Dance to the summit!

Since December, I’ve been travelling frequently.


My most recent excursion was to New York City this past weekend. When I was planning travel for 2018, visiting NYC was one of my top priorities. It wasn’t even a question - I HAD to go. My trips are usually centered around who I get to see, not what. Who will always trump what or where. Vancouver, Toronto, and North Carolina aren’t necessarily the most exotic locations; but they all house people that mean a lot to me. NYC is different where simply being there on its own is a big deal, but I hadn’t really examined why. I can commence by explaining a couple of them off the bat.

With respect to aesthetics, NYC is a sensory overload. Gargantuan are buildings everywhere, towering and relentless for kilometers – and yet, each street is unique. Each street is a diverse juxtaposition of all sorts of architectural styles. Sculpture and carvings from a variety of generations, intricate ornamentation, sleek modern design – you name it, it's there somewhere. It’s 100% urban and utterly stunning. It’s a city that’s been constructed to be cared about – unlike many modern cities, where building cheap and fast is the priority. The standardization demanded by franchises makes everything look the same regardless as to where you are. Creating buildings that are not just functional but gorgeous helps instill a sense of pride and meaning. I’m an artist at heart, and it could barely remain still while taking in all this visual stimulation.


There’s truth to it, though. I picked this specific weekend because it coincided with a particularly wonderful kendo tournament held within the immediate vicinity of NYC. A number of my dear Montréal kendo friends (although not as many as I’d initially hoped) were attending and I was elated to have an opportunity to see them again. It’s difficult to describe the tournament vibe to those who don’t practice the sport, so bear with me; I find the competition to be unique. It has a playful, good-natured vibe without sacrificing the spirit of the competition. Generally, everyone there puts on their game face once they step into the court, but even if they lose, there’s no resentment or negative sentiments. I’ve never experienced a competition where SO many participants just truly, at their core, fucking love kendo. It’s not about winning or showing off, it’s about doing kendo and having a blast at the same time. The level of kendo demonstrated is really impressive, too.

The tournament is also known for their legendary after party. You pay extra if you chose to attend, and they cater it with a bunch of Korean food delivered to the dojo. Copious amounts of liquor is involved. Everyone mingles, whether you’re a Sensei or just started kendo within the year – it doesn’t matter. Kendo is traditionally extremely hierarchical, which is one aspect of it I LOATHE; I don’t believe that creating social barriers is productive or positive (although I can understand it can have its place in a professional context). I believe that bringing everyone together as equals is vital for a healthy, vibrant exchange and community, and this tournament embodies that more than others. This tournament is far more relaxed about the hierarchical bullshit and it’s something that just makes it even more wonderful, at least for me – and it’s a sentiment that’s been echoed by many I’ve spoken to.

In addition to kendo folk, I currently have THREE friends living in or around NYC, each of which I hadn’t seen in a couple of years – more opportunity to catch up! So that’s the “kendo and friends” part. The latter is crucial for me – I’m the sort of person that really goes to bat for my friends. If you’re important to me, you can god damn well bet that I’ll be there for you, hell or high water. I’ve come to realize that I’m actually a little bit over the top with that, and I try to keep it in check so I don’t weird any of my newfound friends out.

This trip made me realize that eight months later, despite life being positive, I still haven’t truly settled into Calgary. There are fundamental aspects of cities like NYC that I miss at my core, leaving a void that has yet to be completely filled. There’s an intensive energy to NYC that’s incomparable. Calgary has its own lovely characteristics… but bustling, diverse, and energetic are not some of them. The result of this low-key dynamic is that it creates a feeling, at least for me, of isolation and loneliness. I’m an introvert at heart and absolutely require notable alone time to be normal (90% of the time, I snowboard alone, for example), but having good friends to pour my energy into is also important to me.

Science and I haven’t always been friends.*
*Considering I battled severe depression while working on my doctorate, that may seem like an understatement, but that’s a whole other topic. Anyway, I digress.

In my youth, drawing was my mojo. If you gave me a pencil or some other device that made a mark, I’d go to town on whatever piece of paper I could get my hands on. Animals were neat. Animals with human qualities (walking upright, clothing, etc) were especially fucking cool. I was, and still am, a huge Sonic the Hedgehog fan, and I read the Archie Comics series religiously, so that was a huge inspiration for my interest in drawing weird animal people.

