Boring? No Thank You, I’m Fine.

I was sitting on the couch, quite comfortably I might add, when I realized I was quite bored. I couldn’t think of anything to do, anyone to call; shit I couldn’t even think of anything to think of.  I was so bored I was very literally staring at the wall. I had analyzed ever crack of plaster and yellow stain on the 8 foot by 8 foot area. I didn’t even know I was doing it. My brain was just looking for some stimulation and I certainly wasn’t providing it.  The automatic feeling when we’re bored is to think we are lonely as well. I couldn’t really quite place it; was I bored or lonely or both…or was I simply indifferent? Hmm, that was an interesting thought. I decided to google interesting people. I wanted to find some inspiration and I couldn’t seem to count on myself at the moment to muster such thoughts.

Now, I will say, googling interesting people doesn’t always come up criteria that I find interesting. Politics for instance; I’m not opposed to the subject but I hardly call it interesting. Business, hmm, well ok there are some interesting business people, but not really what I was going for. On the other hand when I cam across Colin Angus, I was immediately intrigued.

Colin is the first man to officially circumnavigate the entire planet using only human power. His journey started in Vancouver, British Columbia where he rode his bike to Alaska, rowed a specialized boat across the Bering sea, hiked and biked his way through Siberia and Europe and then proceeded to row across the entire Atlantic Ocean and followed that by riding his bike back through Central America up through Mexico and the US and finally back to Vancouver. Phewf, that is an interesting person.  Not to mention inspiring. I started to think what I could do. Circumnavigating the planet…that might be a bit of a tall order, but the idea of some physical feet sparked my interest. I started by heading straight to the book shop. Inspiration was like a ball of snow and if I didn’t keep pushing it along, it would soon fall apart or melt. I ended up at the nearest huge box bookstore and asked for the book ‘Beyond the Horizon’ by Colin Angus. I started to read. I read for the entire evening and through most of the night. It’s the first time in my life I actually read a book front to back in one sitting. Other than when I read Black Beauty or Goosebumps books as a child of course. This man and his wife were my definition of interesting and amazing. They fit the criteria 100% and I was in genuine awe. I wanted to do something.

I decided I wanted to run through Europe. I got a little carried away with the idea and didn’t really think about the extensive planning that would have to go into such endeavors…but every adventure starts with an idea and a dash of recklessness.  And in my case, a splash of red wine. Planning comes next. I decided that maybe I should start smaller. I would run Switzerland. I had heard so much about how beautiful the country was…not to mention hilly, but beautiful all the same. I figured that if I could run from Geneva to Zurich I would be satisfied. It was a start. I got my credit card out and went to book a flight. As I was about to press confirm transaction on my flight (for three days later), my room mate walked in. As I explained to her what I was doing I could see she disapproved. Maybe she disapproved of it more because of the purple wine mustache I had seemed to grow over the last few hours. She suggested I calm down and sleep on it. I don’t know about you but when I am excited about something…especially something spontaneous and adventurous…I can’t calm down and sleep on it.  But, just to make her happy, I did.  The next day when I woke up I still wanted to do it, but this time with a plan.

At this time I am in the planning stages of the trip. I am contacting people in every town on my route to find places to stay and cheap hotels. I am trying to figure out if the weather will be good enough and if I can get by on rusty grade school French. I want this idea to be reality! Just the planning alone has taken me out of my so-called ‘boredom’. There are so many possibilities for excitement and adventure around us all the time. Maybe we just think they are impossible or unlikely so we don’t bother to pursue them. Maybe people tell us we are crazy and irrational and that discourages us. All I know is there is nothing interesting nor exciting or rational about sitting on a couch staring at a wall. It’s time to get up out of this comfort zone where so many of us live. Make the impossible, not just possible, but happen.

“So many of our dreams at first seem impossible, then they seem improbable, and then, when we summon the will, they soon become inevitable.” –  Christopher Reeve



For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.
~Benjamin Button

Going Barefoot can be Good for the Sole

When I first decided to go traveling overseas, well for the second time; I worried that I wouldn’t be able to run. Would it be too hot? Would it be unacceptable in different cultures? What if I got lost or worse, attacked? When I left I packed a 40 litre backpack and at the bottom a pair of running shoes and running pants…just in case. I was determined to be determined. My trip started in Thailand and carried on through SE Asia down to Indonesia.  At this time I was in my prime so they say. I was super fit, energetic and most of all optimistic. It was on a small beach in Thailand called Tonsai that I truly came alive.

