needing a break? new black suit?

I believe you. I believe the word doldrums was created perfectly...

condensed, but uninterrupted.

Save the thinly-veiled domes at the end of grand European Avenues --- there are no machinations of beauty or despair which are hemmed or lengthened depending on the architect's eye, the rule - as it were, laying flat and level, is to construct the candidature of sight and function. A line here, rising, or perhaps a suspended jaunt, where does it go? where does it end?
Magic and majesty aren't always apropos!

up to.........coupon........................... date!

today, a veritable January ruse. minus 30, minus the wind. minus a blanket of fresh unfluctuating snow and of course that genuine smokestack steam floating south-west across the building-tops. as insoluable as fear or rest, and contrary to the consolation of last nights' workout, regime, and to a lesser degree (ha ha) the revelations from golden publishers.

If they ask, how curious these cold myths? this blatant information, chilled apostrophes' --- akin to the heat of instant implication... (Bracketed Aside: I have perused the wealth of facts and the wealth of figures, the bon mots, perked ears, and I've coerced the cristalized crossing of these macro-economized vacillations, and the issue of 4th quarter earnings, up $5, an analyst might say, their disclosure not premeditated. But no, not yet, I can't reveal all that I'm worth [I'm thinking of the bigger picture], the larger ebb and the higher flood...), I must retort to them, is 8 percent really enough? Indoors. I go...

Gladly, my achillees is improving. Yesterday a 4K warm-up.
2x1K, 2x800, and 4x600 (not too hard I thought, but according to Rachel's 'spinner timing' I was moving pretty good). 2K warm-down, stretching, weights and core strength exercises. Happiness. Relief. Until the next laps -- MIKA out.

scuba DUDE, too!

Returning to TO was a bit of a letdown as the tropical wisdom that sluiced within me seemed to postpone a lot of my Christmas spirit (even if I was humming Feliz Navidad, Caribbean-style), not only that but we had to say goodbye to Eveline of AT, a Chilean marvel, and to endure 4 hours of waiting at the airport in St. Martin ---- everything hot and closed since it was late in the evening and there were no breezes, clean empty benches, or beers to be found (unless you were seated near TC, that traveller of Wobbly Legs and Stuffed Carry-On Baggage fame). Air Transat, invariably late, invariably incommunicative, actually provided a nice plane, something a a lot newer and roomier than what we flew down on, although they did try to detain Herr Ziggy a few times on the way through the ticket line, boarding pass check, blah blah blah, how many times do you wish to see my identification? It's here somewhere... Now I know he is quite the ringer for a terrorist and I KNOW security is of vital importance to us all but anyone wary of the anti-cyclonic "Pops' probably needs a different modus operandi. Greetings Gustav of Gestapo --- red alert red ALERT!! Your papers. Code Orange! ummmm... excuse me Sir but you won't be allowed on this plane even though you've shown us your passport three times already and boarding pass twice! Bewildered Tiger, Uncomfortable Tiger? Draggin On... Pause. Pause. But Miss I'm with him, he says. And yes, that's been said many times, fingers pointing, eyes belaboured -- upon me, innocent me, nodding, and certainly it's almost always true --- they are with me, and I am innocent, but alors - perhaps this kerfuffle only added to the levity of such an exhausting farcical ad-venture (return?)... here we were already more than an hour late and now they were implicating "US" (Pops and me) in any further delay. [Note: we found the troublesome boarding pass moments after take-off, but by then they didn't care about it, want it, acknowledge it.]

Alas, the flight / ride home was decent despite the pluggedness developing within my ear. The roast beef hockey puck sandwich wasn't as bad as first feared, the cranberry juice was good. I slept for a bit and managed to awaken on descent - my inner ears a little turbulent, and painful, considering I couldn't equalize! Celine I'm trying my best, really. Please don't make that quizzically disappointed face.

Early morning (it was after 230 when we gated) was spent waiting for 'the luggage', carousel 8, then 7, do I hear 6? There's a problem with the... loudspeaker? But then, soon enough, we're driving to Midland in a fashionable late-night snowstorm, as tired as I have ever been. And the only time I've ever actually felt I might fall asleep at the wheel. Did I mention I had been out partying the night before with the cousin of my friend (the above mentioned TC) until about 3 in the morning and then had woken up at 630 and decided to go for a run in an attempt to cure my hangover. No nap the rest of the day either, although I did get to relaxing at the beach in the afternoon, horizontal, with The Girls. On the highway I managed okay, weaved a little, here, there, but didn't crash, and so we arrived "home" to white-glazed fanfare around 540 am. Sleep! Sleep!

