Big city hopping

The last month has been a whirlwind. I haven’t been in one city for more than 4-5 days at a time, making me feel pretty nomadic and awesome, but also leaving me exhausted (and longing to sleep in a bed that is my own (twss)).

After finishing my PhD the natural question was: ‘What now?’ I spent the last months of my degree ignoring the next step, focusing on the task at hand and being so longing for a break that I convinced myself I might just move back home and retire when I was finished. My parents beamed with pride at the thought of this. Of course, right after my defense my mind jumped five steps forwards: ‘What do I do now? Where should I go? When can I leave?’ One thing I was sure of was that I wanted to leave Toronto. Although I love the T-dot, it’s not somewhere I see myself settling down, and regardless I want to see more of the world before I do that.

I knew I wanted to live in New York City before I had ever even been there. Having lived in the three biggest cities in Canada – Vancouver, Montreal and Toronto – moving to New York seemed simply a natural progression of my urban trajectory. Unfortunately, the logistics about how this would happen remained unclear. When I recently learned that one of my scientific idols was based at NYU Langone Medical Centre, however, a dream-like path suddenly lay before me. Somehow, I was going to go work for her after my PhD, and kill two ultimate goals with one stone: big city living and big time cancer research.

Let The New York Times begin!

A few weeks after my defense I e-mailed her, and was thrilled to get an invitation to interview at the end of March. ‘This could really happen!’I thought to myself. I figured I should visit some other labs while I was there, so I got in touch with several other PIs and ended up getting two more interviews, one at Columbia and another at Sloan-Kettering medical institute. The trip was set! Unfortunately, I was also scheduled to move out of my apartment in Toronto by April 1^st, leaving me two days to pack up upon my return from NYC. Then I found out a friend was visiting Toronto until April 4^th...no problem! I planned to stay with my friend in North York from April 1^st-4^th.  I figured I could get packed up before I ventured to NYC and have two days to get everything out. An unexpected trip back to Vancouver 10 days away from my NYC trip, however, made the next 3 weeks suddenly look quite daunting: 4 days in Van => 3 days in TO => 5 days in NYC => 2 days in TO => 3 days in North York (basically a different city if you ask me ;) => move back to Van. Oh, and did I mention I would travel to and from NYC by 12hr bus ride, and stay in a different residence or hostel every night?! Giddyup.

I could get used to this!

NYC was a complete (amazing) blur, but if anything is clear in my mind, it’s that the city is made for me. As soon as I stepped off the bus and into the buzzing, glitzing, jammed downtown Manhattan streets my heart was happy. I made an impromptu (and in retrospect, brilliant) decision to walk from the bus station to the NYU residence where I was staying and felt like I was walking through Yonge and Dundas Square during a weekend festival...except it was a Monday night on 33^rd street. People were still shopping on Fifth Avenue, joggers were navigating through the crowds, gym-goers were popping out from their workout on every other block, while others yelled drunkenly across streets, discussed business on some hidden microphone, or catwalked down the sidewalk dressed in a leopard-print fur coat and 6-inch heels. The best part was that no matter how ridiculous someone looked or acted, no one took a second glance. Everything – and I mean everything – goes in NYC. Naturally, upon my arrival at the residence at 10pm I decided to go for a run. I was again shocked by the number of people that filled the streets at this time, and by the joggers that I met around Central Park. In need of a late-night dinner, I walked into some random restaurant on my way home, not expecting much. Instead I was greeted by a menu of 20 gluten-free salads, each kicking the Joey’s beach out of the water. Yep, at that point I was pretty sure this city was made for me.

Brrroadway!

A salad containing everything but gluten #GFdream

I spent what little free time I had between full days of interviews running around Central Park in the early AM. That was an experience in itself. It must be the only place besides the paths of Eldoret where there are so many runners you feel like you are running in a road race at any hour of the day. Except that in NYC joggers simultaneously train for the best race costume awards. One morning I saw a woman in what looked to be circus attire, complete with face paint, a wig and fluorescent pink feathered leggings. And this is not on a Saturday at 11am where someone might be drunkenly jogging around in last night’s wild gettup. It was 6am on a Wednesday! But still, no one took a second glance. I started to feel uncomfortable in my boring blue shorts and top, and developed renewed thanks that Adidas generates particularly 80s-like outfits, such that I would conform to the vibrancy of the city on most occasions.

One of the coolest runs was seeing what were most definitely a couple of female Ethiopian elites galloping through the trails. I was running along the main paved path and caught site of them being paced by an Ethiopian male. They seemed to be doing some kind of cross-country tempo run, as they constantly zig-zagged through the trails, across the main path, up another trail, back down and across the main path, and over again, such that by virtue of their roundabout route I was able to keep up with them if I travelled in a straight line. Awesome. It was entrancing to watch them glide along and it made me push out of my pitiful slog, if not due to inspiration, to pure motivation to keep them in sight.

