A Kick in the Pants

I had a less than stellar Wednesday both health and general life-wise. By the time last night rolled around and I settled in to post, I was feeling sorry for myself and felt that everyone else should share my pity. I was going to post and I wanted to whine... a lot. Before starting to whine and vent online, I checked my feeder to find this post from Susan.

Susan is one of the first healthy living bloggers I found when I first started this journey. I learned a lot from her fitness posts, followed her adventures as she moved from New Brunswick to Toronto and back again, felt helpless as she talked about her shattered elbow, and secretly decided she was my hero when she did an entire dinner themed around beer.

I can not even imagine what must be running through her mind right now but other than sending positive thoughts there's not much I can do about it.

And just like that, all my complaints seemed so minuscule, hardly worthy of the time to type them, that I never posted. So I had a bad day, who doesn't from time to time? It's time to pick myself up, put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

Because that's what Susan would do for something as trifling as a head cold.

Thank You For Being a Friend!

Every time I tell a friend about my plan, they are supportive. I am reminded, again and again, of how awesome my friends are. This coming weekend, I have to say good bye to one of my biggest supporters: THR. Her husband is a shift worker in Vancouver (four days on, four days off) and has been commuting back and forth. As of this weekend, they will call Vancouver home and I miss her already.

THR on a Girl's Weekend in Parksville. That was the year we went in February.

THR has always been willing to go along with my crazy ideas and support me in any way she can. Boot camp? She signed up as well. Running? She's game for giving it a try. Dancing? Well, she left that one for me. I can honestly say that if THR hadn't joined me, I don't think I'd have stuck with running. I love it now, but I probably never would have gotten off the couch if she hadn't committed to going with me.

The start of another Girl's Weekend. This time we took the Washington State Ferry to Friday Harbour.

Best start-of-the-weekend-coffees EVER!

I'm going to miss THR. Not just for being an awesome friend, but also because I'll miss having someone to talk to when we're warming up, to push me when I start to lag, and to hold me accountable to my workouts. I won't laugh as often or as hard, and I will no longer be able to use my workouts to vent about issues in my life. In short, workouts will be more difficult.

I don't know anyone else who thinks that Edgar Allan Poe totally belongs at a Cinco de Mayo party.

For that (and a million other reasons) I will always love THR.

I wish you well, THR, in all that comes your way. I will miss you more than I could ever put into words but I know this is the first step towards you doing what you really want. I'll be over to visit as often as I can. Maybe we can run walk the Sea Wall.

When Friends Aren't Supportive

I'm loving my WW meetings these days. When I first joined there was only one other person under the age of 40 and she was two weeks away from getting lifetime so she wasn't around much once that happened. I really enjoyed the other ladies and have struck up a great friendship with one of them, but sometimes it was odd being the only one who wasn't married and had children yet. In the last eight weeks, however, six other 'under 40's' have joined and we get along very well.

At our last week, one of the girl's was visibly upset when talking in the meeting. A best friend who knows she's doing WW invited her over for dinner and the healthiest option was the Caesar salad onto which the friend dumped half a cup of cheese. She ate very little, ended up having to eat a second dinner when she got home, and finished the day feeling like her friend was trying to sabotage her healthy eating habits. What made the scenario even more unsettling was that almost everyone I've talked to on this journey has had at least one of those people in their lives.

[Source]

In this case, the friend in question is a bigger girl than my friend, SW, at WW. SW taking the steps to change her life and to get healthy and fit is a reminder to her bigger friend that she is ultimately choosing to remain fat. Some people would use SW as inspiration and start taking some steps towards healthy living. Others, like her friend, want to sabotage her because SW failing is just one more reason for them not to bother trying.

It's not just the fat friends who may be unhappy with a successful weight-loss journey. Fit friends may resent that you're becoming 'the hot one'. Old friends may resent the new life you're creating for yourself. No matter who it is, it hurts when you realise someone you call a friend is not being supportive.

After the meeting, the under 40's hung around and talked about reasons why a friend might not be supportive. In the end, the reason always came back to the friend's own fears and insecurities. It was some comfort to SW to know that she's not the only one who has had friends react like this and that it's not her fault. Hopefully, the information will help her be better prepared next time she is invited for dinner.

[Source]

This time tomorrow...

