My Own Backyard

For months now, I've spent hours reading about what's what in New Zealand. I've sifted through the fluff, and decided what was on the must-do list, the wouldn't-it-be-nice-to-do list, and the damn-I'm-too-pregnant-to-do list. While undertaking this research, one cannot help but think of all the interesting places and activities that I've yet to experience in both Canada and the US. It could be something as simple as a day-trip to the Lusk Caves in Gatineau Park or visiting Boldt Castle in 1000 Islands. Alternately, I'd love to visit Jasper National Park in Alberta, the Grand Canyon in Nevada, or return to Gros Morne in Newfoundland. There are cities on my wish list too - Quebec, New Orleans, and San Francisco are all near the top of the list. The challenge, of course, is to balance the desire to see my own backyard with the desire to experience other countries. Perhaps alternating vacations are the answer...one vacation in Canada, one vacation abroad. Now if only we could win the lotto...

Bay of Islands & the Kauri Coast

With my time winding down in New Zealand, the Easter weekend provided a good opportunity to check a few more boxes on my NZ wish list. In an attempt to avoid the worst of the long weekend traffic, we departed Auckland on Friday morning. It would seem others had the same idea and the first few hours of the drive were filled with much stopping and starting; Dave even began to suggest we throw in the towel and just go home. I *think* he was kidding. After four hours on the road, we finally arrived at our destination - the picturesque Bay of Islands, specifically Paihia.

In a country full of 'picturesque' locations, I have to admit that the Bay of Islands was a bit disappointing. I mean, sure, it was pretty but Akaroa was prettier, the Coromandel Peninsula is prettier. Heck, I even think Piha is prettier. For scenery, I just don't think I'd put the Bay of Islands at the top of my list. On the other hand, it was a fabulous location for history! There is the Wantangi Treaty Grounds, considered the birthplace of New Zealand, Russell, the first capital of New Zealand, and historical buildings galore in the region. To amuse Mikaela, there was also shape-drawing in the sand, rock throwing in the water, and hide-and-go-seek in the gardens - all free of charge.

I would absolutely put the Bay of Islands on any itinerary of the North Island, but then, I'm a sucker for museums. Dave says he could spend minutes reading about the Treaty House, he means that, he literally spent a few minutes glancing over the information before moving on. I could spend hours, scrutinizing each photo, envisioning the original structure prior to the add-ons, and wondering if that statue is an eel or snake. I love the fact that they have a waka (canoe) that will hold 86 warriors, but I also want to know that it was built with wood from three different Kauri trees. And, not only that, I like knowing that these trees were blessed prior to the chopping down and that the Maori had to relearn lost skills to create the waka. I leave these sights filled with useless information that fascinates me and bores Dave as I try to impart my enthusiasm. He is a good sport though, and I appreciate all the time he spends chasing Mikaela while I indulge in my luxurious museum wanderings.

Yesterday, on the way home, we decided to take the road less travelled through the Waipoua State Forest. There are a number of tracks maintained by the Department of Conservation (DOC) to allow visitors to view some of New Zealand's largest trees. Although I know we have bigger trees in Canada, I still wanted very much to witness the large kauri trees of New Zealand. They were incredible. On each track, there would be a number of large kauri trees that would put any tree I'd ever seen to shame until finally we would arrive at our destination and stand in awe of the 13.77m diametre Tane Matuna or the 16.71m diametre Te Maua Ngahere. It was a big hit with Mikaela too, as she ran through the forest, hiding in tree trunk holes or amongst the tall grasses!

Kiwi In Training

One of the most common questions I heard prior to leaving Canada was Do you think Mikaela will develop a Kiwi accent? This seemed a highly unlikely possibility since she would continue to spend most of her time with me, the most she/ could hope for were some grammatical errors to drive Dave crazy. What I didn't account for, was the variation in her vocabulary as a result of our time in New Zealand.

A few months ago, Mikaela started referring to the bathroom as the toilet. This is not unheard of in Canada, but we do seem to prefer the more polite term. As I strive to make the toilet training a strife-free experience, in the desperate hope that she may (again) embrace the idea someday, I changed my vocabulary to be in sync with her daycare. I would ask if she needed to go to the toilet or make wees. This morning, she went one better, and referred to garbage as rubbish. With the hiring of a part-time Kiwi nanny last week, I wonder if she'll soon be calling the living room the lounge, her stroller the buggy, and searching for her togs to wear to the pool. On the day she exclaims Sweet As, I'll know she's been officially converted.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=sweet%20as

One Down, Two to Go.

I've longed for the day that the first trimester would be done; in my mind, that would signal the return to my normal life. The one I left behind seven weeks ago, it was filled with energy, exercise, and tasty food. So I now sit, twelve weeks and three days, and its not here yet. There have been many improvements over the past couple weeks, but I'm an impatient gal.

In the meanwhile, I'll have to settle for the knowledge that baby Stachon is progressing normally. All expected appendages were accounted for in my ultrasound yesterday and I saw the heart beat. Six weeks until my next appointment, and only two more trimesters to go.