View of Central Park from the top of the Rockfeller Centre

Another thing I noticed about Central Park is a serious lack of washrooms. Perhaps I missed something, but during each of my runs there I failed to see a single washroom, let alone port-o-potty. I figured this was done purposefully to force people do their business elsewhere. But common’, for a park that is filled with metabolically primed runners, that seems like a pretty mean thing to do! Luckily for most of my runs I escaped the need. However, on the last day G.I. Jane made a serious appearance. 20 minutes of calmly ‘keeping an eye out,’ turned into 10 minutes of frantically re-navigating down random paths, to 5 minutes of sprinting out of the park in mad search of any establishment that would host me. Of course, I got out of the park on a residential side in which there were no stores or restaurants to be seen. Seriously?! Probably the only block of Manhattan that doesn’t have a Starbucks. At this point I had to stop running, as I was afraid any impact would force out a terrible explosion. Images of the G.I. Jane from Ottawa re-emerged in my head. After embarrassing myself in front of strangers’ lawns in the middle of the National Championships in 2011 I promised myself I would never go back to Ottawa. I refused to make NYC my second city of no return! This could not happen! My dreams would be crushed! In the midst of my terrorizing thoughts, I spotted a small store kitty corner to the park exit. ‘THANK THE LORD!’ I exclaimed in (near complete) relief. I hobbled up to the entrance only to discover that my exclamatory praise was well-suited, as the store was part of a large church. I walked in and asked the very demure woman at the counter if I could please use their facilities. ‘Why of course my dear,’ she reassured me, ‘Go through the church to the very end of the aisle, turn right, then left, then left again, walk down the corridor, then turn right, then there will be a small wooden door on your left. Lift the latch up and walk through, and it’s the second door on your left.’ I looked at her with puzzled eyes. I was too desperate to have her repeat any of it, however, so I quickly thanked her and started to make my way through the church maze. It didn’t help that it was pitch black and I couldn’t distinguish a wooden door from a cement wall. As my anxiety increased, so my biological clock ticked. By the time I reached the wooden door I thought I would have to beg forgiveness from the lord for the sin I was about to commit right then and there. Somehow I managed to lift up (what I guessed was) a latch, thrust the door open and plonk myself on the toilet. I could not have been saved so close to the end. I looked up to the ceiling in relief, and realized that this was probably the only time in my life that I had truly been saved by the lord. Only in New York.

Thankfully I survived the trip and the rest of my move out of TO and back to Vancouver, but without a number of other stories that I will be sure to tell in upcoming blogs. Is it normal to have sequels? For now, it’s nice to be under one roof and running through the peaceful trails of the Westcoast. Vancouver may be the only city that makes me wonder why I am going to NYC!

From granny jogging to slogging (or something worth blogging)

After obtaining negative results from every diagnostic test performed on my shin, including x-ray, bonescan, ultrasound, compartment syndrome testing and MRI, I decided to do what every athlete is told NOT to do: stop listening to my body. Instead of obsessing over the tightness and discomfort I felt in my shin, I decided to ignore it. Well, I didn’t really decide this, rather my genius physiotherapist Greg Lehman told me to, and since I do whatever he tells me, I simply obeyed his orders.

Greg trying to desensitize the brain in my shin

This does not mean I woke up one morning and ran 40k, a la old G.I. Jane. Rather, I coined a new form of running, one I like to call ‘granny jogging.’ Granny jogs can range anywhere from 10s to 10min, and are basically a non-equivalent to running, except that you are somewhat going through the motions. You do not even have to be outside to do granny jogs. You can do them down the hallway of your building, or in the comfort of your own home, even if you live in a box! That’s right folks, hopping up and down on the spot is considered a granny jog. You can granny jog at work, in your office, around a table, probably under a table if you tried hard enough. In short: granny jogs are what you do to convince yourself you are back running but really aren’t. One may think that granny jogs might not be as rewarding as a run, but let me tell you, after a year off running granny jogs will blow your mind.

Stretching after a granny jog (in jeans!) while waiting in line for brunch

The purpose of the granny jogs were to get my legs used to the running motion again. After so much time off I needed to completely re-familiarize my body with the concept of running. I also had to gradually train my shin to adapt to running again without it firing alarm signals to my brain, thinking that I was going to re-injure the area. That’s right people, apparently my shin developed a brain (or perhaps this is just known as nerves...) and had become hypersensitive to any potential threat that was similar to the one that originally caused my acute injury. Ultimately, I had become so preoccupied by the feelings in my leg that they became out of line with any actual damage in the tissue. Again, this is only what I was told. This actually all sounded ridiculous to me. I am a scientist for crying out loud! I wanted tests, data, EVIDENCE to account for my symptoms! It drove me nuts that there was nothing tangible to explain what I was feeling, and I began to think I really was going crazy. So when Greg told me a-matter-of-factly to stop thinking about it, very gradually start running, and stop talking about my feelings (sniff sniff) I realized this was the most logical thing to do.

If you granny jog in your clubbing outfit men will stop to tie your shoes, it's pretty awesome

During my first few weeks of granny jogs, the shin flared up constantly and it took every ounce of faith in the program for me not to think I was making things worse. It wasn’t until about a month later that I realized that the feelings may be dissipating. The process was so gradual that I don’t even remember at what point I completely stopped feeling my shin. But I did. When I realized the huge changes I felt in a matter of months, I was ecstatic. By the fall I was running consistently between 40-60k and reached the point where it was the other parts of my body – hip, achilles, knee, ankle, toe , pinky finger – pretty much everything - that began to hurt because they also weren’t used to the pounding of running. My mind had become so warped, however, that I was happy when I had to take two weeks off due to achilles tendonitis. “It’s a legit injury!” I exclaimed, “You can SEE the inflammation, you can treat it with RICE, and it will get better in a couple weeks!” I was thrilled that instead of some voodoo in my shin I finally had an injury that I knew how to deal with.

Despite having to take a few weeks off in October and in December due to some (gloriously treatable) injuries, I have now been running relatively consistently since July and am averaging about 80-90km/week. I am just trying to build my base and only do workouts when I feel like it. Although I hopped into workouts with the Angels in December, it’s too easy to get sucked into going harder and doing more in a group situation. So for the moment I have my fun doing tempos on my own or chasing down the Ninja group I coach during their hill workouts. I am not sure of any race plans in the Spring yet, but I have no doubt those plans will come naturally once I feel the speed coming back to my legs. For now, it’s still a bit of a slog, but at least I’ve graduated from the granny jog?!