Tonsai is a community of backpackers mixed with the Thai version of Rastafarian locals.  It is a place where people go to chill, listen to reggae, hide away in the bushes and most of all, climb. The day I arrived was by complete accident. I had just left my group of friends on an island further north. I was on a mission, a solo mission. I needed to escape. I just so happen to be on a bus with two German guys. These two German guys just so happen to sit beside me and I just so happen to ask them where they were going. “Tonsai” they said. “it’s meant be real chill, hippies, lots of climbing, not as touristy as Railey beach” Subconsciously I wasn’t into to any of those things at that moment. Consciously I knew I needed to do something different. When I arrived at Tonsai I felt out of place. I wandered down the dirt roads looking for accommodation. Everyone was Rasta or Rasta wanna-be. There were climbers walking with their ropes and fit bodies, chatting nonchalantly to one another. I felt completely out of place. The bungalow prices were shit and I was fed up. As I trudged along the road back the way I had come I saw another girl doing the same. “Hi” I ventured, knowing that I sounded tired and full of lackluster. “Hi” she replied. We walked along side for a little bit longer before striking up a conversation. She also had been led here by two random guys. Hers were Finnish instead of German. We chatted and tried to figure out what was so special about this place. It really was fairly quiet and unexciting. Where was everybody? We ended up deciding on having dinner together that night at a little beach bar. It was there we met some of the climbing community. There were actually a fair number of guys who were climbing instructors in their “real” lives. People swarmed here to climb all year round. I was in the midst of some of Asia’s best climbing, and I didn’t even climb. That night we were invited by our New Austrian friend to come climbing the next day. I was nervous; I had only ever climbed indoors and only a handful of times. I wasn’t confident in my ability and I wasn’t sure if these people would be patient with me but I wanted to break out of my shell and learn something new.

The next day my alarm didn’t go off and I awoke 30 minutes past the point I was supposed to meet them. Shit! Maybe I could still make it; I rushed around throwing clothes on inside out and backwards, and flew out my bungalow door. I bounced down the steps to the dirt road below and swerved barely missing a sign on the other side of the road advertising 20 baht pancakes. I flew down the road past the morning bustle of breakfast nooks and coffee drinkers. I was a maniac. I turned the last corner and up the steps to the meeting point. They were gone. The café owner told me I had missed them by about 15 minutes. Shit, shit, shit. Frustration washed over me. Two seconds later determination set in. I would run the trails and find them. Another two seconds later I realized I had forgotten my shoes. My first thought was to go back to get them; no, actually, my first thought was to give up entirely, and the second thought was to go back and get them. I did neither of these things. I would have to go barefoot.

Barefoot in the jungle is always a fairly unnerving idea. Perhaps I have watched too many nature programs or seen to many shows about venomous snakes and scorpions. I knew for a fact there was a certain kind of centipede in these jungles (pictured below) that came out after rain falls and would deal an extremely nasty and poisonous sting if stepped on or provoked. I knew this because I had seen one in another area earlier that month and been warned about it’s deadliness. It had rained the night before; my skin crawled.  But hey, I didn’t come to Asia to sit in a bungalow; adventure called.


I spoke to some locals at the climbing shop about where most of the climbs were and was given the disheartening news that the climbs were scattered in all different directions around the area. So, not having even having a foggy idea which way to go, I headed in the direction of a few other people with ropes and harnesses. I started to run. At first my bare feet felt out of place and clumsy against this unfamiliar ground. I had gone barefoot back home at the beach lots but honestly, had never really ran barefoot up until this point. I came up to a crevice which I had seen swallow up two climbers earlier. I hoped that the crevice led to some hidden trail, which would lead me to my new friends. Through the crevice I ended up on a rocky uphill path. The rocks dug into my feet at awkward angles and more than once I felt close to losing my footing. Unknowingly, I started to change my style. I had to become a lighter runner. I had to almost incorporate a gymnastic element into my gait. I would step on a rock that had a sharp edge, but I would step on it only briefly and curl my toes around the sharp portion, and only ever so quickly before bouncing to the next step. The sort of running requires intense concentration and an ability to look at where you are stepping as well as ahead at the same time. The adrenaline was now on high and the course was becoming technical, and I was almost at the top of this incline.  I felt more animal than ever before. When I reached the top I stopped briefly to lookout I was in the middle of some jungle trail, shoeless, with no idea where I was going. It felt awesome. I could hear monkeys giggling in the trees and the rustle of birds. Through the jungle canopy I could see the other side and a large mountain shadowing the beach. The infamous Taiwand wall, one of Thailand’s most well-known climbs. I decided to go for it. I started my descent. Running downhill is even more difficult than going up. When you pick up speed there’s nothing you can do to really stop yourself once you have gained momentum. Stopping is potentially quite dangerous. All in all, I was doing something fairly stupid. My father would have shook his head in disapproval. I managed to get almost to the bottom were I was faced with a fairly large drop. You could risk it and jump or take the rope that had been set up to lower yourself to the sand. I was already in a reckless state of mind so I jumped. I flew off the rock and into the sand below. I hit hard and ended up having to roll out of it. This was not as agile as it sounds. In fact the image that comes to mind is some kind of clumsy dog jumping from something way too high and then skidding through the sand feet splayed in every direction. I looked around to see if I had been spotted looking foolish. I had. My new friends were standing a few metres away looking at the view of Taiwand wall. They had turned just in time to see my final descent. One of them was laughing and the other three were just smirking and staring. “Hi” I said gingerly. “Hi! Looks like you finally made it…and barefoot nonetheless” the young Swiss girl said and as she helped me brush the sand off my back. “Yes, yes, I suppose I did”.  I smiled and felt a little gurgle of pride somewhere buried beneath my humility.