Tomorrow I will run my first 10K... and by run I mean 'attempt to run as much as possible'. I had been hoping that I would be up to sustained 10 minute intervals by the time the 10K rolled around (with a 2 minute walking period) but I know that I won't be able to keep that up for the whole race so instead, I'm dropping down to 5:1. I know that I can sustain that for roughly 5K; we'll see how well it works tomorrow morning with double the distance. I'm optimistic if only because I have no other choice at this point. Yay me! I can do it!! Sadly, I'm not really buying my own (false) positivity but my main goal is to beat last year's time when I walked the whole thing and I have no doubt that I can do that (unless, you know, I go ass-over-tit and sprain something). Regardless of the outcome, I will be saying I ran my first 10K!

In preparation for tomorrow's run, I spent today visiting my friend Lisa. I know I don't normally name my friends but then I normally can't say "that's my friend" about someone on the cover of and the author of a book about triathlon training for women. Lisa has consistently been one of my biggest cheerleaders in this whole crazy plan. From the "I'm going to hike the Chilkoot" to "I'm going to run a half-marathon", she been a positive voice in my ear repeating "you can do this". Lisa--who has won Ironman triathlons, competed in (but sadly didn't complete) the Leadville Trail 100, and competed with the Canadian Rowing Team--is currently laid up after some back issues so I went to visit, to help alleviate some of her cabin fever. It was wonderful to see her and to talk about the training I've been doing. I joked about how I enjoy running more than I ever thought I would and she asked me what it was that I enjoyed about it? I had never really thought about that before and it felt good to ponder and postulate ideas. It is definitely something I'm going to give more thought to over the coming weeks as I work out a training schedule for October and try to find cross-training activities I will enjoy just as much.

I stayed at my mom's house last night, slept on the futon in my old bedroom. It was a fairly sleepless night (different bed so I kept waking up, never got any decent sleep) so I'm off to bed extra early tonight so that I'm well rested and ready for tomorrow. All that means that I will need to post another blog as I've still got things from a week ago that I want to talk about!

Do hockey skates come with Velco?

Like most kids in Canada, I took skating lessons when I was younger but living on the usually snow-free West Coast, lessons don't really mean anything unless you plan to do figure skating. We don't have snowy winters with outdoor rinks like my cousins in Alberta, so what's the point? I had reached the point of starting to learn to do corners and to stop when my family moved to another part of town. We were no longer eight blocks from a rec centre; my lessons were done. Just like that. I'm sure if I had asked 'what about skating?' my mom would have enrolled me, would have driven across town for the lessons (she did for ballet and, before our move, piano), but I never loved skating so I was happy to let it slip by the wayside.

I have skated since my early childhood foray into the world of ice. In my teens in Ireland, my cousin's friends assumed that as an Irish-Canadian I must be good at skating and so off we traipsed, decked out for the disco as I had been misinformed about our destination, to a Friday night skate at a rink in a nearby city (this particular cousin lived in a town). They were asking me for pointers as we laced up our skates; how do I explain to them that I don't skate? I decided the answer was to go as fast as I could. I did go fast, very fast, even lapped them a few times, but any illusions of my ability came to a grinding halt as I tried to stop as I had seen countless hockey players do and landed 'ass-over-tit' with my head between my knees and my skirt trying to be a tube top. Jump forward to me living in Switzerland and the same assumption is made about me being a Canadian. Add five years of wisdom, however, and I'm more than willing to admit that I don't skate and believe that hanging onto the boards for my dear life is the way to go.

So here I am, on a quest to get in shape and the crazy idea pops into my head "why don't I learn to play hockey, a sport I adore? That would be a fantastic workout!" First problem, well, see the above paragraphs. I decide to check out if the Rec Centre closest to me has any adult skating lessons beginning soon. I'm about three weeks too late for that option but now this idea has been in my head for a week, it's festering along with the love of running, and I can't just give up because I missed the start of classes. I will just have to brave the 'everyone welcome' skates on the weekends. I will have to watch children zip by me, practicing their crossovers, while I try to glide forward without falling on my butt... or knees... or hip... or elbow... or face.

I planned to go on my own, saving myself from the embarrassment of friend's watching my attempts at being graceful but then I mentioned it to a friend. She still regularly skates, she'd love to come and teach me (in exchange, she starts hockey this month and knows nothing so I'm teaching her the rules and the basics of the game... in theory). I mentioned it to a few male friends who rent ice time once a month. They thought it was fantastic, might even have a pair of skates kicking around; next time they play hockey, I should come and they could help me work on hockey skills during the warm up. I mentioned it to another friend. Can I let her know when the lessons are, she'd like to join. Suddenly, my crazy idea doesn't seem so crazy.

