My Mom: Going the Distance.

Lee McCarthy, Brandy Henry and I after completing the 2009 half Marathon.

This year my mom and I were slated to run the Manitoba half Marathon on June 20th. My mom worked really hard to accomplish this goal by training regularly and getting into top running form. She was motivated by her determination to accomplish this run, and nothing seemed like it was going to stop her. However, a few weeks ago she had a bad reaction to some of her medication, and was advised to forgo the 13.1 mile run.

Instead my mom and I have decided to do the 2.6 mile Super Run. It's quite a bit shorter than the half, but given my mom's situation, the 13.1 miles is out of reach for both of us this year. (To be perfectly honest, I have barely trained, so I am not ready either.)

I am excited that my mom and I are still taking part in the Marathon. I think that a 2.6 mile run is a great start to her running career. (Last year I started my running career with the half marathon, and I blew out my knee big time!) We've decided that even though we can't take part in the half this year, we will do the 2.6, and later in September do a 10K run as training for next year's half.

L-R: Dad, Me, Janet, Kennedy and mom at the 2010 MS Walk

After my mom was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis (MS: a chronic progressive nervous disorder involving loss of myelin sheath around certain nerve fibres. It has different effects on everyone who has it, but it can result in loss of motor skills, and paralysis, among other problems.) she decided to take up running with the goal of one day completing a marathon, because she knew she faced the possibility of one day not being able to do this. Her logic was simple: she wanted to take advantage of her abilities before they were (possibly) stripped of her.

My mom is the true definition of a warrior. Though she has admitted that she is sometimes upset about having MS, she never lets it get her down. In fact, since her diagnosis, she has become stronger both physically and mentally.

On Sunday, June 20th, when my mom and I complete her first public run, we will celebrate by cheering on all the other Marathon runners that pass through that finish line. Though we are not able to participate in the race that we initially wanted to, I know that our Super Run will be a special experience for both of us.

I'm proud of you mom!

Women's Memorial March, 2010

Today, for Mothers Day, I took part in the Women's Memorial March to honour and remember missing and murdered (Aboriginal) women.

It was a profound experience, walking from the St. Regis Hotel (downtown) to the Forks Market, behind a group of Aboriginal drum singers. There were hundreds of us, and we marched into the streets, while holding or wearing butterfly-shaped signs with a missing or murdered woman's name and picture on it. We took over Winnipeg's centre, if only for a minute, to make sure these women are not forgotten.

When I arrived at the St. Regis Hotel parking lot at ten to one, I was handed a purple cardboard butterfly with the name and picture of Tianne Bell on it. In pen, scrawled under Bell's image, was the word located. -- At first I was a little confused as to why I would be carrying Bell's butterfly since she was no longer missing, but then I realized that in a sea of butterflies with lost souls, Bell had been found and therefore represented a small victory for this cause.

As I walked around the parking lot before the march got underway, I saw a woman on a bike wearing a blue butterfly with the name Carla Caldwell on it. My heart sank; that name was a familiar one of a girl that had become embroidered into my childhood. Caldwell, a 13-year old girl who was killed along with her little brother Jamie in 1991 by their father Carl, was a kid I grew up with. We went to school and Brownies together, and until her murder, she was just another one of us, who lived in the Doncaster subsidized housing development.

It was stunning, after all these years, to see her name laid out in front of me. Those haunted moments of my childhood, where many of us lost trust in our own parents and our young minds struggled to understand how and why her own father could murder her, came flooding back to me. It was sobering, yet comforting to see that Carla's memory was still etched in the minds of people who'd probably never met her before.

At that moment this walk became more personal to me, as I was no longer an oblivious stranger who was walking for people I had never met. At that moment, I too understood what it felt like to know that horrifying moment of violence and loss.

To the chant of the Aboriginal drummers, a procession of us marched down Portage Avenue, and then Main Street. People in their cars and on the sidewalks watched and listened, some raising their arms or honking their horns as a sign of solidarity, as we paid respect to the lost sisters. Some of the onlookers seemed interested or curious, while others simply looked oblivious or annoyed at being tied up in traffic on the sunny Sunday afternoon.

In the helplessness of losing a loved one, family members and friends of the missing and murdered women did the only thing they could do; never let them be forgotten.

When we made it to the Forks, we sat around the Odeena Circle behind the Johnston Terminal. We placed the butterflies around the circle, and listened to speakers and performers pay tribute to these women and this cause. Some family members of the victims spoke, offering insight into what it's like to live knowing that their mother, sister, daughter, niece, friend is lost.

The day wrapped up with a promise of more marches, and a commitment to continue the efforts to bring the lost sisters home. Organizers collected the cardboard butterflies, putting them back into rubber crates until next time, and marchers dispersed into the Forks.

Today is Mothers Day, and even if the lost mothers, or the lost girls that might have been mothers couldn't be with the ones they love, we made sure to celebrate them.

M: Me too!

Police officers want time on the clock to spend at the gym.

So do I.

Are you listening place of employment? I want to get paid to hotify myself and get healthy. (Yep, I just made up a word...HOTIFY!) -- I work 10 hour shifts (like the police) and I too find it difficult to hit the gym with my busy work & life schedule.

I'm pretty sure we should enact this as my work place.

Mock-Reporter Reflections...