That day was amazing. I watched some of the best climbing I have ever seen with some of the most impressive backdrops imaginable. My new group of friends took me under their wing and showed me patience and kindness like nothing I had ever had from a group of so called ‘strangers’ before. They let me borrow all their gear…including their climbing shoes. I had never been so happy in my life that I didn’t give up. After that, I spent the next 5 weeks in Tonsai learning to climb and running barefoot through the jungle, this time voluntarily. I felt that I had broke through a barrier which I never knew was even there. I started to set goals for myself and realized that I could meet and even sometimes exceed them. It was possibly the first time I realized that physical barriers are 90 % mental and only 10% physical. If you envision yourself doing something, chances are you will be able to.

I’m glad my alarm didn’t work that morning; for if it had I may not have learned that going barefoot is actually good for the sole.


Destination Optional

Sometimes I want to deny the fact that running is a means to an end. I like to think that I would go on running forever and never need a destination. The truth is, a lot of the time, especially when it involves any type of altitude, I cannot wait for the destination. Pushing the body in these moments is extreme emotional Prozac. The burn in your lungs and searing pain creeping up your Achilles into the backs of your calves needs some end to look forward too. You need a reason to convince yourself to go on. Our minds need to know there is a solution in order to convince them to keep trying to work out a problem. Humans need purpose. And so often it seems, a destination.

I’m at the base of the park. I can’t see anything other than trees and rock. I know that at the top there is a castle. Knowing this gives me the motivation I need to start my ascent. I start off trying to pace myself, paying close attention to the many obstacles of root and rock before me. One wrong step could lead to an ankle roll or a face plant. I immediately regret the previous night. Not twelve hours before I see a flash of myself laughing obnoxiously, glass of wine in one hand, cigarette in the other. Why will I never learn? I just can’t seem to completely kick this damn smoking habit. It’s not a regular thing anymore but it’s enough that running on this incline feels similar to fighting to get out from underneath an elephant.

I come to a fork in the trail. In this instance I always try and let my feet make the decision. I veer left. Despite my struggle do breathe and the slight taste of blood in my throat, I become even more motivated to push. I won’t deny, part of this motivation comes from a need for self-punishment.

The trail is a simple dirt path lined with pine trees. I can’t help but let my mind wander back in time 200 years. These foot paths have probably been used for centuries; I could be walking on the same path the King of Majorca used or perhaps the path the enemy used when attempting to take the castle under siege. The idea motivates me further. As a rule, I never stop to see the view behind me until I am the very top. I can see I’m near. The top of the castle is just visible about the pine trees. I push harder than before. Now I can really taste the blood. I push even harder. I know that whatever pain I’m in will subside just as quick as it came. I round the final corner and leap up a set of 10 stairs. I am there. I have reached the summit. I finally allow myself to turn around. The view is unreal. Am I imagining this, or can I actually see the curvature of the earth? The aching in my quads seems insignificant in comparison to the view. The whole city is spread out before me, vulnerable and complete. Behind me there is the Spanish countryside of rolling hills, small farms and plots of land. The castle towers over me and invites me in. I feel I belong in this moment. I am home.



The Urban Dance

The streets are flooded in cruise ship tourists, vendors and locals. I can hear different languages being spoken, street vendors trying to entice tourists to buy giant sunglasses, a man playing an accordion, a man dressed as a statue playing a harp. Laughter. Kids crying. Horse hooves beating against pavement. I feel like I am the only person who doesn’t have a distinct sound and I feel as if I am going against the entire crowd.