That night we celebrated Our Girl's 13th birthday (nice gifts) and then it was back to work for a few fresh unpleasantries, neffing job. Inbetween I smiled of course, sanguine and toothily, and did enough shopping to pass through the festive occasions, and to make the receivers of said shopping a lot happier than they might have expected to be; apres ca it was 10 more days away, north again, to celebrate something, everything, the ear-thing, babysitting?... oh my doesn't it seem like eons ago that my vacation was born... Where's that confounding beach? Those mystifying girls? The sun, the breeze, gravity, Lauren --- Inspiration!

Au plaisir mes amis ------------------ MIKA*

a real SCUBA dude -------------- now!

Ahem! One of my few faithful readers (DawGmanStaR?) has politely questioned my whereabouts, so without being unseasonably affected (afflicted?) I reply with an update into my intriguing blissful observant life. Firstly, happily, I have been on holidays... away from the terminally unwell people at the coff-ice!

And so it goes - a week in the Caribbean with sunshine, sand, 3 lovely sisters from Scarboro, Murray, Martha and family, and an inventively scorching fellow nick-named Ziggy (aka POPS!). There was also a gaggle of older party-ers, one of whom, shockingly, was / is the cousin of a good friend from Midland. But now, not to be dismissive of all the above character, I must confess that the most shining moments of this trip belonged underwater with my French SCUBA instructor Celine, tres belle, red bikini, et tres patient... it being my first time made it all the more entertaining, pellucid, salient! SO what did I sea (ha ha ha) at the bottom of the reef? Well there was a shipwreck, rusty cannons and all, there were lots of little fishies, well-schooled and stripey, a funky spiky sponge that Celine stuck to my palm, and even an octopus crouching within a small crevasse. I tried to take a picture of said mollusk however I only caught a glimpse of Celine's arm, ummm, lovely instructor, isn't that a rip in your wetsuit? ----- well done. All in all, I suspect, I did pretty darn good down in the stuff of the deep, in the weightless foreverland... okay so it was only 40 feet and it wasn't that high-pressured, but I did receive a fancy certificate and a nasty ear-infection for my effort, which was probably my own fault since I knew I had a little sinus issue when I went. Live and learn I suppose, but still I recommend taking to the sea for anyone who has never done so (and is not afraid of open water).

Another exhilirating happening was a day cruising the island of SABA, the Unspoiled Queen of the Caribbean, although I suspect there may be private islands (like Richard Branson's of Virgin fame) where things are even less blemished. Returning to SABA ---- which is located just west of St. Eustasius and Nevis, and is home to about 1500 people -- it has one viable port, under re-construction, from which there is one main road and a seemingly endless narrow climb, the vehicle coming up has the right of way, they say, and once beyond that first hill there, still, isn't a flat spot in sight. And though a section of The road that couldn't be built, as they call it, is relatively smooth, the only true level area is at the oh so precipitous airport, where cliffs welcome both ends of the runway. Naturally this place is called Flat Point!

The tour of the island was quaint, elaborate, and somewhat meandering --- Vince was a decent friendly fellow, taxi driver / guide, a Saban (or is it a Saber?) all his life, seemed to enjoy talking about plants, this is breadfruit, and this a ***** tree, He also enojoyed picking up his wife, then dropping her, and the groceries, at home. It's too bad we never took a picture of him or Paula from Detroit (our touring companion), or that I didn't even think about it. Too bad we never got a picture of the Medical School either, or the Glassblower where certain splendid presents were bought. Now all that is either charming or cute but I'd have to say the best part of the whole day was hiking to the top of Scenic Mountain, approximately 890 m (over 3500 feet) and the highest point in the Kingdom of the Netherlands... they say there are only 10-15 days a year when the mountaintop is in clear view, but this day couldn't have been better. From the top I could easily see all the islands nearby, even St. Martin! Absolutely brilliant!!! It was supposed to take about 50 minutes from where I started to get to the peak, however I used it as a chance for a workout, it was humid and sunny and the rainforest became harsher the higher up I went but still I managed to run, dash, jump, to the peak in less than half an hour. Well Done SCUBA Dude!! On the way I passed a few people going up who had started the climb a little earlier, a couple from Germany (how much farther?), a pleasant steady climber from Ohio (Michelle, I think her name was), an even-keeled older fellow who wasn't sure how far up he should go? I said, it's probably only going to get harder...