Drawing and I got along super well. We’d always have lunch together, sans question. We’d wait up for each other after school. We’d play SEGA Genesis together and watch cartoons. As a child that was so shy it was almost crippling (seriously), I had a hard time making friends and fitting in. Drawing and I often only had each other and they were exceedingly important to me. Drawing was my Hobbes to my Calvin.

Then, eventually, a new player entered the game. They came over to where Drawing and I were sitting, doing our thing, and unapologetically shoved Drawing aside. This new player was named Science.

“If you don’t play well with Science, you’ll grow up poor, starving and lonely. Befriending Science is your best chance at having a successful life. If you stick with Drawing, you will be a professional failure.”

These are literally the words certain individuals that played an instrumental role in my development would tell me on a reoccurring basis. Being young and naïve, I trusted the judgement of these individuals, and felt the need to obey to this mounting pressure to abandon my best friend. As my new “friend”, Science, was a demanding and high-maintenance one, it was unlikely I’d be able to have time for two.

Drawing and I started spending more and more time apart.

Sometimes they’d come by on the weekend and I’d be ecstatic to see them. There may have been more than one time where I’d play hookie to hang out with Drawing when I wasn’t supposed to. We tried to keep seeing each other whenever we could.

Alas, as time progressed, my relationship with Science resulted in the complete deterioration of my friendship with Drawing. Science and I didn’t click nearly as naturally as Drawing and I did; as such, I had to invest a lot more time to keep Science happy. Even worse: as I spent more and more time with Science, I discovered that something about me was changing. Drawing and I didn’t click as naturally as we used to; spending time together started to become a chore, requiring an active effort and motivation that for some reason, wasn’t there anymore. Weekend hangouts with Drawing became every other weekend, then once a month, then… never.

I’m not sure how long it’s been since Drawing and I realized that it was over; I’m guessing about 14 years. My relationship with Science continued this whole time. However, it was turbulent and complex and I had deep, seething resentment for a long time against Science and the forces that transformed me into a person that turned her back on Drawing. I often despised myself for allowing myself to become someone that would do something so unspeakable and revolting like abandoning their best friend.

Occasionally, during this time, I’d have a flash of inspiration to pick up a pencil and go to town, and would briefly. But it felt weird and unnatural and I was never happy with anything I’d ever produce and get frustrated and not finish anything whereas before I didn’t care, I just loved to be with Drawing.

Long story short: fortunately, Science and I have made peace with each other. Our friendship was a fake and forced one, but for years now, it’s evolved into a genuine one. We’ve found a way to hang out and legitimately enjoy our time together. It was difficult, but it turns out we had much more in common than we thought; we just didn’t know how to bring it out for a very long time owing to a number of reasons.

Very recently, there’s some circumstances arose that required me to give Drawing a call for the first time in years. Despite making these calls occasionally before, this one happened to be less awkward. I’m not sure why, but for the first time since being a youth, we felt a little more at ease with each other. We agreed to meet up, and it was surprisingly pleasant. We even made plans to hang out again – and it was also pleasant! Not like old times, far from it, but the closest we’ve been to it. Needless to say, more hangouts have been arranged, and I’m excited, even if I’m also anxious.

I have one of my newfound colleagues, of whom I’m quite fond and highly respect, to thank for this re-acquaintance. I would have never met this individual, or thrusted myself into mentioned circumstances, had I not made peace with Science. Funny how that works, eh? Maybe I would have found another way, I don’t know. I also don’t know if Drawing and I will become close again or if it’ll fizzle out once more. All I know is that the life is strange and mysterious, and I’m apprehensive but grateful at the same time for these opportunities.

I've been procrastinating on writing this entry. Part of me wondered if it were now futile, as the events I will be describing occurred weeks ago. But, I still catch these thoughts rolling around in my head more often than I should, so I think it'll be worthwhile to write them out. I daresay it won't be nearly as cathartic as it would have been if I'd written them while these sentiments were still raw - but, I was travelling at the time, and logistically, it was too difficult for me to pull off.

I am the absolute worst when it comes to goodbyes.

No, but actually. As a child, I was always bigger than everyone and exhibited crippling shyness, and I made it a point to be "tough". I don't mean that in a macho sense, more in a "I won't show any emotions" sense. I didn't want anyone to know that I enjoyed affectionate gestures (hugs, for example), endured moments of frustration or anger, or - heaven forbid - could get upset or cry. Some of these elements linger as an adult, but I thankfully matured and came to terms with the fact that deep down, I am a massive cuddle bear, can rage like an unholy force, and when I'm sad, it's so embarrassing I don't know why friends who have seen me that way continue to stick around.

