Blisters for Boobies September 15, 2009

Remember a while back, I was desperately seeking donors to support me in my walk for breast cancer, benefitting The Princess Margaret Hospital (which happens to be one of the top 5 hospitals for cancer research… in the world). Through numerous (desperation soaked) emails to friends and several fundraising events at the office, I met and (just barely) exceeded my goal.

The walk took place this weekend, starting at the Direct Energy Centre aka Exhibition Place, day one ending at Downsview Park and back again the next day, totaling 60 km (just over 37 m for those of you down south).

When I had first registered for this event, I was told that training was important. I thought, who needs to train for a walk? Nonetheless, I had gone out for a few long walks to prepare. One of my first attempts was walking home from work (I don’t live there anymore, so stalkers back off) and although I did make it home in 2 hours, I was hit by a car. Nothing dramatic that required medical attention, a man had reversed his car and failed to see me, then failed to apologize for hitting me… although the way I had confronted him may have startled him.

Team Harlequin met at 7am to get ready for the opening ceremonies. It was amazing to see a crowd of 4,616 walkers work together to raise over $11 million dollars for women’s cancer research.

I really didn’t know what I was getting into, I didn’t know what an emotionally and physically draining experience this was going to be. Those who know me well, know that I’m a cryer. And boy did I have the water works on high this weekend. This walk challenged me, it challenged me to get creative – baking over 100 cupcakes for a fundraiser and it challenged me to push myself and not give up.

Day 1 went well, I had excellent company which helped make the 30+ km walk go by quickly. As did games like, spot the nearest Starbucks to nurse my caffeine withdrawal headache and get to know you better questions such as, If you could own any kind of business, what would it be? We made it to camp around 6pm and I dug right into my free booze (thanks Steamwhitsle and Yellowtail!) and dinner. Come night, only 5 of the 9 team members staying overnight made it past dinner. We got to know each other better, chatting the night away over a few beers before I retired to my tent.

Day 2 started early, I arose at 4 am (thanks to the early birds in the tent next to me) and spent a good hour stretching out my sore feet, breakfast and packing up before our 30 km trek back home. My Day 1 walking mates had gone home (they were participating in the one-day walk), so I rejoined the rest of Team Harlequin. Day 2 took us through downtown and I was looking forward to it, seeing as TIFF is going on, I was hoping we could get some stargazing done – in the least obvious way possible. Although I didn’t spot anyone, I could’ve cared less. The only thing that concerned me at that point was the monstrous blister that had formed on my heel and had developed a limp in my step. Ack!

I had one breaking point, it was after lunch on day 2, the limp was taking a lot out of me, it was hot as heck and I had reached my breaking point. I was ready to call it quits and have one of the sweep vehicles pick me up and take me to the finish line. It was at that point that I spotted a man and his daughter sitting out front their apartment and clapping for us, saying, “Thank you!”. I was overcome with emotion, tears began to fall and I got my second wind back.

Crossing the finish line, was amazing. Boy and Olgie were waiting for me, cheering me on and the waterworks were on again. I even made it on the local news, even if it was for 2.43 seconds (click on news from Sunday September 13th and skip to the 11:47 mark – I’m in the pink tank top and the next shot is of my team members).

This past weekend was a life changing experience. Whether it was at the opening ceremonies when family members of those who have fallen victim to breast cancer carrying the running shoes their loved ones were to wear on the walk before cancer had claimed their lives. Or walking down King St. in Weston, where a loving community was very much alive. This street was lined with neighbours supporting us with a hose to give us a light mist on a hot day, watermelon slices, lemonade, chocolate, applause and even… shots of beer. Walking through Downsview, where cute Italian families handed out freezies, pannetone, popsicles and fresh fruit.

The most inspiring part of this walk was having breast cancer survivors cheering us on and holding signs saying, “I’m alive because of you”. It’s so overwhelming. People thanking me for raising money and walking 60 km? It seems so bizarre to me. Needless to say, I cried a lot, laughed loads, shared stories and am really proud of myself for completing the entire 60 km. Congrats to all who participated.