Then again, I'd have to say coming down was the hardest part. Always is, allons-y. The taxi's leaving at 1330, and I wouldn't want to miss lunch. Win, win, wind, warm breeze, I remember.

just a quick notation

to let everyone know I am still busy and alive.
Planning many exciting new things, executing present agendas,
but never re-living my past denouements.

Let's go!!!! Mika

alternative value, meteoric theft...

what's that you say? four inconspicuous words now conjoined in a blithely unplanned title. In some way that is correct, I use this method as an exercise in writing, some would say it is an exercise in relieving writer's block (but since I don't believe in the ill-fated WB then I can't / won't admit that). The above title was attained by randomly picking four words from the MSN Canada home page and then putting them together into a somewhat cohesive idea (ideal?) ---- but now the trick is to make a real poem or story from this idea:

*************************************************************************************

As you can see the results are a bit blank now... but there is no need to panic, at some point I will edit this again and you'll see what happens to this row of bon mots.

seriously inured...

On a monday morning, procuring fate, I pledge not to peel your hopeful succulent Valencia orange with such sterness or solemn quailing (is that a word? or perhaps, just a bird?). Yet another revelation came to me on a deep grey Sunday afternoon, I said, smiling, (not a smirk either, but a real smile), and it was then that I realized that perhaps I've had the wrong attitude when it comes to my pursuit of writing and / or my quest of athletic achievement. And I think it is best summed up by a chortle and a giddy wink of these bottomless blue eyes, and it is here that I say, "don't be so damned hardened or severe."

There should be no disillusion in the efforts.

Yesterday the narcissistic yet lovable Julia paraded her cheerless confident "cold" into the cafe where we drank herbal tea and perused the latest edition of The Fiddlehead (a literary magazine from those wily valleys of New Brunswick, especially wily this issue - see page 77, wink!). Her illness, a minor detraction from her usual poised personality, she said, would not deter her from a long day at the library and even a mountain bike in the brisk late-autumn late-afternoon. She's a soft-tail you know, not a roadie or a tri-gal, so she doesn't always appreciate the quibbles of the pavement. Yet she passes above it all with the glazed spinning of a sanguine championness, and I, awe-filled, slack-jawed, straight lipped, rough and raw renegade???? had an instant of epiphanic manifestation; And so I now vow, in all consequences of living, to beam instead of frown.

Do you think perhaps it will make an optimistic difference?

the blue arrow

Is this the sign? Is this the shape and the colour that I remember? Is it you, the one that arches across this glazed screen like an unforeseen cloud enveloping a pre-winter escape?

Once, when we were acquiescent and still, we huddled in an embrace that only a divinity could inspire... and you said you could hear a voice, and what you heard you thought was the residue of the darkness that had separated us, and you thought this blindness might return, that the light and all of its colours weren't real, that the messages you felt like hearing would be taken away, obliterated like a mud-hutted city beneath a flood of poignant, carpeted bombs. Yet you dreamed... and I swore to you within that dream that I wouldn't let you be fooled, and I told you how inevitable it was that we would find each other again, and you said you knew it was only a dream, and that what I said was just wistful and sentimental, and you wanted to clutch something more real, and you wanted to grab hold of that which passed above you: an arrow so blue it couldn't have come from either of our skies...

what is that, a yellowish-gold and radiant circle?

I believe I actually saw the sun this morning... there it was, alone, and rising abashedly above the indurate buildings on Bloor Street. And there I was shivering in the first real signs of wind chill, that which crawl beneath one's neck. Oh to be somewhere warm, shirtless, somewhere in the midst of ordinary sweat, somewhere along the coast...

another Klima

So, this is not a reference to the former left winger Red Winger (shoots left, right Irving!) what did you say, A Player for Owen... who? alas Pan Irv, I have no idea what number Petr Klima was, an odd one I think (37, 39) or something uncommon... mais, I digress, this Klima I refer to is a book called A Summer Affair written in the early 70s, and revised, it says, in the mid 80s. I think, on the whole, I like this book better than the first one, although parts of NSoA (see previous entry) were more brilliant... anyway I'm also attempting again to read Anil's Ghost, Ondaatje, and even though I'm only 30 pages in I feel it will be a struggle to finish. There seems to be something less tragic in it even though it's all about tragedy, however I will try not to quit...

