A Madison Avenue Bridge state of mind

I'm not a religious woman, but 'spiritual' is the word I've often used to describe my experience of running the New York City Marathon in 1999.

Unlike at the Canadian marathons I've run, the crowd support at the New York City Marathon was overwhelming, with spectators standing six people deep on either side of the race route throughout the entire 26.2 miles. Toronto crowds are, at best, sparse and quiet. At worst, spectators yell at you and honk their car horns at the inconvenience your race has caused. But in New York, I high-fived ten Brooklyn cops in a row, was serenaded by a group of women who wrote a song just for us and it seemed like every tenth person screamed, GO CANADA when they saw the flag taped to my hat.

While I had tears in my eyes for most of the race, inspired by this crowd support, the most moving part of the race was when the crowd wasn't even there.

No spectators are allowed on the five bridges we had to cross, linking the city's boroughs. So, every time we started up a bridge, the screams and cheers suddenly stopped and all you could hear was the stampede of our feet on the asphalt and the heaving of hundreds of sets of lungs. This alone was intense, but when were were running up the Madison Avenue Bridge, the last bridge in the race, suddenly up ahead I started to hear murmurs.

Now, marathon runners typically stay pretty quiet in an effort to preserve every drop of energy possible, but it was clear that runner after runner was saying something up ahead. As I ascended toward the crest of the bridge, I saw a wheelchair athlete struggling up the incline ahead of me.

He had his name on the back of his shirt (as many of us do to encourage others to encourage us) and as each exhausted runner passed him, just three miles from the race's end, they said, "Go Michael."

"Go Michael." "Go Michael." "Go Michael."

Moved to tears, with goosebumps on my arms from the emotional intensity of the moment, I too said, "Go Michael," as I ran up to and past the athlete who clearly has a much harder haul than any of us.

I will never forget the beauty of that moment; the beauty of hundreds of people, uniting as one, behind this man.

Michael made it to the top and then we all descended into the thunderous cheers of the crowd waiting on the other side.

The Digger Man

Every now and then someone does something that restores your faith in the goodness of humanity. One of the best examples I have of that was the day I stopped on a run with my toddler son in a jogging stroller so he could watch a construction machine dig a hole.
When the 'digger' operator realized my wee boy was transfixed, he jumped out of his cab and threw something into the hole he was digging. The police officer guarding the hole smiled and I wondered what they hell the guy was up to.
The next thing I knew the Digger Man is using his digger claw to collect up a little package along with some dirt from the bottom of the hole. He then dumped the little package, along with some dirt, just a couple of feet from the front tire of the jogger. My son's mouth was agape. Digger Man then proceeded to use the outside edge of the claw to gently tap, tap, tap the package closer and closer to my son. I was a little horrified at the moving claw's proximity to my still-diapered child, but Digger Man did seem to know what he was doing.
The police officer bent to pick up the package and hand it to my son, who was spellbound. Inside the package was a brand new Scoop character (a digger guy the size of my son's tiny hand) from the Bob the Builder TV series.
Needless to say, the boy fed himself dinner with the wee digger claw that night and fell asleep clutching it to his chest.
The End.

Of bridal gowns and anal sex...

I was out for an early-morning run (about 7 a.m.) ten years ago when I was stopped by a red light at the corner of Bloor Street and Avenue Road in downtown Toronto. A casually but decently dressed man in his 20s walked up to me asking if I had the time. As I looked down at my watch, he continued to walk right into me so that he could "accidentally" grab my crotch. He got a really good feel too; I was wearing tight black Lycra pants with no underwear. He laughed and kept walking.

I was horrified and shocked but managed to turn and scream at him, telling him he'd burn in hell and all that. His delighted, proud face smiling back at me is still seared into my mind. He was completely unaffected by my outrage.

I went into the nearby hotel, called the cops and was asked to come in to look at mug shots a few months later.

Since my mother was driving me to the police station (I don't have a car and the location was somewhat remote for public transit), I decided to bring along the wedding magazines I had pouring over in preparation for my then-upcoming wedding. Sitting in the waiting room nestled up against my mother, I flipped the magazine open and we both started to peruse. As they tend to do, the magazine seemed to want to open to a particular page. On this page was a bride bent over forward, with her full-length white tulle skirt flipped up over her head. A man dressed like a groom was giving her anal sex.

I was looking at this with my 55-year-old mother in a police station.

I immediately slammed the magazine closed and tried to catch my breath. As my mother reeled, I quickly figured out and explained that my beloved fiance had been out with his best bud for beers the night before and they had clearly decided to colour-print some bridal porn for a joke and carefully paste in into the magazine. My mother immediately launched into me with, "You don't DO that with him, DO YOU???" I said, "Noooo, mother." She said, "Maybe he's trying to TELL you something, like, maybe he wants to DO that TO YOU." She then launched into a tirade she had previously unleashed on me once before when I was a teen. She said, "If he wants you to do that, you just tell him to buy a dildo and you'll stick it up his ass and if he likes it then maybe you'll try it!"

Did I mention this was all going on in a police station?

And so that's my story about a crotch grab, bridal gowns and anal sex.

PS- my husband thinks this practical joke couldn't possibly have had a more entertaining outcome.

First post on my new blog...

I've been meaning to start a new blog where I share some of the great stories I've collected over the years and so here it is!
I'm currently sitting in a quasi-auditorium at The Toronto Star building at One Yonge Street, taking part in a Camp VJ (Versatile Journalist) seminar. We're learning how to use social media, flip cams, stills, and the works to tell stories. Blogs included. So I thought I'd get started by at least creating this space. But you're going to have to wait for the great stories because I haven't got the time just now! Ciao!