was greeted by a gravel covered path that led down to a former military outlook all decked out with cannons and other neat stuff. Not really knowing what to do, I slowed down to a fast walk and scoped out the artefacts before circling back to the path. Continuing on the trail, I'll be honest I had no idea where I was going, I ended up running down by a military building of some sort.
Now I'm back on the road about halfway down Signal Hill. The laws of gravity suggest that what goes up, must come down. And there I was, proving Newton right after all these years. I'm barrelling down this hill and my quads are just exploding, it was at this point I was actually missing going up the hill. I'm looking at my Garmin and my pace is plummeting pretty quickly: 4:15, 3:50, 3:30. Now there is no way to stop and I don't know the area well ... and did I mention there was so me fog. Pound, pound, pound. The only sound louder than my shoes pounding the pavement is my heart pounding inside my chest. I'm now back in a residential area, I'm looking ahead and there is an intersection where I'm supposed to stop, while the traffic heading across my path have no stop sign. I had a quick decision to make, glancing down at my Garmin, I check my pace 3:15, 3:30, 2:55, 2:50, 2:45. Stopping, well, in theory that would have been smart but that wasn't going to happen. I literally closed my eyes and picked up the pace until I was though the intersection. My angels were with me that night. Pace now back to normal, I was running down Duckworth and before long running beside all the George Street festivities. I finished the run in about 38:22, I believe it was about 8 kilometres. What an amazing, amazing run. My only wish was that I could have seen Signal Hill without the fog. It was just so amazing to be running in a Canadian historical icon. The memories from that run made missing almost all of the free Rick Mercer/Great Big Sea concert completely worth it.
Now, back to waiting in an airport. Thanks for reading. I hope it was a fraction as interesting to read, as it was reliving those memories.
So I likely won't be running today. I didn't run yesterday but let me tell you all about Thursday's run!
When I travel to these premiers' conferences, I'm staying in some of Canada's greatest cities, but each time I'm stuck for 12 to 14 hours a day in the lobby of a hotel or a filing centre. As has become the norm, I never get to see anything. I arrived too late on Wednesday to run before I had to work and finished too late to run. But Thursday, I was going to run at all costs. I was staying in Canada's oldest city, how could I not run? I finished writing around 8 p.m. and the historic St. John's fog was rolling in. My night's mission, regardless if I accepted it or not, was to run up Signal Hill. I knew nothing about how to get to Signal Hill other than what the cabbie told me, "Folla Duckworth Bye, 'n jist keep runnin' uup da hill, Bye." (I loved the people of St. John's!) Obviously there would be an incline involved. Obviously. I'm used to running in Fredericton where everything is flat and even the hills are flat, compared to what I was about to encounter. So I'm running down Duckworth and I'm leaving the downtown and the incline is starting to kick in. I'm thinking this is not too tough. Then I turn onto Signal Hill Road and all I see is a road leading deep into the fog. I had about a hundred feet of visibility, so just enough to look around me but not too far. What was plainly and painfully obvious was the incline was getting steeper. Lungs are now pumping pretty hard. I pass some motels and house, before entering the gates of Signal Hill National Park. I'm welcomed by possibly the steepest hill I've encountered since I ran in the Rockies at Banff (at the last premiers' conference). I look at my Garmin and like this road, my pace is soaring skyward: 4:30, 5:00, 5:30, 6:00. My breathing is growing increasingly laboured now. I'm concentrating on pushing up this hill and its grade is relentless. My stride is shortening and my arms are pumping harder than ever, trying desperately to maintain any semblance of momentum. I was giving everything I had to get up this hill with my legs still moving.
Once I crest it, I see the Cabot Tower resting on the summit, which is about the only thing I saw with all the fog. I ran up and overlooked this jagged cliffs and could just imagine what the harbour looked like (I could only use my imagination because of the pea-soup like fog). At that point, I felt like crying out, "Hey Marconi, wanna use my BlackBerry!" But decided not to scare the children, plus my BlackBerry was back at the hotel, so that posed a problem to transatlantic wireless communication. I only paused for a few seconds to drink in the scenery when I spotted a trail ... a runner's dream. I had dreaded running back down that tight, winding road with all the cars with drivers, who, presumably, would be too busy looking around at the cliffs and not watching out for runners hurtling themselves down the hill. I started down a narrow staircase, which I had side-step down because the steps were too small to run down. At the bottom, I was greeted by a gravel covered path that led down to a former military outlook all decked out with cannons and other neat stuff. Not really knowing what to do, I slowed down to a fast walk and scoped out the artefacts before circling back to the path. Continuing on the trail, I'll be honest I had no idea where I was going, I ended up running down by a military building of some sort.
Now I'm back on the road about halfway down Signal Hill. The laws of gravity suggest that what goes up, must come down. And there I was, proving Newton right after all these years. I'm barrelling down this hill and my quads are just exploding, it was at this point I was actually missing going up the hill. I'm looking at my Garmin and my pace is plummeting pretty quickly: 4:15, 3:50, 3:30. Now there is no way to stop and I don't know the area well ... and did I mention there was so me fog. Pound, pound, pound. The only sound louder than my shoes pounding the pavement is my heart pounding inside my chest. I'm now back in a residential area, I'm looking ahead and there is an intersection where I'm supposed to stop, while the traffic heading across my path have no stop sign. I had a quick decision to make, glancing down at my Garmin, I check my pace 3:15, 3:30, 2:55, 2:50, 2:45. Stopping, well, in theory that would have been smart but that wasn't going to happen. I literally closed my eyes and picked up the pace until I was though the intersection. My angels were with me that night. Pace now back to normal, I was running down Duckworth and before long running beside all the George Street festivities. I finished the run in about 38:22, I believe it was about 8 kilometres. What an amazing, amazing run. My only wish was that I could have seen Signal Hill without the fog. It was just so amazing to be running in a Canadian historical icon. The memories from that run made missing almost all of the free Rick Mercer/Great Big Sea concert completely worth it.
Now, back to waiting in an airport. Thanks for reading. I hope it was a fraction as interesting to read, as it was reliving those memories.