Here are a few more photos from the weekend:

A clever sign an optometrist had up for us.

My favourite team logo... so hilariously creative

Me, Tripetripeandmoretripe.blogspot.com, and another friend at the pirate pit stop.

Team Harlequin heading toward the finish line

Thanks again to everyone who supported me in my walk. I really appreciate your help and thank you for giving me the opportunity to experience this.

My First Car September 9, 2009

I was eighteen, dating a boy, T here on out, in a small town about an hour north of my house and was using my Dad’s car to get me there. My Dad (well both of my parents, actually) really didn’t care for T who took their lovely daughter and turned her into a punk with a new (terrible) attitude.

When I got my driver’s license my Dad did not let me drive his car, a large 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. Her name was Beastly, she roared like a monster and had a sexy sunroof, that’s all that mattered to me. The first night I actually got to drive on my own my Dad was out bowling, I had managed to break down my Mom and went out for a couple of hours. It went downhill from there. For my parents, that is.

I was a selfish teenager who began taking the car without asking, my parents eventually caught on to my game and started asking my permission to use the car. It was great. That is, until my parents met T.

Making time to see T was beginning to cause some real tension between the three of us, Pops would put up a fight whenever I’d leave the door, threaten to take the car away from me. Not good. So what was my logical reaction to this? Buy my own car.

I had first revealed my plan to T, who loved it. I’m sure it was because he loves cars more than me, than this huge financial step I was taking. We visited a dealership in his town and I found THE car I wanted, a Mazda Speed Protege. I took it for a test drive, well, T drove since I didn’t know how to drive standard (smart, Ivana, buy a car you can’t drive). I wanted that car. I had planned to get my financing in order and come back with an offer the very next morning.

Next morning, I’m all smiles and drive to the dealership only to find out the car had been purchased. Who purchased it? None other than T!!! I freaked because I knew he didn’t secretly buy it for me, he wasn’t that thoughtful (or rich). He bought the car for himself, behind my back and didn’t have the decency to tell me. What a monster.

I promptly drove over to his place and immediately transformed into doormat. I tried to confront him but took it back the second he turned the confrontation on me. He knew I was afraid he was going to dump me at any moment, so I gave into whatever he wanted the moment he got upset. This was the young, dumb, fat girl in me (I’m much meaner now).

I settled for something similar but not nearly as sporty. A peppy Mazda Protege5. When I was signing the papers, the salesman asked if I had something to trade in. Without thinking, I had just blurted out, “Yes. A ‘94 Cutlass Supreme.” Eeeek. Not. My. Car. He explained to me that I’d have to have my Dad sign over permission to trade the car in. What the eff was I going to do? My parents didn’t even know I was buying a car.

I thought long and hard about how and what I was going to tell my Dad and every scenario I had thought up ending up with me, dead. So what was my decision in the end? I chose to write my Dad a letter, explaining the situation, leaving the filled out paperwork with the signature line highlighted and placing it on top of his lunch bag for him to complete before he left for work that morning.

I came down to the kitchen hours after he had left to find… the signed form, no bloodshed and no complaints when he came home that night. Had I finally cracked my Dad? Figured out how to ‘ask’ permission? Maybe. I’ll be honest though, I seriously thought he would take the day to think up all sorts of mean things to say but they mean things never came. He was actually ok with me trading in his car. Bizarre.

I’m still driving my peppy baby, named Baby. She let me ride shotgun through many of life’s adventures, when I got rid of T, got my full-time job, moved out of my parents place and met Boy. Boy and I love her and her hatchback and have had many adventurous (and extremely humourous) moments with her, like a happy little family. I’ll be forever grateful to Pops for not freaking on me. Maybe he knew that my buying a car of my own would make me grow up, learn how to budget and be responsible?

What was your first car? Did you ’steal’ it like I did mine?