The re-birth of shoeless coolis

My mom loves to tell the story of the day I was born, amidst a massive blizzard in Vancouver.  My parents weren’t worried so much about making it to the hospital in time as they were about making it there alive; their cab swerved through the icy streets and the driver strained to see the road through the pelleting snow. She considers my birth day a prophecy of my wild and stubborn nature that starkly contrasted the shy and quiet demeanour of my summer-borne older brother. I didn’t think much of this until two weeks ago, when I defended my PhD during one of the worst snowstorms in Ontario in recent years. In retrospect, nothing could have been more fitting: shoeless coolis was re-born, amidst another snowstorm.

Finishing my PhD was - and will always be - the hardest marathon I will ever have to run. There were times where I hit walls so hard that I stopped and questioned if I could go on. The number of highs and lows made me a complete unstable mess at so many points in time. The despair I often felt in research was compounded with the biggest personal loss I’ve faced and the worst physical injury I’ve succumbed to, both in my last two years of study: I got married and got divorced within months of each other; then I tore a tendon in my shin, losing the other love (and only outlet) in my life. There were times I felt so completely worthless I didn’t see the point of continuing on with my PhD, which was often just another source of stress and guilt. 6 months ago I was the closest I’ve ever been to quitting. That’s when my supervisor said, point blank: “Jane, you are at mile 20. You are not at the finish yet, but you are close. The last six miles are not going to be easy. So gather your strength, come back, and finish this race.”

He was right. The last 6 miles are terrible people! Why did I think mile 20 sounded encouraging?! True to the delirium of the last six miles of a marathon, the last 6 months have been a complete blur. I have trouble remembering many parts of it; working insane hours to finish experiments, writing my thesis in a matter of weeks in which 4am bedtimes became the norm, perfecting a manuscript over 30 emails a day with my supervisor, and having far less time to prepare for my defense than I had ever imagined. Suddenly the day was here. The day before was a weird day. I felt like I was in the twilight zone, I was dizzy and did not know what to do with myself. I don’t think it was just nerves, since I was also seriously sleep-deprived, something I would warn against being before a defense. That day I went to lab and tried to talk to people, seeing them speak but really thinking about which PP2A B subunits were originally found to bind KSR-1 and what their alternate names were; sporadically looking up the most remote detail of my thesis just in case I would get asked about it; and obsessively going over figures in my head. Then going to a luncheon for my external examiner and trying to feign aloofness when he asked ‘So how does it work in Canada, are we supposed to challenge you tomorrow until you fall to your knees and cry? Can we pellet you with questions at the public oral as well? What is your thesis about again?’ Oh wow.

Then the snow started. When you are in the twilight zone you do not pay attention to the weather channel. Unfortunately my parents were supposed to fly in from Vancouver late that night and my brother was coming in from Halifax. Luckily (or not?!) my external examiner was already in Toronto, but who knows what other members of my committee may be travelling. I went to coach the Ninjas that night, attempting to continue my day of apparent normalcy. There was something strangely peaceful about watching them do 800m repeats through mounds of snow and running through the white downtown streets. I got home and lay on the snow, looking up into the sky and trying to grasp how close I was to the end. I snapped out of it after several minutes, however, when I started to recognize the symptoms of superficial frostbite and realized that there were still ways I could screw up my defense (I’m sorry I've lost use of my fingers, I will not be able to draw that on the board for you). I went to bed.

I got up at 5am and got myself ready to trudge through the piles of snow to my defense. I was on autopilot, not thinking about what was really happening, if my family had arrived, or if anyone would show up to the exam. I texted my brother 30min before my exam and he informed me that my parents had arrived and they were all heading over too. 9:30am rolled around and suddenly I looked up and the room was full. The exam committee, my entire lab, people I knew from other labs, my family, friends of family, they were all there. I choked back tears. I couldn’t get emotional before this thing got started! After a heartfelt introduction by my supervisor, I knew I had better turn robo-Jane back on or my defense would become a crying gushy mess. The next two hours were another blur, apparently I somehow gave my presentation and survived my external's attempts to make me cry for reasons other than joy and gratitude, and it was suddenly over. My six examining professors congratulated me and quickly left the room, leaving me in the middle of Princess Margaret Hospital alone and with no phone reception. I had no idea where anyone was, but I didn’t care. It was done. That was it! I was free! Could this really be happening? I did a little dance, and then another. There were several dances after that. Then I smiled. That smile has not left my face.

So there ya have it folks, (Dr.) shoeless coolis has been re-born amidst another snowstorm. I cannot remember ever being so relieved and happy in my life. I have talked about the tough times during my PhD, but I have also experienced some of the best times of my life and met the most incredible people here. I have made friendships that will last a lifetime. And it is these people and experiences that have made every moment of sorrow, pain and despair completely and absolut(ly) worth it. I am sure no one here wants to read my thesis, but I have to post the most important part of it, the acknowledgments. There are others (who know who they are) who have been there for me and shared experiences with me that I will never forget, and I thank you also.

Next up: my running update (which I promise to be less cheese balls)!

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I would like to thank my amazing family for their unwavering support and encouragement throughout my degree. My father, who not only inspires me with his science, but whose compassion and sense of fun I admire and strive to emulate. My mother, one of the strongest, most brilliant women I know: thank you for being not just a mother to me in the last 6 years but also one of my best friends. My brother Jepray, you have been a tremendous source of comfort, positivity and wisdom and I thank you for always being there for me.

To my supervisor, Rob. You made it about more than science. You are the one who taught me how to run marathons. You taught me that the work you put in is the work you get out; that strength and endurance takes time and patience and cannot be forced; that the lows are worth the highs; that there are no shortcuts; that it’s not how fast you can sprint but how well you can push to the very end. Most importantly, you taught me never to give up until you’re there. Not many people can teach such hard lessons while expressing so much love, compassion and understanding, but you did. Thank you.

Thank you to my committee members, Jane and Dr. Medin. I appreciate the time you took to oversee my project and improve my research with your excellent advice and encouragement.