A picture from one of the favourite stories I wrote during my internship.

My internship at the Free Press is coming to an end. I only have two shifts left, before I head back to the busy state of being a full time student and part time employee.

I've learned so much from my experience at the Free Press; four-and-a-half months of journalism classes didn't seem like enough preparation for this gig; or at least that's what I thought in my first couple of days...

Now that I have almost finished my internship, I think I can safely say that there are no amount of classes that can prepare someone for an opportunity like this. (Don't get me wrong, I learned a great deal in school. My J instructor, Steve Vogelsang, did an incredible job in teaching me, and I did come a long way in that four months...But, the news room is a whole different ball game than a class room.)

I came into the Free Press not really knowing what to expect. -- My work for the Projector (My school newspaper) was rarely edited, and I figured that made me "good." However, once I got to here, to a "daily", things were quite a bit different.

Here are some of the things I will take from this experience...

I learned that all stories are important to somebody. -- For some of the stories and articles that I wrote, I didn't have an instant connection with the subject that I was writing about. Heck, sometimes I didn't know anything about the subject at all! (Take ice fishing, an article that will be in an upcoming issue. When the story was first assigned to me, my initial reaction was: "You have got to be kidding me!" However, after talking to some people who really enjoy the sport, and who have made it their passion, I realized that the story was a good idea! I actually started to enjoy hearing the stories, and meeting the people connected to these stories. I learned quite a bit, and realized that sometimes (if you want to get a good story) you need to open your mind, and look at things (like ice fishing) through the eyes of the people that you are writing for.

I learned that criticism, failing, and rejection is just par for the course. -- Like I said earlier; having my work heavily edited (only sometimes) is a tough pill to swallow. When you have put everything you've got into a piece of writing, only to have it changed, your morale dips. Although, if you can find it in yourself to look at it constructively, and not take it personally, you will learn that it's nothing personal. This is why editors exist.

I learned that people are going to perceive things the way that they want to. -- When I wrote my piece about FASD and car thieves, the response was incredible! I got angry emails for an entire week from people telling me I was wrong, or that I was (essentially) stupid. (Nobody actually called me any names, but there was a lot of alluding going on! -- Perhaps my own unjustified perceptions...) But really, as a reporter your job is to tell a story. You may not agree with it, or you may really believe in it; either way, you have to try and leave those biases out.

I learned that even though this industry is "cut throat", the people who are you biggest competitors are also your biggest allies. -- I know that I am entering into a field that is essentially "dying", and realistically we should all be backstabbing each other to secure ourselves a spot on the sinking ship. But, the journalists that I have worked with have all been exceptionally helpful to me. (I can't tell you how awkward it is to be the new kid amongst people who are good at what you want to be good at; but they have all helped me along the way, and I am ever so grateful!)

I've learned that you are only as good as your last story. -- I was riding high on Christmas Eve with two pieces that I felt so completely connected to, and that I thought were awesome pieces of (barely edited) work, only to stumble in the following days. Sometimes stories are so good they write themselves; sometimes they're not. If you get too cocky in this business, thinking that you cannot stumble along the way, your fall from the pedestal will be hard and painful.

I've also learned that a reporter should be like a girl guide/boy scout, and always be prepared! -- Attending a fatal car accident on highway 9, I wore a dress and little heels. I was FREEZING! I assumed that since it was Christmas Eve, it would be slow, and I wouldn't have to leave the newsroom. I was wrong. Never assume...

I learned that this is not a comfortable job. -- I loved every second of it, but I worked my butt off! It is obvious in my articles (at least to myself) how hard I worked, or how much harder I could have worked, on any given day...

This has been an incredible opportunity, and I am truly grateful for this experience.

M, Mrs. Woods

Since the Tiger Woods scandal broke, more and more women have been coming out of the woodwork, claiming that they too have had an affair with the golfer.

Right now the mistress count is at eleven.

Eleven! -- Twelve if you include my friend Catherine, who claims that she is one of Tiger's ladies...

Oy.

Though I still stand by my original Tiger Woods post (about him being like a kid in a candy store) I can't help but feel bad for his poor wife Elin, who has to confront this gigantic scandal head on, with pictures and firsthand accounts...

I dated a Winnipeg Tiger Woods once. (Well, except for being a billionaire golfer, this guy was a broke pothead; and he wasn't really anything like Tiger Woods except for the cheating aspect...But still!)

Anyways, I feel bad for poor Mrs. Woods because not only did her husband cheat on her (with numerous women), but now she is bombarded with the tell all accounts of many of these ladies. (Didn't anybody ever tell them that it wasn't lady-like to kiss and tell?!)

Elin, honey, I feel your pain!

I don't even have anything more to say about this...I am just curious to see how many more women come out of the woodwork...

Anybody feel like betting?

M, Mac Book Pro...I love you.

So I went out, and I bought myself a Mac Book Pro the other day.

I am already really, really happy with it.

The damn thing cost me an arm and a leg, but I think that it is a good investment, as I use my computer on a daily basis, and it is crucial for the career path that I want to take. (Plus, I am already having so much fun with the photo booth application; check out the picture of me in the clouds...How awesome is that?!)

I still have my old Toshiba, which I plan on getting fixed incase I need a backup, but I cannot begin to explain how great not having to deal with Vista is...