O Can-ah-do it?

Puns, dont ya love 'em? No, I know, NOBODY does and yet I persist. I'm up in Canada for the weekend for the Vancouver Marathon and in a true sign of geezerdom, on Thursday morning I had to go to the chiropractor right before boarding the plane. My back totally locked up. While I was packing.

Man I'm old, tired and beaten down. Can't even pack underwear without risking a debilitating injury.

Still, the frequent flier miles were cashed in and gone and the condo I'd rented was non-refundable, so I came on up to beautiful Vancouver to see the sights even if I couldn't run the race.

I stayed in Yaletown, an old commercial area that's been revamped into a restaurant-row. It meant I didn't have far to hobble to fill my gullet. Plus, if I lived in Vancouver, I'd definitely want to find myself a loft in this neighborhood.


It's seems like every building is getting a rooftop addition around here so I guess Yaletown is a hot-spot. There certainly were a lot of people filling the outdoor areas of the restaurants that are set up on the old loading docks. Actually, it was kind of funny. I was shooting some video of the area and a woman actually asked me to erase my footage because I had panned across where she was sitting. I guess she was a "somebody" or at least thought she was (she was wearing sunglasses, after all, and it was a really cloudy day). Anyway, she may not have the ability to erase her image from all the security cameras that trace our every move, but she was perfectly within her rights to have me delete her from my video memories. So "poof."

I took it easy on Friday and Saturday and went to see the sights around town. I went up and watched the sea-planes take off and land for their Victoria round-trips. Ahh, memories. Victoria was the first place in Canada I ever visited when I was up here in 1980 with the UCLA Men's Glee Club singing the Eleanor Rigby solo REALLY REALLY badly. (Then a dweeb, still a dweeb, always a dweeb.)

Quick sidebar: Victoria was the first place where I ever succumbed to the evils of al-kee-HOL. I was a ridiculously "goody two shoes" raised as a Mormon (please don't hold it against me) who somehow lived in the hippy-central Big Sur region without ever having been "bad" even ONCE during High School. Poor me. Anyway, aside from the requisite porcelain bowl ending, the only thing I remember about that night at the Empress Hotel...other than playing poker and drinking Tom Collins' ('cause I was a HE-man, clearly)....was the running down a hallway until I couldn't run any further. And not knowing why until someone made me realize I was lying face-first on the carpet. By picking me up off said carpet.

But back to this present, non-young, non-Glee Club, non-Mormon visit to Canada (and in my defense about the Mormon thing...at seven years old I SWEAR at Sunday School I said OUT LOUD: "Golden Tablets in NEW YORK???"), I also went to the uber-touristy Gastown district to have lunch and watch the steam-clock blow it's top. It's funny about being from a tourist town myself...you'd think I'd HATE touristy things. But I get a kick out of 'em for some twisted reason.


I spent most of the day on Saturday over at Granville Island Market. It, too, has it's toursity parts, but it has real shops and artist's studios too, so it's worth the time. Got me some pie for later. Love me the pie.


Anyway, by laying low and playing tourist I was able to pull it together and make it through the marathon on Sunday. And actually I didn't do TOO bad considering my decrepitude. I'd prepared myself pretty well before the back-pull I guess. Besides, the most important strategy for a good race is in the last few minutes before the gun goes off. And that worked out as well.