Thank you to my dear collaborators, Nikolina Radulovich and Dr. Ming Tsao, for your help and guidance with my animal and immunohistochemical studies.

Dedi. You gave meaning to the word ‘Dedidit’ and together, we did it J. You are a remarkable scientist but an even more amazing person and friend. Thank you for always putting things in perspective and for making science fun.

Thanks Dedi, one of the most amazing and kind people I have ever met

Mauricio and Tim, my BFFs OMG. Mauricio, it is largely because of you that I was able to run Rob’s marathons. Thank you for being a constant source of support and fun during the last six years. You have made the difficult times bearable and the good times unbelievable.

To all the members of the Rottapel lab for putting up with me and all my Western blots. Thank you for your encouragement and sense of humor – it is you guys that made coming to lab every day worth it, successful experiment or not. Also, thank you to the ladies from the Kislinger lab, especially Lusia, for either keeping me sane in the office or making the choice to go insane with me.

Thanks Lusia for always knowing how to get me through the rough days!

To my training partners and running friends, the Angels. Thank you for constantly reminding me that there’s more to life than the lab (and for inspiring me to run real marathons). Nic, DocZ, MamaK and Jebs, thank you for your patience, wisdom and guidance in all aspects of life.

To the others along the way that have inspired and encouraged me – Delilah (a.k.a. Topicoolis) and my beautiful cousin Sarika – you are two of the most important people in my life and it’s been so comforting knowing you were always there for me. You have each helped me in such different but crucial ways and I can’t thank you enough.

My beautiful cousin and beautiful friend, forever

Finally, I absolutely have to thank Goose for keeping me going during the last six years. You taught me to relax, gave me the energy to keep going and were always there when I needed you. Cheers.

Pinks and hoes and money woes

As an eternal student trying to survive in the big city, it is a struggle to stay out of debt. It seems that with each passing year of my degree, it becomes more and more difficult to save money – not only with compounding tuition costs, but with a steady decline in motivation to stay afloat (let alone alive. Ha. Joking. Kind of?). Then, a few weeks ago, I received the following email:

Hi Jane,

My name is Tom, I shoot for several glamor and softcore adult sites online. I have a shoot coming up for FTVgirls.com in September and your name was suggested through social media. If you're not interested or your not comfortable with adult content then my apologies, but I've quickly checked the pictures submitted and you seem to fit exactly the look I'm going for. 

We shoot in Arizona in mid September, we'd fly you out for 3 days. One day to settle in and pick wardrobe, one day to shoot and one for you to enjoy the area. The fee is negotiable based on what level of interest and experience you have but it ranges from $1000-$7000 for the trip.

Let me know if you have any questions

I look forward to hearing from you.

It took me a few reads to understand what was going on. I scanned each sentence for the words ‘running’ or ‘modeling,’ thinking it had to be associated with something I was known for. After a few minutes, I realized that they were far from interested in my athletic or academic pursuits. ‘Seriously?!’ I thought, ‘Soft core PORN?!’ Personality aside, how on earth would I be suited to it (let’s just say runners don’t usually meet the physical criteria of pornstars, and if they do they probably aren’t very fast)? Furthermore, what kind of ‘fitting’ pictures could have possibly been submitted?!’ I assumed it wasn’t from my photoshoot with Canadian Running Magazine, or my imitations of the Usain Bolt pose. I was bewildered. Then I read the last sentence again: up to $7000. Hmmm. One year’s tuition for 3 days of work? My mind began to wander. In a spell of curiosity, I proceeded to peruse the soft-porn website for myself, contemplating what they might have me do. Initially, I was encouraged by an image of a woman jogging in shorts and a sports bra. ‘I could do that!’ I thought triumphantly. My hopes were soon crushed when I realized that any seemingly innocent photograph led to things far more revealing. I think it was at this moment, in the midst of serious porn researching in my office at work, that I fully understood my need for extra cash. I forwarded the email to my parents:

Mum: “O.M.G.”

Minutes later, my Dad replies: “I don’t know Jane, sounds a bit dubious to me. You had better check this guy out.”

Umm...seriously?! I suppose my Dad is tired of lending me money, and would encourage me to pursue explicit avenues of money-making should my future pimp be a ‘legitimate’ one? WOW. My mum put an end to this possibility with her reply, however, when she emphatically stated: “PIETER! He does S-O-F-T-C-O-R-E-P-O-R-N-O-G-R-A-P-H-Y!!!!!!!!!”

Fortunately I have come to my senses and decided to try and be more frugal. I think I am doing a great job so far. Take yesterday, for example, where I spent $1000 when I meant to spend none. Why? Where to begin!

So 10 days ago my phone broke at a stagette. I have no idea what happened: I picked it up at one point and it was dead. Totally unresponsive. I suppose it just couldn't handle the party, after all, it did get pretty wild.

The next day I took my poor phone to the Bell store in Vancouver. I learned a lesson there. Bell sucks, and so do all manufacturing companies except Apple. They enjoy making things unnecessarily difficult, either because they want more money or are actually just stupid. Anyway, after explaining to them the situation (it could have been the strippers???) they fiddled with the phone, tried plugging it in, took it apart, and after a good twenty minutes decided it would have to be sent off to the manufacturer to determine the nature of the damage. Once they discerned what ailed it, it would either be fixed by them or sent to another company to be replaced. What the eff? Why do things have to be so complicated! Just give me a new phone! (That's why I have finally given into the Apple fad, they just hand you a new phone no questions asked. SMART.) So I'm like 'OK, fine take my phone. Take my only means of communication. Take a piece of me. Take my soul!' I began to get emotional. ‘Would I at least get a replacement phone?’ I wondered. They followed my emotional display with ''We can't give you a temporary phone either because you're going back to Toronto and you can't take our phone out of Vancouver.' Wow, they know how to please a frustrated customer! But they also told me that a temporary phone would cost $50 and require a $350 deposit, so I became disinterested. Instead, I decided I'd revert to the olden times when there were no phones or computers and everything was relayed by fountain pen ink and scrolls. I envisioned myself locked away in my parent's basement, writing letters to my high school friends asking them to join me for dinner at Christmas, at which point they would have received my message and I'd be back in Vancouver. The thought of living in such romantic fashion was exciting and I soon forgot the sorrows caused by my lost phone.