Goodbyes trigger the latter like a firework triggers awe. It's bad.

The evening of Thursday, August 3rd - my last night in Montréal - I spent the night at good friend Max's home. He kindly offered to host a goodbye BBQ, as he is fully equipped, has lots of space, and lives in a convenient location. I didn't want to have a full out crazy party inviting everyone I knew; instead, I selected those that meant the most to me, prioritizing non-kendo friends as I knew I'd be seeing them over the weekend. I was also extremely fortunate as one of my best friends, who currently resides in America, happened to be flying into town that same day, and he was able to attend! What a treat that was.

It was a pleasant evening to end a hectic day (picking up the above friend from the airport, last minute packing, and several moments of OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD), with good conversations, food and drink; you know, the things that make life worth living. A couple of moments struck me in particular. The first was something two of my best friends, who I'll refer to as L. and A. (I'll refer to future friends in this manner because I don't know if they want their names flying around on the internet), had said. We've known each other for... 8, 9 years? and had become particularly close over the past few months as they graciously hosted me a couple of nights a week. They stated that they had already started experiencing "empty nest syndrome" now that I won't be spending frequent evenings and nights with them. They had folded the futon up and everything! Their main room felt so empty! What are they to do now? We'd established traditions, dammit!

There's something about being described as their pseudo-child that I found particularly touching. They're such incredible fucking friends, internet. You're just going to have to take my word for it.

The second moment was at the end of the night... which kept extending later and later. As it was a Thursday and everyone save for a couple had to work in the morning, I wasn't expecting a late night, and so we started early. Unfortunately, for the last portion of the night, realizing that the-thing-I-am-the-worst-at was on the horizon, I had started experiencing something I'll call "crying". I specifically call this "crying" and not "sadness" because I legitimately didn't feel that sad, certainly not enough to merit tears. Maybe I had been intensely suppressing it in an effort to remain stoic, and my body couldn't handle it and was rupturing. I don't know. Nonetheless, I'm sure the others noticed, because... nobody was leaving when said they would. We ended up hovering around the kitchen for an extra hour? I think? Until I practically had to shoo everyone away because if they literally stayed a couple of minutes longer, they'd miss the last metro home. Max came by swinging after I locked up and stuck a metaphorical dagger deep into my chest: "Aww, wasn't that sweet? Nobody wanted to leave, they wanted to stay around you! They love you!" and I realized that was totally true and then I really DID feel sad and went straight to the bathroom.

This is going to be a feels-intensive entry, if you hadn't already gathered. You should probably stop reading now if you're not into that mushy stuff.

Fast forward to the weekend. On Friday, I drove my caravan to my first stop: Toronto, for the Canadian National Kendo Championships! Oh boy oh boy oh boy. It occurs once every three years, and I may have engineered my departure around attending this tournament. I've met some of my favorite and best friends through kendo, and they would all be attending this tournament. Additionally, I'd be rooming with three of these wonderful friends - so yeah, there's not a chance in HELL I was going to miss this. I've had a number of kendo trips with these girls and they've always been epic and I would never do it any other way.

I was absolutely energized and psyched to the max for this weekend. I love kendo, I love bringing people together from different corners, I love the spirit of competition, I love taking high-speed photos, I love seeing how different dojos train, I love cheering for those I love and believe in - there was just so much goodness to be had at this event and I couldn't contain it. I was a bit spastic and running around like a bubbly little retard trying to see and do everything at once - an impossibility considering there are four courts going at any given time! At one point, my homie R. turned to me and said, "you look SO happy". I'm glad my enthusiasm was visible. I was over the moon. I also participated - and won my first round, which I was thrilled about! It was a great match and I gushed all over my opponent after the match was over. My second match was against my future Sensei, was was also super cool! She is vastly more skilled than I and won the match, but I held my ground well. Overall, I'm satisfied with my performance, considering I had only re-started kendo for about a month at this point after a six month absence.