Love and Hurt

This week has been a week of ups and downs, both literal and emotional. Literal is the ups and downs of St. Charles. I was a little late to the walk on Wednesday night, and boy did my friend make me pay. She booted up that hill like there was a giant, panting monster behind her that she was seeking revenge on. The revenge was justified as, by my own admission, I have no one or thing to blame for my tardiness except my own lazy self.


My love this week was the attendence of my first West African Dance class on the same Wednesday night I was late for the walk (I should never have sat down in between; should have just eaten my dinner over the sink). I had seen Moondance do African dance at a fundraiser I had attended with DoubleL a little less than a year ago when we were still fairly new friends. It was our first completely non-work related outting, and after a fabulous Ghanaian dinner, we sat at our table in the very front and watch this entirely white group of people perform African movements to African beats. It was a lot of fun, if a little odd, and we both agreed that white women with no T and/or A really shouldn't do African dance. Without the curves, we just don't move right. Well, we move right, we just don't look right. Chest movements don't have the same impact when there's no chest. Still, I was interested enough to have a look at their site, and I debated about joining their September classes but in the end it didn't work with my class schedule.


I was aprehensive about attending the class - it's a lot of cardio which I'm lacking - but after a chat with my friend, Maria who had done it in Spain, I decided to jump in with both feet. Worse comes to worst, it's only eight weeks. If I can do something for six weeks, surely I can stick something out for eight! I arrived early partially because I planned it that way, and partially because it took me about 5 minutes less to walk than I anticipated. Everyone else in that room, although largely of the curvy variety, was fairly fit. I panic at the thought that I'm going to be the only fat one in there and I will struggle to keep up. A few minutes pass and a women larger than myself walks in, and given the response from the drummers and the teacher, she has done the class before. Maybe I will get through this.


Class starts and we're all following Lynn, the teacher, through the warm up. I'm enjoying myself; it has been so long since I did any formal dance and the rythym feels almost addictive. We start to learn the beginnings of a celebration dance from Guinea, and I find myself so in love with the movements and rythyms that I'm pushing myself, jumping higher and swinging my arms faster. I did ballet for years as a child and I loved it. Moving my body in time to the music, creating stories with that movement, practicing to get that difficult move, dance was everything I loved in the artistic world rolled into one. My dreams of being a professional ballerina were never to be realised when I stopped growing in height and grew T&A instead, but I still loved dance and it was a heartbreak when I had to give it up. And now I was dancing again, except this time there was no need for a perfect arabesque or an elevated grand jete. My arms could flail in the right direction, no need to keep my fingers poised. I loved the freedom this offers as a dancer, that my body moves as it wants to move and no one is going to come around and tell me to draw up on this leg or extend more through that arm. I had found a new passion. I ended that class exhausted, sweaty and exhilerated. Eight weeks will not be enough.


I finally broke down and bought new shoes. That was another highlight of the week. It's not much but seeing as I can no longer see my socks through the holes in my sneakers, I'm very happy.


My final high for the week is that tomorrow I will spend this weekend in Vancouver with both my older and younger brothers. I will be catching up with some friends as well and just generally hanging out, and I'm really looking forward to it. It's the first time all three of us have been in the same place and legally able to drink (Christmas doesn't count, no one is going to go to a pub on Christmas Day when my mom is cooking turkey!) and as we get older we're learning to be friends in a way that only grown up siblings can. That's not to say we hated each other before, but it's a different bond once you're all living your lives instead of a shared life of childhood. I also hope I can get them to come with me for a walk on Sunday morning, but I'm not holding out much hope on that front.


The emotional low this week came tonight on a friend's blog from someone else's comment in response to a post about infertility issues and what you should and shouldn't say to couples in that position. I may never know the extent of difficulty and frustration infertility must lead to in one's life, I may never fully understand how heartbreaking it would be month after month to look at another negative pregnacy test, but I can definitely sympathize with what they're going through. I understand longing; I understand anger at your own preceived short comings; Ranter knows I support her no matter the outcome. If I could wave a magic wand to make her pregnant tomorrow, I would do that, but I can't. All I can do is offer a supportive ear if she needs it, lame advice if she seeks it, a couple of laughs when she wants them, and my enduring friendship.