Nine days later I get back to Toronto and my mom starts to freak out, thinking that now that I have no phone in the big city I will die in anonymity. She emails me ten times after my flight is supposed to land to make sure I am still alive. Wanting to save her motherly stress (and the storage in my inbox), I immediately go to the Bell store in Toronto. I brought my old phone that I thought could serve as my temporary phone, but of course the Bell rep says they can't activate the old phone because it doesn't take the same SIM card as my Android. 'Oh and by the way, the store in Vancouver just sent out your phone to the manufacturer today.' TODAY?! Nine days after I dropped it off? What were they doing with it for the last nine days? Imagining how a stripper may have caused water damage?! At this point I was visibly angered. Perhaps the Bell representatives are slightly more insightful in Toronto, as he sensed my frustration and offered to give me a replacement phone free of charge...besides the $350 deposit. How lovely! I accepted the offer, but cringed at the money drawn out of my already dwindling bank account. My anxieties were relieved by a sudden rush of bells and rings from my new phone: I had life and communication back in my hands! Hallelujah! And with that, my spirits were lifted and I left the store in a celebratory mood.

Of course at this point I am in the mall. And I cross by a store called PINK. Yes, it is CALLED PINK. How am I supposed to bypass this store without going in and scavenging every item they sell? It simply cannot be done in Coolis land. So, consumed by powers beyond my control, I stepped into Pinkasia and was pelleted with flashes of hot pink, fuschia, zebra print and pink leopard print. I felt like an epileptic walking into a disco party, it was just too much to handle! Tears filled my eyes, both in anger at the inevitable demise of my bank account and in joy of finding so much Topicoolis-like attire in one room. How could I walk away from this? My mind fought as I scowered each rack and filled my basket with items to try on. 'I'm just TRYING them,' I told myself reassuringly. Rrright. Once in the change room, I quickly discovered that I loved all items I had chosen. Imagine that! A pink leopard print bra, oohhh and a bright blue one too! Zebra print underwear? A pink zebra sports bra (sorry Adidas, you may be fashion-forward, but you aren't quite at the edge!)?! Hot pink tank-tops, shirts, hoodies?! There was nothing I could do. It was over. When I was informed that most items were 2 for $42, there was no going back. They rung me in, and I walked out having spent $150 on bras, underwear, and flimsy pink shirts. This, from a girl who never wears underwear and who does not even need to wear bras. (Did I just admit this to the blogosphere? And to think I wonder how porn sites have heard of me)

Let's party indeed!

Then I go into lab. Almost as soon as I turn my computer on it crashes. Perhaps it felt the strength of my fluorescent pink purchases and it had an epileptic fit. Unfortunately, this computer has crashed before and it was not a good experience - I almost lost all of my data from my entire PhD. If this happened I would contemplate suicide. So I was the next one to start seizing, since I had still not backed up my data on an external hard drive. (Yes, apparently I am also stupid.) So I sprinted madly to Future Shop in street clothes and computer in hand - perhaps the only time that someone could justifiably heckle 'RUN Forrest, RUN!!!' - and clambered up to the help desk in a sweaty hot pink mess. I sternly told them that I needed to backup everything and warned that 'Nothing had better be lost!'...or I'd flash them hot pink underwear and whip them with sinewy bra tops?! I am sure they were quite intimidated, as they cutely told me that I would have to pay $150 for an external hard drive and $270 for them to revamp my computer and back it up for me. I was so overwhelmed with all the sources of stress and anxiety I was dealing with at that one instant that I said 'Eff it! Take my money, give me my PhD!' and was done with it. (I wish I could also say this at my defense. Hmmm.)

So there ya go folks, that's Coolis' lesson on how to spend $920 in a single day in Toronto, without wanting to spend a penny. Quite awesome. I think I am going to check this Tom guy out after all. 

Coolis to the Core

I used to be one of those distance runners whose idea of strength training was running hill repeats. I did so much LSD that I considered anything fast to be anaerobic. Then I met Dennis Barrett (McGill track coach), who introduced me to the world of deadlifts, chin-ups and core strength. I got about 3min faster over 5k in three years, and suffered no significant injuries during this time...not that I ever managed to do a chin-up or a deadlift! Ha! But I WAS forced to incorporate resistance training into my routine, and as a result my strength, coordination and running speed improved dramatically.

Core strength should be part of any distance runner’s training program. A strong core is central to a strong running body, as it balances out muscle groups and prevents wear and tear on joints, thereby preventing injury. Importantly, core strength is not about doing billions of crunches at lightning speed – it is about consciously engaging your abdominals and the muscles surrounding them, including your spine, glutes, hamstrings and quads. Exercising them in a slow, controlled motion is the best way to engage your core. There are many core exercises out there, so if you hate my suggested plank holds (below) keep in mind that they are only one way of cutting the...core?

This is a video of me demonstrating some core exercises for Canadian Running Magazine. I think the video sends out the right message, but I advise drinking some Red Bull before attempting to watch it. I think the videographers put an enthusiasm filter on their lens. I VIVIDLY recall doing this video laughing, smiling, joking and EXCLAIMING about how much I loved the Coolis Core Workout. I imagined myself demonstrating the front plank hold in dramatic fashion, hunching my shoulders to the sky and wildly dropping my hips to ground (I think I mastered the Booty Tooch (Hoochie Tooch?), however. Uh-huh.). Where did this dead-pan, bored un-Coolis come from?! I am not even sure at what points I am trying to tell a joke because I am speaking in such painstaking monotony. Perhaps the only hint of humour is when I remind the audience that ‘When your form breaks, so should you’ -  a line that at the time I thought was absolutely hilarious but now realize is actually NOT A JOKE. What is wrong with me?

