Springtime in Canada & other lies

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diet, exercise, family, fitness, lacrosse, weather

Some weeks ago – three? Maybe four? – I put away my long wool winter top coat and draped the scarf over it and moved on to my light, three-season trench coat.

Temperatures were warmer and climbing. Snow had given way to rain. The rhythm of the season began pounding the unmistakable beat of spring. Bring it on.

It is alleged Mark Twain once said the coldest winter of his life was the summer he spent in San Francisco. Mark should have tried on springtime in southern Ontario for winter weather.

Monday’s morning snow was a kick in the teeth, followed by the curb-stomping of today’s cold (-9 when I left the house today after taking out the garbage) to be followed tomorrow by the continued indignity of more rain, sleet, snow and cold.

And what’s strange is where my head goes in weather like this, at this time of year.

Lacrosse tryouts.

Five for Friday; Vol I

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blue jays, canadian politics, cycling, dalhousie tigers, diet, exercise, family, fitness, general, hockey, ropes, sit ups

A new, intended-to-be-regular feature. Let’s call it Five for Friday where I pontificate pointlessly on random, recurring and unrelated things. Or perhaps related. It depends. I won’t really know until I’m done.

– – –

Firstly, I did it again.

I was just past the entrance to Glen Abbey Golf Club on Dorval this morning when I realized I had forgotten my chest belt. Stop laughing.

For the benefit of the new and/or uninterested, we wear MyZone chest belts at ATC when we work out to monitor heart rate and gather data on the intensity of our effort. I had already forgotten my belt once this week.

And not that it really matters, but the computerized data base records your “effort points” so if you forget your belt, you get zero effort points even if you work your butt off. On a month-to-month basis, the cumulative effort points benchmark yourself against the group and against your own previous effort. And in a room full of competitive people, the points matter whether we admit it or not.

If I showed up without the belt again I was in for grief.

So. U-turn. Go home. Retrieve belt. Onward. I have no idea whether Laura heard me. If she’s smart she now knows I can show up just about any time looking for shoes or clothes. Mostly she just ignores me now because this is becoming so common.

I worked out three mornings this week and once at noon. For each of the 6a workouts I forgot something. My shirt. My belt. My suit. My shirt and my belt. My Shoes. A water bottle. My mind.

A baseball game that matters

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baseball, blue jays, colds, cycling, diet, exercise, family, fitness, general

Finally, baseball that matters happening in our postal code.

The first World Series that I actually remember – and yes, I’m dating myself mercilessly – was the 1968 series between Detroit and St. Louis (which was ranked by The Sporting News as the 6^th greatest fall classic ever).

Denny McLain and Bob Gibson. Al Kaline and Lou Brock. Willie Horton and Orlando Cepeda. Interesting to note, given the debate in Toronto these days about pitchers and rest, that series MVP Mickey Lolich started game 7 (and won) on two days’ rest, just as McLain had done in Game 6. Both went on to have productive lives in spite of the short turnarounds.

The first World Series that really burned into my brain was the 1975 matchup between Cincinnati and Boston – ranked #3 overall by The Sporting News. As a kid I had become a fan of the Reds a couple years earlier when they lost in the Series to the A’s. Maybe it was the whole “Big Red Machine” thing. I don’t know. I just know it was the first time I saw drama on a baseball field and I was hooked. I can still recite the Reds lineup. Perez. Morgan. Conception. Rose. Bench. Foster. Geronimo. Griffey (the other guy’s dad.) It’s a wonder they ever lost a game.

We lived in Ottawa when Toronto won in 1992. We were in Edmonton when they won again in 1993 – and that win is sentimental because Pad was born a month before that victory and I (we) watched a lot of baseball that fall with him in my (her) arms screaming (him, not me (or us). But maybe both (or all), now that I think about it.)

Commitment

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cycling, diet, exercise, family, fitness, general, hockey, journalism, junior hockey, kids hockey

The people who show up for 6a workouts on weekdays aren’t special, but they are motivated.

Where I sweat, there is a core of about a dozen men and women — give or take — who make it at least four days out of five. Saturday is an optional throw in, but I understand that people with young families need to actually spend time being a dad on weekends. At my age it’s easy to forget the whirl of birthday parties, play dates, minor sports, and general hanging out that comes with that territory.

Monday to Friday has to occasionally suffer the intrusion of early meetings, GO train schedules, work travel, illness and family commitments, late business dinners, and more. No one in our group is being paid to train; everyone has to figure out a way to be there.

It’s commitment, but it’s only a commitment to yourself. No one is going to call if you don’t show up. If you sleep in and don’t train, the only one who loses is you.

Call it democracy

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diet, family, fitness, general, hockey, journalism, politics

Kiss the ladies shake hands with the fellows
Open for business like a cheap bordello

— Bruce Cockburn, They Call it Democracy

In almost exactly a calendar month from today, election-weary Canadians will vote to elect a new government.

If it feels like the election has been going on forever, that’s because effectively, it has. Partisan politics have evolved into something in Canada that is akin to a 24-7 election cycle — the advertising never stops; the bombardment of commentary on social media — informed and otherwise — is ceaseless, often mean spirited, generally anonymous and frequently without redeeming value.

Against that backdrop we have the longest federal election in Canadian history — 11 weeks. In an age where communication is instantaneous and video and images can be relayed and shared in real time, many wonder what’s the purpose of such a long campaign.

The cynical will say the well-fund Conservatives want to make the other parties spend money they don’t have, accumulating huge debt and crippling them for subsequent elections, that may come sooner than we think if this vote spits out a minority.

The less cynical might argue that a longer election gives the masses more time to sift through the noise of social media and learn an understanding of issues at a more comfortable pace, especially in summer.

To the dump, to the dump, to the dump, dump, dump

I’ve been away, and I’ve been off work, and I’ve been driving back and forth to the dump in Milton.

In short form, that would stand up as a blog entry to cover me since I was last here. But as always there’s more to the story.

Instead of writing a bunch of long-winded, boring entries I’ll revert to the lazy-man’s blog method: short snappers. So, on with the show.

The kids are alright. Some parents, not so much

It was a weekend that wasn’t, really. A blur of lacrosse logistics, screaming parents, the occasional poorly behaved coach(es) and (thankfully) an awful lot of polite, happy and grateful kids and some terrific volunteers.

Lacrosse gala weekend. July must be close

The Oakville Minor Lacrosse Association wraps up the house league season with the annual Brian Kruse Memorial Gala Tournament. It started Wednesday night and runs through Sunday afternoon at Glen Abbey Rec Centre. A lot of kids will be sweating it out and the weather will hopefully give them a break.
Come on by and cheer for all of them.

Bacon and sunshine

I hope you had a great Father’s Day — assuming you are a father, that is.
Our house was quiet on Sunday morning and even though I didn’t get up until almost 830a — an unheard of late hour for me — I was still the first one out of bed and my bride slept, Pad was comatose and Chris was up in cottage country with friends.

Kings for a day

My sense is that in spite of the Los Angeles Kings winning the Stanley Cup last night, it’s not going to be the big puck-infused hockey honeymoon in the sun belt for Gary Bettman.

Personally, I’m happy that the Kings won.

I started the season with a solemn prayer — OK, more a fervent, irrational wish — that the deities of the game would reach down (or up, or across, whatever works for them) and touch the faces of the anointed and patient faithful in a bereft hockey market and put an end to nearly half a century of wandering hockey’s desert.