Ironman Dave

If your husband ever asks to do an Ironman, say No! Do not be lured in by the fact that you think it's kewl. Do not be distracted by the fact that you think it's an incredible accomplishment. And most of all, do not be encouraging because you want to say you're married to an Ironman ;-)

As early as September, I would occasionally catch Dave surfing the Ironman New Zealand websites. I'd be giddy with excitement, was my husband going to an Ironman? Arguably one of the most difficult fitness events in the world, and one that I sadly have determined I most likely could not complete within the seventeen hour time limit...but Dave, Dave could stomp on that time limit. As December dawned, he wavered in indecision. I loudly encouraged from my corner, ignoring all his cons and focusing on the one pro that mattered - bragging rights. Ultimately, he committed to the event and the first of many outlays of cash began - $750 entry fee.

These are the reasons not to allow your husband to do an Ironman :-)

• He rises at 5 am most mornings to train and expects you to be cheerful and supply french toast on his return.
• He needs new running sneakers, new running gear, and new livestrong sunglasses. His aerobars and wetsuit need to be shipped from Canada.
• He must rent lighter, faster disc wheels and while you're paying for that, why not spring for the aerodynamic helmet too.
• He spends hours working and reworking his training plan, colour coding his weekly totals. In addition to the hours spent training, there are the hours spent trolling the triathlon forums, assembling his gear, and wishing he was able to sleep. Insomnia seemed an active participant in Dave's training.
• He is constantly stretching and massaging himself post-training, often reeking of his spearmint Anti-Inflame goo.
• He analyses every sniffle and soreness with excruciating detail trying to determine if his Ironman is in jeopardy. And despite my genetic predisposition to not be sympathetic, he expects me to reassure him repeatedly that his Ironman is indeed not in jeopardy.

It was with disappointment that Dave noticed I was pregnant, his first clue was that I no longer rose to make him french toast. He began whineing to his mates that my pregnancy was really impacting his Ironman! Luckily, my mom has been visiting and managing to feed us all and keep his training gear laundered.

The Bonita Ironman New Zealand took place this past weekend in Taupo; for the uninitiated, an Ironman consists of a 3.8k swim, a 180k bike, followed by a 42.2k run. Yes, that would be a marathon.

Race day began for us at 5 am, Dave ate his french toast and then hopped around awaiting the time to go. As I was trying to squeeze a few more moments of shut-eye, I suggested he conserve some of that energy for the race course but he could not be still. By 6 am, I'd dropped him off at the changing area and began to make my way to the lakefront for the mass start. There were literally thousands of spectators there, as 6:30 am approached a long waka (canoe) full of Maori warriors made it's way chanting across the lake to encourage the days participants. For some reason, this image would trigger the first of many emotional moments for me. These 1500 participants have trained for months and they have made many sacrifices to get to that start line. My eyes welled up with tears and my throat becomes tight as I watch them enter the water, some may say its the pregnancy hormones but the quiet anticipation in the crowd seemed to indicate that I was not the only person having a moment. There were 453 first-timers in the field, and my heart especially went out to them as I envisioned the perseverance they would need as they navigated the world of hurt that awaited them on this day.

At 7 am, the cannon fired and they were off. It was a sea of blue and green bathing caps, thrashing and advancing. Inevitably, the field begins to string out until it literally cuts a single line over a kilometer long. One by one, the participants emerge from the water and begin the long run to the first transition zone. As I cheer along this progression, the slogan ordinary people doing extraordinary things is exemplified. It is with relief that Dave emerges from the water well within his predicted time, I'm rewarded with a smile for my 'Go, Poobah Go'. As he makes his way to the transition zone, I join the line of supporters peeling away from the swim exit to secure their spot along the bike route. At 8:28 am, my spandex-clad husband emerges and again, my cheers are rewarded when he sees me along the route. For some reason, this acknowledgement of my presence makes me feel useful and I hustle off to locate Mikaela for the next cheering location.

As a spectator, you are bound by estimates. You never know exactly when to expect someone, you have estimates but there are so many variables on the course that it is by no means an exact science. If I was childless, this would probably be a moot point. I could have happily stood at the side of the road cheering all day, as it was, I tried to limit the time I subjected Mikaela to my wild cheering and clapping. At 11:01 am, Dave blew by our cheering station with a big smile. He was ahead of schedule and would lose this advantage on the second lap, but all the same, it was a pleasure to see him. Three hours later, he made his last foray past us on the bike approaching the 180k mark. The run was two laps, this was the difficult stage to estimate. Dave's plan was to run eight minutes and walk two minutes for the first 30k, then to bring it home at a full run if he was feeling strong. I made my way to the turn around point for 4:15 pm and waited. It was an exciting time to be at the turn around point, as it also served as the entry to the finishing stretch. Although I had missed the first few elite men, I did get to witness the first three women and several of the later elite men. They were incredible, so strong and so happy as they ran down the final stretch of cheering crowds to the finish. At 4:45 pm, Dave made his way past us - only 21k left to go.