In my mind, people in similar situations as Ranter would have more empathy for choices other people have made, but then I read the response from someone dealing with infertility just like Ranter who had a very negative view on adoption and I felt my empathy for her slip away, to be replaced with outright anger and hatred at her words and, by extension, her. Everyone who knows me, knows that I'm adopted. It's one of those facts in my life that makes me who I am. I do not view it as a negative or a positive, it just is what it is. I can not change it any more than I can change that I'm Irish. The part that angered me the most follows:


"The whole adoption thing really makes me angry. "You can always adopt!" is like telling someone they can always wear your dirty clothes. I am already a parent, and I'd go as far as to toot my own horn and say I'm a fantastic parent, to a stepdauthther. Her mother is a terrible parent. Her mother is also pregnant again. How is that fair? When I hear people tell me to adopt, the struggle not to reply with, "I'm already raising one person's mistake, I don't care to raise a stranger's mistake as well," is overwhelming. Adoption, for me, would be more like a punishment than never having my own children."




I read that paragraph and for the first time IN MY LIFE I felt ashamed of being adopted. Did people really feel that way about adoption? Could there possibly be people out there that changed their entire opinion of me upon learning that I was adopted? That I instantly became a mistake with that little piece of knowledge? Then I felt anger that I let someone I don't know make me feel that way. How dare she, so angry at other people's insensitivites to her plight, be so insensitive to others. To liken an adopted child to dirty clothes? Do you have no concept of what it means to love someone other than yourself? To put your heart into another being and know that no matter what happens, you will never get it back? That "someone's mistake" that you are raising is your husband's daughter, does he also view her as a mistake? Are you both so self-centered and insensitive to his own flesh and blood? If he does share the mistake opion with you, what would make his feelings towards a child you two have together any different? It's still only 1/2 his, just like the child her currently has. To my parents, who have never let me doubt their love for a second, I am not a stranger's mistake. I am their daughter, who loves them back just as much. Yes, I was not planned. Yes, my biological parents couldn't keep me. But I have two brothers (biological offsprings of my parents) who would struggle not to reply with a much harsher retaliation than I can offer in my current state if they were to hear your words.
 
My initial response to the post was to reply with the words "f***youf***youf***you" repeated over and over until I ran out of room, but in the end I replied as politely as I could while trying to get my point across that I thought she was a b!tch. Will she care? Who knows. I'm not holding my breath. Sometimes people just are the way they are and trying to explain a different point of view is like trying to catch water with a quater. My time might have been better spent trying to reason with Pat Robertson that homosexuality isn't wrong, but I don't know her so I honestly can't say whether she'll give a toot.
 
Ultimately, I am thankful that I was adopted. The opportunities I have been afforded because of it have been boundless. I will never know how my life would have turned out if I had been raised by a single mom, but I don't know if I would have had the family trips to Alberta and Ireland, the piano and dance lessons, skiing trips in the winter and camping trips in the summer. My parents let me backpack in Europe when I was 19, they supported me when I moved to Germany/Switzerland, and they encouraged when I went to Tanzania. I have had an amazing life, and the biggest part of that is because my parents were willing raise a stranger's mistake.

"A friend accepts us as we are yet helps us to be what we should." ~Anonymous

I had big plans for today. It was supposed to be the start of both my six week learn-to-run plan and a six week eating plan. Then I remembered that I would be heading to Vancouver this coming weekend which would mean I'd miss two of the four walk/runs and starting an eating plan before a weekend of eating out, well, that's just dumb. As a result, today was changed to a 'walk only' and my learning to love running will have to wait a week.


That's right, I'm back on the learn-to-run plan, following a schedule which alternates walk/run days with resistance training days. I'm looking at it like a self-motivated bootcamp: six weeks, regular work outs, regulated eating, and (again) only six weeks. I can do pretty much anything for six weeks (or at least that's what I'm telling myself). Just like bootcamp, I have roped a friend into joining me, at least for the learn-to-run part. It's the same friend, in fact, that I roped into doing bootcamp with me.

