Day: December 30, 2010

Loneliness of the Short-Distance Runner

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I exercised for the first time in two weeks, swimming my eight laps at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Montreal. I zigzagged kickboards and babies in floaties.

Exercise is my anti-depressant. Swimming made me feel great.

Since my basal cell surgery two weeks ago I’ve had to lay low. I don’t like that. The winter doldroms set in. My overall mood is down if I don’t exercise (or write!)

It is better for everyone if I work out (and write) a few times each a week. So the other night I considered running a 5K on New Year’s Day in Ticonderoga.

I still had a bunch of stitches on my chest (where the basal cell was removed) and was not supposed to exert myself. I didn’t want to pop a stitch like an overstuffed teddy bear (which is how I felt after eating and drinking my way through Christmas). I hesitated. I had a lot of housework to do.

I had to pack up my family after 10 days in the country. That’s at least as much work as running a marathon. I had a cappuccino (also an anti-depressant) and had an idea. 

“Kids, we’re going to have our own race — to the old school house. You could win! It’s a race against me!”

At my 15-minute mile pace, almost anyone could beat me! But my kids are lazy. Yes, they are lazy, lazy, lazy. And it’s my fault. I’ve spoiled them. They’d rather goof off on Facebook than run.

The girls did walk/run for the first five minutes then they turned around and slogged back to their computer screens. It wasn’t even cold.

I had a weird experience as I ran. There was no wind. Yet I heard a flapping near me, like someone snapping clean sheets while making a bed. I looked around. Nothing. Not a breeze. It happened again. I kind of wished I wasn’t alone so I could ask someone, “Did you hear that? Wasn’t that weird?”

The front runner is the lonely (and possibly delusional) runner.

I came back, declaring victory, like Rocky on the steps of Philadelphia. When you’re the only runner, chances are good you’re the big winner! But I received neither a medal or champagne. Instead, I made myself some more coffee and folded the laundry.

The Mother of All Churches — Full of Surprises

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At the Baton Rouge restaurant in Montreal, our waiter Sebastian was rattling off nearby tourist attractions. He said, “The big cathedral past Chinatown is very nice. Celine Dion was married there.” I’m not usually going to churches based on a celebrity endorsement, but what the heck, I was on vaction.

We walked up the hill towards Old Montreal. The church was full of surprises – the first of which was the cost — $5 for adults and $4 for kids just to enter. $22 later, I was hoping that it was worth it.

It was worth it. The church was a riot of color and as pretty as rainbow sherbet. I was in love with the light of the ceiling and altar — a Robin’s Egg blue.

We joined the English-speaking tour group. We heard about Montreal’s origins –  to convert the heathens.

The next big surprise was the chapel. I imagined more of the same — a Neo Gothic church/wedding cake — frills, curliecues and gold stars. Not at all.

Walking into this chapel, the woman behind me gasped. It was full of light.

The massive bronze altar sculpture showed three archways representing childhood, middle age and old age (death). It was not all crucifex-y and literal like some churches. It was symbolic –The symbols

of the trinity were a sun, a dove and a kind, smiling man. It was all bright and yellow (almost as pretty as the Louise Nevelson church, one of my faves!)

The artist of the Sacré-Coeur chapel for Notre-Dame Basilica, Charles Daudelin (aka ‘genius’) created this masterpiece after a fire in 1978 destroyed the Gothic chapel. So there’s an inspiring lesson:

Sometimes a devastating turn of events can lead to some great modern art.

I dug the nativity scene in the modern chapel because the women figured so prominently. This was the church of Mary and I do appreciate churches that celebrate women.

The tour ended and my daughters got in a fight. See, to light a candle and make a prayer, you had to pay a dollar. I only had one single. I gave the dollar to Charlotte and told her to “Share a prayer. Or light two candles. It doesn’t matter.” But Catherine felt if we lit two candles, “We’d be lying in a CHURCH!”

Charlotte eventually resolved the bickering by telling Catherine that she’d put two dollars in the collection box. Catherine was appeased and lit her candle. Then Charlotte told her twin she had been lying and she’d only put in one dollar. The fighting began again.

I told the girls that this is part of the history of Christianity. “I think the Holy Wars were fought over this. The Reformation was about not having to pay to pray.” I told them, “God hears the prayers of the poor as equally as the prayers of the rich.” They didn’t care. They just wanted to light their damn candles.

This is how sibling rivalry goes. They ebb, they flow. They lie, they fight. They pray. They light a candle. They’re hungry and they want to leave this stupid place. I, meanwhile, enjoyed this church very much.