For the finish, I wanted Mikaela with me. I returned to fetch her and my parents for the final leg. Since it had taken Dave 2:30 to complete the first half of the run, I optimistically planned to arrive for his finish two hours later. For various reasons, I was almost fifteen minutes late arriving. As I was making my way towards the run course, my Dad says "there goes Dave". It can't be, but as I look, it certainly looks like Dave and if I don't sprint to the finishing stretch, I'm going to miss him! I abandon Mikaela to my parents, and take off. I'm taking the camera out of the bag as I go, I manage to make it to the finishing straight and snap a picture of him. I run a bit further and try for the standard shot with the clock in the background. I'm pleased to see that he's done, his first Ironman and a sub-twelve hour finish! And I succumb to the final emotional moment of the day, I laugh, I cry and then I notice the lens cover is still on the camera!

For all my big talk, I'd support Dave again and again as he trains for any type of event. If you've ever witnessed me watching Dave as he performs with the symphony, you'll have a good idea of the amount of pride I feel right now for my Ironman. Congratulations Poobah :-)

For the more technical review by Dave, you can check out his posting on one of those afore-mentioned triathlon forums:

http://forum.slowtwitch.com/gforum.cgi?post=2236832

Unfit, or Unparanoid - You Decide

As children, our parents probably all left us in the car at some point. Or perhaps you were kicking the back of your father's seat and kicked out of the car at the tender age of five to make your way home? For the record, I walked to my Aunt's house and made up a fabulous story about my parents forgetting me at the park - they do have five kids to corral - only to have my story invalidated by my parents arrival too. They'd been watching from a few car lengths behind as I walked.

Today, I was chastised for leaving Mikaela in the car while I ran an errand. We were parked in the closest parking space to the library steps, literally right next to them. She was engrossed with eating her pink frosted cupcake and had expressed no interest in joining me to drop off our library books. As it was four steps and another eight footsteps to reach the return box just inside the door, I was willing to lock her in the car and make the thirty second trip solo. It was broad daylight with the usual comings and goings of any library, all in all, I felt this was as safe an environment as when I dash in to pay for my gasoline purchases.

As I reached the top of the steps, an older lady stopped me...
Old Lady: I don't mean to be rude, but why are you leaving your child unattended in the car?
Me, offended at being thought an inadequate mother: I'm just popping inside the door to drop off my books.
Old Lady: Then I'll do it for you.
Me, annoyed at how this conversation has taken longer than dropping off the books would have: I'll drop them off at the outside return box if it'll make you feel better.
Old Lady: Yes, it would.

As luck would have it, the outside return box was locked. The old lady stared at me as I crossed back to the car, unlocked it, and collected Mikaela. Although I can appreciate that she was concerned for my child's safety, am I so wrong in believing a child can be left alone in a locked car for thirty seconds? Logically, many of us know that there are very few cases of children being abducted by strangers yet we are often paralyzed by the possibility. I'm not trying to be flippant, and I'm sure I will ruffle a few feathers, but did she really think someone was going to smash my car window, reach in and unlock the door, extract Mikaela, and make off with her in broad daylight in an area frequented by Moms & Tots, and the Elderly? I think not.

Go Breakers Go

When one thinks of New Zealand sports, it most generally is rugby, perhaps cricket or even the odd sailing regatta...but do they ever think of basketball? There's a reason for this. There is exactly one professional basketball team in New Zealand, the NZ Breakers, and they are no Toronto Raptors.

It is thus, a surprise, when I find myself sitting in equivalent of a community centre gymnasium, watching the NZ Breakers take on the Cairns Taipans two days before Valentine's. It is the last day of a week long heat wave, and my pregnancy-enhanced olfactory senses are overwhelmed with the smell of sweat, grease, and nasty sausage rolls. Once my stomach contents have been emptied, I return to my seats to take in the full glory of this event.

Upon entering the event, we were handed noise makers and instructions on when and how to participate in the various chants and cheers of the evening. Thus begins two hours of the noisiest sports event of my life, I mean it. There was a six person percussion section to lead us in the always catchy Defense or Go, Breakers, Go. Like a train wreck, my attention is next drawn to the Breaker Girls; I believe they are supposed to be cheerleaders but mostly they gyrate and grind to music in the court corners during every pause in play. Initially, I thought they were wearing hooker boots as part of their ensemble, but I'm happy to report they were merely black Mary Jane's with black socks pulled up to their knees. There are other girls, we'll call them the Sponsorship Girls dressed in low cut lulu-esque pants with teeny, tiny tops that occasionally paraded around the stands tossing out beach balls or chocolate bars. As a side note, never sit in the front row, you will not get any of said Freebies and it will make your husband's staring too obvious. It is loud, brash, and a blow-out.

Mental note: Never let Dave arrange another double date :-)