week thirty two + thirty three

Books Read:
47. Installations – Nicole Brossard
48. Hysteric – Nelly Arcan

Kilometres Ran:
these weeks — 73.4
to date — 1,222.9

I need to break out of this new habit that I’ve formed of coupling multiple weeks into single posts and get back into a habit of posting once per week. Though that depends as well on me reading enough to have something to write about reading. Running doesn’t seem to be a problem, although having something interesting to say about running on a weekly basis is getting a bit trying. Anyway, two weeks, and two books with nothing in common except that they are both excellent reads, by women, originally written in french, from Quebec, and in translation. And I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. I took the Brossard along for some fill between the shouting matches I was dutifully stenographing at the Federal Mediation and Conciliation offices, as is one of the things that I now do in order to purchase food and wine and housing and books. I don’t know why I chose to pick up the Arcan afterwards. It’s not a happy book, as none of them are, but her writing is so great. It’s a beautiful train wreck. I have two of her books left to get to and through. I just don’t think I can do them in a row.
week thirty two three
Week thirty three was really rather thin on the running side of things, partly because I’ve been really focusing on swimming and minutely because I went to Kelowna for the weekend for my sister’s wedding and didn’t run at all. A really terrible excuse. Anyway, for all the complaints that I have about the accuracy of Fitbit and Strava they do both seem to be relatively consistently inaccurate, which is interesting when I look at Strava especially, because Strava likes to do this subtle shaming thing (in my case) where it looks at similar runs/routes and shows an overall trend. And my overall trend in Strava is that I piqued sometime back in February and my pace has slowly but steadily declined ever since. It has made me wonder if this is a product of age or because I don’t actually train or because I’m wearing myself out by running 40 to 50 kilometres per week without really giving myself a break. So I’m giving myself a bit of a break and I’m going to see what happens. Take a few days off (I can’t remember when I last took more than two days off in a row) and then go out and just see what happens and how I feel and then try to interpret that result. I’m curious, though regardless of what happens I’m sure I’ll find a way to overthink what it means. I’m good at that.

week thirty + thirty one

Books Read:
45. Davie Street Translations — Daniel Zomparelli
46. Guapa — Saleem Haddad

Kilometres Ran:
these weeks — 98.83
to date — 1,149.5

Purely by accident or fortuitous coincidence I ended up spending Pride week and the week following immersed in Daniel Zomparelli and Saleem Haddad and in hindsight I would have it any other way. Puns and/or innuendos unintended. Daniel is one of my favourite people. I’ve never met Saleem. I spent the midday last Sunday standing at the corner of Robson and Nicola watching the Pride parade and noting that it’s a lot more family friendly and a lot more commercial than I recall from years past. Maybe it’s crept up on me; I don’t remember noticing before (mind you I was out of town last year and missed it). I’m not sure how I really feel about this, or how I’m supposed to feel about it, but I’m curious to know how people within the community feel about it. Maybe it’s not a big deal. I do think that Davie Street Translations is an important historical artifact, albeit only a few years old, that deserves widespread attention. Guapa is the book that I was expecting/hoping that (the comparatively mediocre) God in Pink that I lamented back in January on here (week two) would have been.
week thirty thirty one
I’ve become a sponsored athlete, just in time for the 2016 Rio Olympics. They have nothing to do with each other. And not really. Not really at all. My employer has decided to subsidize athletic activity on a monthly basis, so I got myself a membership to the Robert Lee YMCA that’s just about a block from my apartment, and I’ve been swimming nearly daily for the past couple weeks. And I’m terrible. But I like that I’m terrible. I also like that I’ve managed to maintain a decent average running session and distance throughout this additional activity, though I’m exhausted. Swimming now brings back memories of when I first started running and I could only last a couple kilometres; swimming, I can barely last beyond a lap. It’s humbling, and I’ve fallen in like with it. I might even sign up for a lesson or two. But I’ll probably just keep on with my spastic splashing.