What is more is that my brain was usurped along with my personality. I don’t think I could recall the appropriate name for a single exercise (or add to 10min?). Leg dips. LEG DIPS? Are those a real thing? It’s a good thing this was a video and not an audiotape, otherwise I would have runners splashing their legs into puddles or doing squats instead of plank variations. Or how about ‘back leg raises’?...as opposed to...front leg raises? I think the problem was that I had myself confused with a four-legged creature, and adjusted my mental capabilities along with my anatomical makeup. After all, I go so far as to incorporate knee-sitting into the workout, which I am pretty sure is an impossible feat for a human.

Despite these minor details, I do hope runners can get some use out of this video. And please ignore the eye-rolling at 1:23, that was a bitch look subconsciously directed at myself, not you awesome viewers!

This video was actually shot as part of a larger shoot, which altogether was a ton of fun. Unfortunately, it came at a time when my core wasn’t feeling its coolist. In fact, I looked like I was on the verge of giving birth the night before (one word: hormones).  So what does a balloon-bellied, raging emotional Coolis do the night before her photoshoot? Take some GAS-X, get some exercise, drink some water and get lots of sleep? Why, of course not! The only logical thing to do in my head was to out with my girlfriend for steak and martinis and bitch about my discomfort! Suffice to say I woke up (fell out of bed?) the next morning not feeling *particularly* primed for the camera. I tried to console myself by the fact that I would be wearing running clothes and not a bikini. Unfortunately, I arrived at the photoshoot only to find out I would be sporting a sports bra and spandex shorts. Nice. ‘Maybe they can photoshop my abs?’ I continued to console myself. All sense of security was lost, however, when the photographer began to yell ‘Tighten your abs! Abs TIGHT! Suck in the ABS!!’ with increasing intensity as the shoot went on. ‘Oh dear,’ I thought to myself, ‘the bloating is definitely not in my head.’ Compound this with the fact that I have not run in months and am jogging endless laps across a park, and you can start to envision the breathing difficulties I was encountering. Have you ever tried sucking in, gasping for air and smiling simultaneously?! I felt like a glowing pregnant woman having an asthma attack. This would be uncomfortable under normal situations, but was especially intrusive when I was supposed to look like a gazelle gliding effortlessly across the grass. This went on for about an hour, until eventually the yells for tighter abs changed to hurrahs for a good shot. Thank the lord! I also ended up with a t-shirt on by the end of it (I HAVE NO IDEA WHY).

So although I can’t guarantee flat abs at all times, I can say that the Coolis Core workout will help you be a better overall runner. If you want to get a more accurate idea of the 10-minute core routine (despite the excellence shown in this video), check out the September issue of Canadian running (p.69, obvi) for a full description of the workout!

It's all Voodoo and Dr. Chiu

My shin has become an old, annoying boyfriend. The initial thrilling (?) intensity has dissipated into a dull (dis)comfort that stays with me at all times. Although predictability can be nice, it’s not when it prevents you from living life fully. I need to dump this boyfriend for good. The problem is, he’s a bit of a stalker.

In May I decided I needed some security so I went to the doctor to determine the best plan of attack. The doctor suggested diagnosing this dude’s issues so that I’d know the best way to get rid of him. His first guess was that he could have a disorder known as compartment syndrome. Under this condition, he would suffer from a defect in releasing the large amounts of pressure caused by my repeated interactions with him. (Yes, apparently I was the root cause!) This build up would result in him inflicting pain and discomfort onto me, usually at a point when our interactions were at their height. Unfortunately, men struggling with this syndrome are incapable of leaving on their own, and usually need to be put under the knife. Essentially, I would have to resort to hiring a hit-man to physically get rid of him. Although harsh, I was elated, as the diagnosis made sense and I would finally be able to move on with my life. This had to work!

I left the doctor’s office full of hopes and dreams that I would get a specialist to test my boyfriend in a few days, hire a hit-man in a few weeks and be free as a bird in a couple months. A few days later, I got a call from a woman at the test centre: “Hi Ms Coolis, we have someone to test your defective boyfriend!” my heart raced with excitement, “When?” I asked “I can set this up anytime!” “Uh-huh” She answered, “The next availability is August 25^th, 2012 at 10AM.”

Silence ensued.

“...Hello? Ms Coolis? Does this work?” I remained mute on the other end of the phone. I thought she had to be kidding. August?! Almost four months away?! And that was just to get a diagnosis! “Um...hi, yes, errr is there anything slightly sooner?!” I asked incredulously. “No actually, we are one of two test centres in Ontario and we only conduct testing once per month. Naturally, there are a lot of defective men and thus there is a long wait list.” ‘Awesome. ‘ I thought to myself as I imitated her mocking tone in my head: ‘Naturally! Don’t be so foolish Ms Coolis, didn’t you KNOW that CS testers only like to work at one location every fourth Saturday from 10-5?!’ I took the appointment as graciously as I could - likely cutting her off as I hung up the phone - and sat at my desk morosely for the next half hour. How was I to deal with this dude for another three months?! When I finally decided it didn’t do any good to sit alone in self-pity, I proceeded to share my self-pity over Facebook. Maybe one of my doctor friends could help me out!

[Alright, I’ll stop talking in metaphors now. Everyone is probably completely confused: ‘I though it was her shin, not a stifling boyfriend, that was preventing her from running???’]