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them." Ralph Waldo Emerson

For all my willingness to strike up conversations with strangers and to befriend people while I travel, I am a very socially awkward person. After years of being that kid on the outside looking in, I never really know when I've crossed from aquaintance to friend. When I make a new friend, I'm always hesitant to use the term 'friend'. I say coworker, aquaintance, colleague, the list goes on, but never friend until I'm really, really sure that we are just that. I can't put into words how much I treasure the friends I have because goodness knows how I'd replace them (well, other than with my oft mentioned one-cat-per-friend plan).


All my friends have been very supportive in their own ways, but to have one of my bestest friends willing join me in my six weeks is awesome. We met tonight at the top of St. Charles St, walked down to Ross Bay Cemetary, slogged around the block and back up the hill to Fort St. We talked about work, mutual friends, personal issues, the usual girl stuff, and when I slowed down because, well, I'm unfit, she kept going and it spurred me on to keep up, to push on up the hill without stopping for a break. She told me my job was to keep on her over the next six weeks to make sure she didn't miss any walk/runs and I will. Not just to keep her on track but to also keep myself on track.


To everyone who has cheered me on with words and hugs, becoming a fellow hiker, sending inspirational pictures, or what-have-you; from the very bottom of my heart I say thank you. I may not be the most natural at making life-long friends but some how I seemed to have ended up with some of the very best in the whole world.

“If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus 1 day, so I never have to live without you.” A.A Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Family support

I had a blog written and all ready to post when my internet connection went down, in the interim I had a family dinner and, bam, I have a whole new blog entry.

I didn't quite make my goal of hitting the gym twice this week, mostly thanks to my short term memory issues which left my sports bra at home on Friday. So close! On the upside, I knew that going into this breakfast was going to be an issue. See, I'm not a morning person which really doesn't gel well with the fact that I voluntarily start work at 7:30am (but I get off at 4:00pm, who wouldn't take that option?). I always have good intentions when it comes to getting a bite to eat before I head out the door but more often than not it ends up that I pick up some snack-type breakfast item when I stop for my coffee. Not the healthiest option for my midriff or my wallet. Knowing that this was going to be the hardest meal for me to keep on track with, I bought myself a bowl from the dollar store and then stocked my desk with some instant oatmeal options for those mornings I decide to hit the snooze button just one... more... time. Yeah planning! I have also successfully integrated making my own coffee/tea back into my morning routine giving me that much more time before I have to leave for work.

My mom and stepdad were away when I officially started this blog, but upon their return I directed their attention to it and the response has been very positive. I knew that my family would support me in anyway they could, they've supported every other crazy idea I've had (even if they didn't necessarily agree with it), but I had the added bonus of my stepdad wanting to join me on the Juan de Fuca next year and the Chilkoot as well. I had a few people in mind of possible partners on these endeavors, some I've talked to about it, some who've yet to learn what I plan to rope them into (none of whom know about this blog yet), but I don't know anyone with as much hiking experience as my stepdad so he would definitely be a welcome addition to any of the expeditions. My mom supported me in her way by taping a picture of me to my stepdad's Chilkoot photo collage. It's the little things like that which make me smile and spur me on to make this a reality.

The family dinner was because all my stepsiblings and their assorted offspring were in town. I enjoy getting to see them as it doesn't happen very often. They never really lived with us when I was young and the holiday times when they'd come over, I'd usually be at my own dad's. Being a good six years younger than the youngest of them, by the time I was cool enough to hang out with (read=they could take me somewhere other than a G rated movie) they were off living their own lives. I was chastised one day at work when I mentioned I had nieces and a nephew but then failed to name all five, so I love having the opportunity to get to know both the stepsiblings and my nieces and nephew. During the course of the evening, my stepbrother (we'll call him JB) and I started to discuss my plan and he added to it. JB's been living in the Lower Mainland for a number of years now and has been wanting to hike Golden Ears Trail (feel free to hum a James Bond theme at this point, I've been doing that all afternoon/evening when I hear/say/read that name), a two day trek to the top of the north 'Ear'. By the end of the evening we had decided we were going to do it together next summer. (We also decided that my older brother would join us, but we've yet to actually tell him that.) The more backwoods hiking experience I can get under my belt, the more confidence I'll have when I look up the (now missing) Golden Staircase to the Chilkoot Pass and think "oh crap, what have I gotten myself into?"