Onto other more important news, like my own literary career, it is, how you would say stalled? trodden on? although some more positive-minded people might say it is stable, or even a punctilious calvacade towards pasture... Louis? Yeah so, my manuscript was rejected again, even though it contains, many fine things, thank you, I know. I guess it is now time to spray the infield --- let bygones be bygones, let sonnets become sonatas, ponies become peonies, accents turn into ascension --- enough! what's with all the equestrian references? It must be time to ride off into the dark grey horizon that has plagued my city for the past week, at least it hasn't rained yet today. Perhaps tomorrow my thoughts will be a little more pellucid, clear... long live your endurance -- mes amis, Mika.

Youth?

why now? why the perpetual question in italics? perhaps the birthday season is upon me, and i'm even par for the front nine at Midland, I'm awash in the ponds of vainglorious delights that survive another year, in suffering in that way that most of us north americans would never admit too, in having nothing and everything at hand, the simultaneity of this wealthy and unwarranted paradox. a tree, a stretch of green grass, some fallen leaves, and an SUV, capiche?

so that book I mentioned in my last entry is by J.M. Coetzee, it was okay, okay --- maybe it was a little better than okay but it wasn't noble or novel that's for pretty sure. anyway, i've moved on to a Czech writer named Ivan Klima, and I must admit a lot more attachment to the characters' sentiments in this No Angels or Saints, even though they don't work for IBM or want to be famous poets. I think there is something in the slavic ethic that allures me... inures me? eludes me? denudes me? confuses me? J.

still injured, but should be able to run by saturday. still writing... see ;~]

WEAKNESS

my achilles heal is my achilles heal,
it stings in the morning and hurts when I run,
after twenty minutes the pain disappears,
or perhaps it migrates to another part of my body,


a work in progress - of course, like any marathon...
cheers, mika

ah ---- ha, apples and orang-atangs

no, not the skin of the vertebrate that reminds one of a coconut, or those pesky pen-tanger teenagers good at marshy volleyball and late night poker runs... but the elements of daytime that make one remember what brought them to wherever they are. Speaking of which, I haven't blogged much lately, sometimes, amid the foul mood of this cubicle I say why 'blogger', but then I'm not so crusty and disheartening all the time (ain't that right Sara?). And truthfully I've been too busy here (doing endless amounts of piddly shit) and I've been swimming, water-running (injured achillees), some cycling and lots of circuit-ry ---- good for the abs and the core.

I've also been reading a book called Youth by *******, it's about a South African in London (early 60's) who wants to be a poet but isn't very good, he says, (okay so that doesn't really relate to me), worst of all he gets a job with IBM... dull, dark, hardened IBM ---- how about that for coincidence... he also has a series of meaningless (pathetic, he says) affairs... I can't decide if I like the writing or not, parts of it are pretty dry but I'm still reading and it's only 170 pages so I suppose it won't be long until the end.

that's all from the pendulum that is downtown toronto - live well, Mika

user name and password

was i born with a password?
an innate sense of secrecy and misconstruing, am i that complex? am i the garbled snow on a sideroad north of the Mazovian Plain, am i the grit of the blistering sun in the Atacama?
Could it be so simple? my name ---- ***********

untitled (#1) (envy? nahhhhh!!!)

Sunday in the city, cool, windless, with the welling of a feeling that time is like the sun's warmth... an ever-present lingering at some place, beyond the shade of museums, oak trees, and grey office buildings with grimy facades. Beyond the incessant rolls of a stoplight'd street, half-filled yet seemingly empty. And yet time is all that we know, how we define what has happened, will happen, or is in the 'plan' of happening... perhaps it is a process... or a race?
Yesterday I spent the day at the AC, did a spin, did a circuit, ran for an hour, and met one of my tri friends at the pool, she had raced a duathlon earlier in the day (and well she was only the first-place woman, about 15th overall) and there she was doing a little swim workout in the afternoon. How does she get the energy? The race was short yes, but still I'd probably have napped, and eaten, and napped again... I'd say she has a touch more grit than I do, perhaps it's metabolic destiny, or just will... and I say this not out of envy or spite but with a genuine feeling of amazement.
Time to focus and time to find that determination... cheers, MIKA

hurricanes and gloom?

some days do not deserve the ineptiness with which they arrive? today, everything which could possibly happen to screw up my work-day has; alas I am not one to whine so I will only say good-bye, time to go running and wait for Isabel's rain... salut - MIKA

guy_ulf

no it's not a story about a guy named ulf, or even sammy wilson --- but a long day on a short course with too many half-wedges and stupid dinky holes, too many missed putts... and perhaps more imperatively too many R&G's. Still it was great to get together with most of the gang of eight, drink too much and remember why we'll always be friends. And the best part is that I'm not that hungover and I was able to participate (aka ride my bike) this morning in the annual Terry Fox Run for cancer research...