Moving along, the first doctor friend who commented on my status was Tony Chiu. Now, most of my readers probably don’t know Tony Chiu. Tony Chiu is quite a character. We became close acquaintances (friends? Rivals? I still don’t know) in high school as we shared pretty much every class together that involved advanced placement this or accelerated that. He was on high-speed mode in pretty much every realm of his life, however, including his day-to-day mannerisms. I was convinced he either had a secret addiction to coffee or an innate imbalance in amphetamines that made him hyperactive all the time. How else do you explain the random shouts during Calculus, or the tendencies to get up and pace around halfway through a physics lecture? His inability to finish a sentence, let alone conversation, without walking away? The constant shaking of his desk during a chemistry exam (especially distracting when you are sitting behind him, to the point that I thought it actually might be his mechanism of sabotage)? These traits made Tony Chiu both endearing and severely annoying at the same time. Despite the difficulties I encountered in getting to know him, we did somehow become close. We even studied together sometimes (this usually involved him solving a math problem in his head, writing down a number in ten seconds, then telling me crude jokes as I methodically wrote out twenty lines of equations for the next twenty minutes). 


Near the end of high school, however, I saw another side of Tony Chiu. He began to invite me out more frequently, even introducing me to his mother and offering me her jewelry (yeah, that was kind of weird...I thought maybe it was a Taiwanese tradition?). Then, he started to insult my boyfriend. These were not subtle displays of annoyance or gentle stabs behind his back. They were outright tantrums, usually right in front of his face. He’d start yelling “***HOLE!!!” down the hallway before I even saw that my boyfriend was coming our way. Sometimes I’d also catch Tony muttering under his breath during calculus “I HATE *******, ******* is such an @^%hole. %$#@ *******!” when he likely thought no one was paying attention. This was some deep hatred. Looking back, my boyfriend probably deserved some of this name-calling, but that’s beside the point. I think it was when I received a love voodoo kit (including a voodoo doll) from Tony on my birthday that I realized there was more to it than my ex-boyfriend actually being an ‘@^%hole’. It was kind of a scary gift to receive when you are 17 from someone who is quite brilliant. Couldn’t he have gotten me a calculator? Some pens? SAT books? I didn’t like the voodoo I was getting from Dr. Chiu. What did this mean?!

Nevertheless, he took off to Taiwan after high school to experience some more fast-tracking in his life, as he was accepted into an accelerated med school program at the National Taiwan University. At this time he also mentioned his mother wanted him to find a wife, so it was probably a good time for us to be on opposite ends of the earth. I don’t think he was happy with how things ended.

Fast-track some more, ten years later. I need a compartment syndrome test and I’m pretty desperate. Who else but Tony Chiu pipes in, still stirred up and single! (Ironically, now a psychologist...I think I had to ask him several times if he was a patient or that was his position, I couldn’t quite grasp the latter...) He told me that if I flew to Taiwan and stayed with him, he would get me the test in less than a week. Now folks, I told you I was desperate for this test, but right then I had to deeply question just how desperate I was. Yep, not that desperate.

Luckily, I ended up getting a last-minute cancellation at the end of May and went to a clinic in Toronto. I got to the center early, ready and excited to leave with an answer. To test for CS, they make you run until you experience the telltale-CS sudden onset of pain and then they jab you with a needle to measure the pressure in your muscle compartment. The problem in my case was that I experienced more of a constant discomfort rather than a sudden onset of pain. Nevertheless, they put me on the treadmill and told me to go until it hurt (twss). Now I must remind you all that I have not run, let alone done ANY weight-bearing activity, since February! I started to jog at 6mph and I won’t lie, it did not feel easy. I could feel my shin but it was the same dull discomfort as always. I figured I needed to go pretty hard to make it worse, so I turned up the speed to 8mph. Shin felt the same. After a few minutes I figured I’d better go hard or go home. I couldn’t leave this place without knowing that I reproduced my symptoms as best I could. So I turned the incline to 4% and increased my speed to 9mph. At this point, I began to wheeze. My legs felt like jelly and I thought I may – for the first time – fly of the treadmill. My shin worsened a bit but still, no sudden increase in pain. I kept going, feeling like I was running a 3:20 last km of a marathon. I literally thought I was going to die. ‘You can’t stop!’ I told myself, ‘you don’t feel injured, you just feel out of shape!’ This continued for what felt like hours, until I could have no more, and I jumped off the spinning machine, heaving and sweating like an animal. It had been 14 minutes.

After I eventually hobbled back to the testing room, the doctor nonchalantly pulled out a giant needle and stabbed me in the shin. “This might hurt a little!” he chirped as he moved it around my muscle compartment. I yelped out in pain. Perhaps this was the stabbing pain I was supposed to feel when I was running? I wasn’t sure. “Now can you flex your foot?” I tried to pull my toes up, only to be met with more stabs of pain. “Um, NO!!!” I answered. Instead of realizing this was because it hurt like a mo-fo, he assumed I was incapable of flexing my foot and took it upon himself to force my foot upwards. “OH MY GOD!” I screamed. “Okay, you’re done!” he said as he pulled out the needle. I sat on the bed, my shin throbbing, my heart pounding and my legs quivering. I had barely begun to integrate all my sources of pain when the doctor turned around and said “NOPE! Test is negative. You don’t have compartment syndrome!” I must have glared at him pretty hard, since he continued “Um, isn’t this a good thing? I’ve never seen a patient who was unhappy with a negative test!”

I limped out of the office in a bit of a daze. Should I be happy? Sad? Frustrated? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that I was in pain and that I still didn’t have a diagnosis. What’s worse, is that if it was actually remaining tendon damage then I had probably just made it a lot worse by hammering my shin on the treadmill. Fast-forward two months later, and I now have the results of an MRI that show no tendon, muscle or bone abnormalities in my shin. What the EFF?! Apparently it might be a nerve issue. Needless to say, it’s all voodoo to me now. My current hypothesis is that Tony got back his voodoo doll and it’s payback time. Perhaps a trip to Taiwan would cure me after all?!