I realise that three years from now, although close in the general scheme of life, is quite aways off. I might not make it to the Chilkoot Trail, and not for lack of want, desire or drive, but because sometimes life leans forward from its backseat and quietly whispers 'no' into your ear and there may be nothing you can do about it when that happens. The Chilkoot is a route marker that I have stuck in my life map, a physical goal I can share with everyone I meet. "I am going to do this." Ultimately, this isn't just about climbing the Pass, it's about moving closer to being the person I want to be for the rest of my life. And at some point--in three years if life lets me keep my plans--that will be a person who has hiked the Chilkoot Trail.

One week down already? I'm Ron Burgandy?

When I first decided on the 'get fit' plan last November, although with the Mt. Meru goal and not the Chilkoot in mind, I kick-started the process by joining a fitness boot camp in Victoria. Despite a 5 year membership to the Y, I’m not a fan of gyms. I hate the feeling that I’m some how competing with the other people in there. I know that I’m not but when you see the gym rats trying to out-do each other it can be very difficult to avoid that feeling. Seeing young 20-something girls with painted on lululemon outfits also doesn’t help with one’s self-esteem as you sweat it out on the elliptical trainer. Also, I hate pushing myself. I will take myself to muscle fatigue, but I won’t push myself beyond that by picking up a heavier weight or doing another rep. I need someone to kick my butt for me (or make me kick my own butt as the case may be). Boot camp was the perfect fit. I checked out various websites, broke down the actual hourly cost of them to see which ones seemed to give the best bang for the buck, and then made my decision based on the fact that one of the sites had a good mixture of body shapes and ages in their photos. A big plus for an out-of-shape lazy bum like me. I can’t speak highly enough of the enjoyment I got out of the outdoor boot camp, Life Force Systems, and anyone looking for a non-gym experience to get in shape should give their site a look-over and see if it appeals to them. You will hurt so much the first two weeks you will debate quitting, but it gets easier and the instructors are so encouraging and good natured that it’s you’ll keep going and will be happy with the end results (if you give it your all and follow the nutrition recommendations). I have stopped going for the summer as I like having my Friday nights for social opportunities (which are always more plentiful in the summer) and I have some other goals for the summer which will eat up my budgeted ‘fun money’ which would have gone to boot camp, but I hope to return in the Fall as long as I can budget it (as I’m also returning to school).

As a result of no longer attending boot camp, I have reactivated my gym membership. I have yet to actually go as I have elected, so far, to do things like climb Mt. Tolmie and do the seven minute ab routine at home instead, but this week I have a goal to go at least twice on top of planning a weekend walk and doing the seven minute abs. Thanks to a few weeks with a personal trainer about two years ago I have a basic plan set up for what I should be doing during my time there, but if anyone has any suggestions for exercises which they think are really beneficial, I’d love to hear them... keeping in mind that I’m not (yet) that athletic so suggesting things like ‘jump over the waist- high bars for a good cardio work out’ will be met with laughter.

My workout this weekend consisted of walking from one end of Vancouver to the other. I took advantage of a free apartment in Coal Harbour for the weekend, and spent the Saturday walking to the aquarium, getting lost walking to Siwash Rock (which I want to see as it’s my favourite Roy Henry Vicker painting and I’ve never actually seen it), walking to Robson to meet a friend, walking to lunch, and then (after a bus ride) walking around Granville Island and then walking back to Coal Harbour. I explained my plan to my friend, who was very supportive. He agreed that I was slightly crazy but that it was a good goal and he was sure I could do it. This particular friend, let’s call him Cameron, has been one of my best friends for the last 16 years, so it meant a lot that he fully believed I could do it especially as he's done a lot of wilderness hiking himself and knows exactly what is involved. If there’s one person in this world who knows my abilities and limits better than I do, it would be him and I needed his support even if I didn’t realise that until after I got it. It gave me a ‘can do’ belief in this endeavour that had been missing before.

When I started this blog, I made the decision that I would keep specifics about myself and anyone who comes across my way in this goal to a minimum. This is for two reasons:
1) my friends aren’t writing this blog, I am. It’s not fair to them that I give away their specifics unless I have them read everything I write first. If I keep myself somewhat anonymous, then it keeps my friend anonymous.
2) I believe that the goal I have set for myself is one that anyone could set and achieve. I want people reading this to remember that there’s nothing different between them and me; they too could set a crazy sounding goal and achieve it. I think it's easier to believe that when I'm a faceless, nameless write at the other end of the vast internet.

Anyway, the ferry is minutes away from docking so it’s time to wrap this up.

Cheers.