And well, in regards to the previous post suggesting my golf game may improve via osmosis ---- it seems that none of my sister's touch around the greens rubbed off on me. I need to practice a bit more, okay a lot more, as I lose so many strokes the closer I get to the pin.... hyperbolic cheerios to all, Mika...

gal-f

so i took a mid-week holiday and caddied for my sister at a two-day tournament in toronto. the weather was perf! warm and sunny with a great breeze, however the golf was not quite so-brilliant... mainly because the course was very difficult (Bayview) and the greens were unbelievably fast and the pin placements treacherous. whoever set it up on that first day was a real masochist... and likes 6 hour rounds because everyone is trying to figure out "what the hell's going on" on the greens, or perhaps they just don't appreciate the different skills in women's golf.
not wanting to sound like I'm devaluing anything or anyone else in the tourney I can say that my mercurial souer didn't really get going until the back nine in the second round: par-par-birdie-birdie-birdie... some incredible putts that her caddy (aka ME) read marvellously, and she could've made a couple of more on the way in too!!!! But at least she survived a sudden yearning for the fence and someone's backyard (from a bunker no less -- SCULLY!), and held it together for a one under 35 and the best back nine of the 2nd day. Alas she finished about 24th overall out of 55 or so, but it was all great fun and so much better than being at a desk in a cubicle-d office, where I am right now counting the minutes until the weekend... cheers, MIKA.

p.s. teeing off at 10 tomorrow... maybe some of her sublimeness will help me.

running on...

Mes amis, if you're ever a little bored with your running and can't seem to get motivated for a workout I suggest trying something similar to the one we did last night with Kevin:

Long warm-up jog.
4x400 on 3 minutes (very controlled pace)
4x400 on 2 minutes (up tempo) 4 minutes rest
3x400 on 1:45 (hard) jog + 1 minute rest
3x400 on 1:30 (hard) maintain the pace through all three as there is very little rest.

Of course one must modify this depending on ones' running level etc, and it's best to do it with a group or at least one other person, but if no one is available then psych yourself up for it and reap the benefits of an amazing feeling once you are done.

stride on - mika

e-race this, end of summer -- what the __________?

how can it be - that the time of year my teacher friends deplore is already here? I must agree it is not my favourite long weekend of the year, however one mustn't stew over things one cannot affect. Let's hope the sun stays with us until tuesday!

so I have to give the race in Parry Sound last weekend a mixed review... nice setting, decent course, but a little disorganized and chaotic. on the first run we went totally the wrong way -- someone, a disagreeable teenager probably, changed the direction of an arrow on a sign about 2 km into the run --- and we ended up on the bike course much to the surprise of a policeman, whom I think was quite unfamiliar with the idea of triathlon and / or duathlon. He then managed to point the lead group of 7 runners (me included) even further the wrong way, of course by this point there was no right way so it really didn't matter which way he pointed... much confusion, and whistling and then we all turned around and I went hard all the way to transition to try to gain some of the spots I had lost... so this caused me to have a bit of trouble for the first 5k on the bike, although I did pass a couple of people who proceeded to draft behind me... still I never felt comfortable on the bike, went hard but seemed to lack the lung capacity that was needed (perhaps the sore throat of the past week had a bit of influence). anyway it was a long (26k instead of 25) undulating course, very windy too, and onto a fairly busy highway that wasn't closed to traffic. one close call but nothing to cause me such great anxiety. Len Gushe passed me just before the hill at the turnaround, and I actually almost saw him go by me. silver bullet! envy!

the second run was only 3 km and I ran decently but not great... there was a guy about 300m ahead of me out of transition and I slowly began catching him on the out leg. then I saw Sam and the other 2 leaders coming back from the turnaround. when i reached the t/a point (located at the bridge where we went the wrong way on the first run) the sign had been blown over, yet "duathon turnaround" was still visible --- I was quite surprised by this because the person I was chasing and the 2 others who were inbetween had not returned on the path. I said to myself, "how did they miss this?"and started heading back to the finish. I finished 4th overall but didn't push the last half since there was no one ahead of me or behind me, and it was only a training race... and I didn't feel all that great. But in two weeks there will be no excuses or reasons for not pushing it.

'train on' mes amis --- MIKA!