Making things write

Alright people, I have to admit I have been sucking at the blog scene lately. My life has been a little up and down. Ha, understatement of the year!

It’s been 8 months since I’ve been able to run. I am obviously quite frustrated but I also realize there must be a reason. I must be doing (or not doing) something that has made it drag on this long. I’ve considered a few possibilities, but have been too distracted and/or stressed out to make any drastic changes. More on that after I vent about my latest excuses for not taking care of myself.

At the end of April, I got the OK from my PhD committee to begin to write up my thesis. Essentially this means I have the summer to write a few hundred pages about what I’ve done in the last five years and explain why it’s important. In the fall, I will submit this fat book of science garble to a bunch of smart scientists, who will tear it apart, pick out its weaknesses and grill me on it for two or three hours. Once they’ve challenged me to the point that I am on the verge of thinking I am the dumbest human being on the face of the earth, they will suddenly stop and say “congrats, here’s your PhD!” It’s a strangely anti-climactic way of receiving a degree you’ve been working your ass off on for six years, but I have finally come to accept this abuse as simply the ‘form of education’ of grad school.

Perhaps this is why getting your PhD is such a long, grueling process. You are constantly questioned, challenged and guilt-tripped to the point that – unless you are a remarkably resilient and confident person – you feel like you are completely worthless. Although many emotions can go up and down, the feelings of guilt and stupidity will never leave you until you graduate (I hope that then, they do in fact vanish!). Getting sucked into this vortex means feeling guilty for sleeping for four hours instead of being proud you worked for twenty, thinking you will get recognition from your boss for never taking any vacations and working weekends until it just becomes expected of you, and ultimately becoming bitter about life in general. Thankfully, this intense depression doesn’t usually set in until the end, at which point you can *usually* muster up the courage to finish. I have heard many stories about how students have ended their PhDs. Some have ended happily, some not, but one common theme is a stretch of legit depression.

Studies have been published, and blogs have been written on the subject!

Hmmmm

I suppose the last few months have been my stretch – at least I hope it was. I have not been happy at all. I will freely admit that now. I have felt lost, lonely, stupid, and like I don’t know what I want in life. It hasn’t helped that I haven’t been running. I have had no endorphin rush or outlet to vent my frustrations. I didn’t realize how dependent I had become on running to get me through times of stress. I think one day I complained to my labmates that my martini consumption was getting out of hand, when a new postdoc in my lab confided in me that it could always be worse. Apparently the last 6 months of her PhD she was going through a 26oz bottle of vodka every few days and smoking a pack of cigarettes a day...and she is also a runner! It gave me some perspective...but perhaps the wrong kind. Just because it could be worse, doesn’t mean it’s alright.

Which brings me to the past few weeks. I got the OK to write up and I can now see the proverbial finish line of my PhD. I had anticipated this moment for so long...so why did I still feel a void? Why wasn’t I happy or satisfied? Perhaps it was because (as it goes in grad school) my committee had to make me feel guilty about writing up before giving me permission. And perhaps it meant I then had to acknowledge other aspects of my life that aren’t entirely uplifting. Whatever the reasons, I still wasn’t happy and I still felt lost. Last week I finally completely broke down, at a moment that I have since realized was both the worst and best moment to do so. It was in the middle of a meeting with my supervisor and several other scientists – not very professional – but in the end, it finally relayed the severity of my situation to both myself and those around me. I was forced to acknowledge to a lot of people that I was suffering. However, contrary to my fears, this didn’t perpetuate disappointment or admonishment! No one called me weak or stupid! Instead, I realized that there are many people who actually care about me and just want me to be happy...no matter what I have to do. It was incredibly uplifting to hear such kind and supportive words, especially from my supervisor.

Since then I have gone back to Vancouver and seen my family, another incredible source of kindness and support. My parents are amazing people. I can’t express in words how much I love them. After talking things through with them and other friends, I’ve realized that it’s all about perspective. Things really aren’t that bad, in fact they are quite good and I am a very lucky person in the grand scheme of life. And if I take a little control over things, I can make them even better. So here I am, with a renewed sense of optimism and motivation to get healthy and finish my degree. If there is one thing I know, it’s that I am not done with running and I will do whatever it takes to get back to my athletic life.

Amazing parents

Relaxing in beautiful Vancity

My current game plan is to go back to the sports doctor and figure out what’s going on with my shin. Why am I feeling this perpetual tightness, it just doesn’t make sense. I hope to get another ultrasound and an MRI to see what’s going on in the tissue and/or to see what stage of healing it’s at. I am seeing my fantastic physio Greg (check it!) twice a week for treatment. I haven’t exercised at all in a week, but that’s not even the point here, I want to gain the weight I said I would for real. I’m not messing around anymore, just going to get it done. I have heard from other elites that when they are leaner they don’t heal as well, and if that’s the reason behind all these shenanigans then that is so stupid! It’s the easiest thing to solve. My dad is trying to lose 5-10lbs, so we are going pound-for-pound for the next month to even each other out. I like it!

I am also back out coaching my awesome Ninja group every Tuesday night. I haven’t talked much about them before, but I will soon have to dedicate a blog to them. They are a great, positive and motivated bunch of distance runners. They killed a 7k workout last night and it made me so happy to see how far some of them have come in the past year. Go NINJAS!

I am feeling much more relaxed and positive about things, perhaps too much so since it’s been 3 weeks since I’ve been given permission to write up and I’ve only written a few paragraphs. Time to stop procrastinating and start writing, and that includes my blog!

A video that every grad student (or family member/friend affected by the life of a grad student ;) should watch!