It seems like when you are a place as touristy as Palma de Mallorca you can never get a spot on the sidewalk. Everybody walks slowly, window shops and stops for photos. There is such a mix of people all from different places that the ‘keep to the right’ walking etiquette holds no meaning anymore. Depending on where they are from, everybody has a different natural side to the pavement. This makes it extremely difficult for me to get through, especially running. I used to find this frustrating, but now, I have come to love it.  The more challenging the better. Maybe I am the asshole, the running asshole that plows through groups of friendly faces and mellow onlookers. Am I the asshole that bashes your shoulder on my way past; the asshole that runs through the outdoor seating at your restaurant? I do try very hard not to be that asshole. I will do everything I can to swerve and weave through the masses. I will jump on benches, I will hurdle fences and signs. My goal is to do this in the most graceful possible way but to never slow my pace.

Urban running has become a full sport now. There’s groups who meet and use the city as their playground. These adventure enthusiasts  bound off high concrete blocks, rails and drops. They use every element of the urban landscape as their jungle jim, jumping and leaping into into shoulder rolls. It involves acts which are considered dangerous by most sane people and illegal by many authorities.  In honesty, sometimes when I’m running there is a huge urge that overcomes me. This urge asks me to do flips and take risks that I would never normally consider. I have to physically restrain myself from listening to this voice. Ultimately, I haven’t got the guts to do what they do and I have so much respect for those who say fuck it and just let themselves fly. You don’t know unless you try.

Urban dancing is the similar, more PG rated form of the prior. Based on the same principle of using your obstacles as part of your course, urban dancing should look graceful and most importantly not impede on anyone’s space. I like to think that sometimes people didn’t even see me go by. That I am in some kind of invisible cape that shields me from onlookers. There are times when you end up looking completely ridiculous and albeit completely the opposite of graceful.. I recall the other day, I was running through a tight, busy corridor. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to be in the centre or to a particular side of the street. I choose right side. As soon as I did this a man stepped out of his shop, well I should say his dog stepped out first,. Last minute I tried for a semi-elegant looking hurdle. Fail. I missed the dog but not the step jutting out just past him. Face plant. To make things even more embarrassing, the dog came over and starting growling and barking at me while I lay there in my shame. I guess we can’t always be on form.  Getting through these busy streets and crowds is always an exciting feeling and is huge part of running for me. When you finally emerge from the crowd and look back at the chaos you just braved, you can’t help but feel satisfied. And if you made a complete foot of yourself at least it’s all behind you.

~What if your fears and dreams existed in the same place? What if to get to heaven you had to brave hell? What if everything you wanted cost you everything you had ever achieved?

Would you still go there?


You Are Here ←

This isn’t your typical blog about running. I have no desire to talk about what shoes I wear, how far I run and what time I do it in. In fact, I almost don’t want to call it running at all. I guess I’m not a conventional runner. Although I love the exercise, I don’t run for exercise. It’s more to survive really.  I run to explore. Sometimes I eat when I run, sometimes I even drink. I shop, I take photos; I try and map a city’s nooks and crannies. I guess there are times when I just go for “runs” or try and push myself to be a better “runner” but the drive comes from somewhere else. I am guessing there are people out there who feel the same. Can we call ourselves runners just because we run? Or are runners only those funny looking people that carry water bottles around their wastes, wear brightly coloured reflective shirts and dummy strings on their sunglasses?? Are they only the people that have long, lean bodies full of stretchy, toned muscles?? Personally, I don’t think so. I think maybe there are more of us who just run for the sanity. We run because we’re stressed and need to vent. We run because it’s the only time we can think. We run because we like to see new places. We run because it makes us feel like we can fly. Running is therapy for us, it is empowering.

What do you think of when you look back on your life so far? I remember a string of moments laced together by empty time. I seldom recall the filler, only the moments. What are the true moments I remember when I overflowed with joy?

Running. Alone. I was powerful, I was magnificent. I was unstoppable. I was uncatchable.  Those times I feel joy bubble from inside. I feel it first as a surge which comes from my feet pushing up all the way through my body, my heart, my chest…there’s a tingling in my fingers, and it spreads across my face like a contagious disease.  I feel like I can see for miles and miles, like I am in control of my destiny. When I stop, the feeling lasts for a while…but never long enough.

I guess this blog is going to try and be about travel, inspiration, photography, music, pushing the limits, adventure… just life really.

I would love to hear other stories of adventure and introspect through running. Please feel free to post any comments/stories below!

RUN ~ Redefine yoUrself Now