Nipples and Marijuana

Yet another early start this Sunday. No lazy day, filling my stomach with roast beef and watching the Grand Prix. I was up with the sparrows, fit and ready for the Vancouver Sun Run.

I took some swigs of Gatorade, attached my number (#35548) and tightened my shoe laces. I was ready with intent. After meeting with all the other Mercer (work) runners, we made our way into the ring- the starting blocks.

I was inadvertently promoted to a green start (the non-elite runners were grouped in order of speed), which worried me because I hadn't been training as hard for as long as I would have liked. After the start, I wish I could have been promoted even further as I streamed past groups who had obviously chose green so they could be nearer the front!

Waiting for the air horn to summon the beginning of the race, I was pumped full of adrenalin. I felt like Georges Saint-Pierre must have last night as he delighted Canadians with his Ultimate Fighting Championship win. A Montreal lad, born and raised in Quebec, he topped the bill as the UFC came to the Bell Centre, and Canada for the first time. The Canucks go mad for this fledgling sport, and I have caught the bug.

It was a good weekend for sport. Joe Calzaghe remains undefeated in the boxing also, doing Wales and Britain proud with his dominance of now the Light-Heavyweight division.

So, brimming with British pride and determination, I stormed off the start, hitting the 2km mark before I knew I had even begun. Touching on the south side of Stanley park, the crowds bottle-necked, which made it tough to find a rhythm and/or space to stretch into any sort of decent jog.

A steep incline turned my legs temporarily to jelly as I strained to make my way up to the Burrard Street bridge . Once across, and nearing the final quarter of the run, I was in my pace. No problems to report.

Then the chaffing started. My nipples are sensitive at the best of times, but when the salty sweat comes between these delicate parts of my body and a rough shirt bouncing up and down with my jogging rhythm, it is like a cheese-grater has been taken to my chest.

I should have learned my lessons. Last year in the Cransley Half Marathon, I had secured plasters for protection against such a problem. With this race only being 10km, I thought I would get away with it. How wrong I was.

I braved the pain, and sped on to reach the Cambie Bridge. As you come over the centre of the bridge, BC Place Stadium comes into sight. Naively thinking that now I could see the finish line, that I could begin my sprint finish, I upped the pace. With 1500m to go at this point, I was close to sickness as I crossed the line. For some reason, I asked a fellow idiot (I should say participant, but putting your body through this is idiocy), to capture the moment in digital photograph form.

Another difference from the Cransley run, was that I hadn't attached my iPod to my arm this time. To solve this problem, the organisers had thankfully stationed live music acts at intervals along the route. It was a really fun carnival atmosphere, I want to do it again!

It was a glorious feeling, crossing that line. Coming away from the melee, hoards of leaflets were thrust into my hands; First Triathlon, 8km race, Vancouver Marathon. Obviously someone has mistaken me for an athlete. There is a first time for everything!

High on adrenalin, I sailed into BC Place, where there was free snacks, drinks, live entertainment and most importantly, somewhere to lie down. I was fairly sure I would be miles ahead of the rest of the Mercer contingent, plus I didn't want to be first at the brunch, so I took my time before I headed on.

I floated on to brunch with my Mercer colleagues, at the William Tell restaurant. Since becoming a temp at the massive international firm, I have been living the corporate high-life with meetings, brunches and all the clippings. Eggs Benedict and sausages later, I retired back to the hostel to begin domestic work. Washing and drying was a boring end to an exasperating morning, but it needed to be done, and I was in a healthy and efficient mood.

While I was painstakingly taking on the Vancouver streets in the Sun Run, my hostel comrades were busy slipping into drug induced stupors. It is 4/20 Day in Vancouver. A simple name for a simple festival. Marijuana becomes effectively legal in the city for the day, and 5,000 pot-smokers light up next to the Art Gallery to celebrate their wasteful lives.

A brief recce down Granville Street was enough to convince me that I am in a vast minority of non-marijuana smokers in this area, with a purple haze hanging over the low buildings of Vancouver's downtown.

The sun still shines in Vancouver. Snow was forecast for today (would I have ran if it had? I would like to think so!), and although a stiff breeze swirls against my skin, I can still go without a coat along Granville. I'm still waiting for summer to officially kick-off, and if I'm running in all these races that I have advertised in my hand, it is going to be a healthy one!