By Sunday afternoon, I started to wind down. I began to tire, and had a hard time talking with friends and focusing, because I knew the end was inevitable and that I'd have to say goodbye sooner than I'd rather like. Once again, the "crying" phenomena began to manifest- except this time, it was harder to contain because I really DID feel sad, now. As soon as I felt it coming, I segregated myself from the others to avoid bringing down the mood for others. I walked around aimlessly. I bummed a cigarette off a Sensei. But, the floodwaters weren't receding. At one point, I was literally pacing back and fourth in the empty equipment and preparation area trying to calm myself out of being a blithering fool. I think at one point I was telling myself, "you're a Dr. now, Dr.'s don't cry!" or something ridiculous like that. It wasn't working very well. My friend A. (oh internet, I confess, I really adore this human and I'm so happy she exists and tolerates me) entered to get something from her bag, glanced at me, and quickly changed her trajectory, approaching me with extended arms. I definitely expressed my pathetic melancholy into her shoulder for a little while without uttering a word (I wasn't able), which was counterproductive to the whole trying-to-suck-it-up-and-be-stoic thing I was trying to achieve. She comforted me and it helped; I've always felt comfortable around A. - I'm not entirely certain why, but I do - and greatly appreciated her gesture. Eventually I calmed to a point where I could shoo her away and she felt comfortable leaving, and I paced a little bit longer until I felt sufficiently contained to join the others.

The tournament finally wrapped up around 7pm. Lots of little moments unfolded, and one (on a personal level for me) major one. One member of the McGill dojo with whom I'd practiced with regularly approached me:

"Hey! You're leaving? To Calgary?! Like... forever?!"

It surprised me because I hadn't really spoken to this fellow very much, as he's fairly shy, so I didn't think he'd really miss me. We babbled for a little bit and he wished me all the best, and was surprisingly sincere, which again threw me, because it was so unexpectedly nice.

One of my sempais bought me a tenugui which was also unexpected and lovely. I wore it when I had my first kendo practice out here.

Then there was the moment I dreaded: saying goodbye to my homie, R. Ever see two powerful magnets kept at a distance by force, and then once that force is released, they snap together instantaneously with intense vigor? That's pretty much what happened. We were standing in front of each other, looked at each other, paused, and then just flew into each other's arms. Oh, man. I was already steadily emotional for the past few hours, and I knew this was going to be a whole other level of me being embarrassingly emotional. That is, until, I noticed something after a few seconds: R. was sobbing into my shoulder. Vehemently. Harder than me, and I was the one leaving. I felt this raw, profound emotion, and I still remember it vividly three weeks later.

"Holy shit... what the FUCK am I doing? Why am I leaving the people I love and who love me? Why am I doing this to them? What in the fuck am I thinking?" is the thought that went through my head as this transpired. I'll return to this momentarily.

It's interesting the shift in mentality this sort of realization causes. I suddenly felt like I had to be the strong one and the source of comfort, and so I held myself together. After a little while, I resorted to some humor to lift some of the emotional heaviness, as I often do, which worked. I sort of wish I didn't, because I think I really would have benefited from finally being able to physically get all this bottled up emotion out somewhere. However, I made my homie's experience easier, and that I don't regret. This occurred in a hallway which everyone had to use to leave the athletic center, making this exchange very visible and very public. I doubt either of us gave a good god damn (I certainly didn't), but what this lead to was AMBUSH. Suddenly, several of the guys came barreling at us with smiles and laughs, saying "AWWWWWWWWWW" and all sorts of other silly things in a caring but mocking manner, and they all hugged us. I think there was about 4-5 people surrounding R. and I in a kendoka hug trap. It was wonderful. This also helped lighten the mood, to say at the least.

The hug trap dispersed slowly. My other sempai, V., who was part of the hug mob, looked at me as and said, "I want a hug too." Of course, I obliged, as she is another wonderful human.
She also kept saying, "I will not be a gender stereotype and cry! I will not! I will not be a gender stereotype!!" To her credit, she didn't. It still makes me laugh and adore her, and it reminded me of myself as a child with my whole "I don't want to show emotions" complex.

Finally, knowing I had to drive several hours to Sarnia on my own, I took my final leave and got the fuck out. I ran part of it. I knew I had to or this could just go on forever, but life is about progress and not stagnation.

I made it to Sanria safe and sound and was treated exceedingly well by an old friend who put me up for the night. I'll make a separate (picture-heavy) post about the cross-country trip, but I will say that I had no problems travelling and it was overall a good experience.

I've rambled for far too long about how I have too many ridiculous emotions. The amazing thing about it that still blows me away is how much goodness came out of it. My friends staying late at the BBQ, A. comforting me in the equipment room, the kendoka hug trap - all these most memorable moments for me came into existence because they recognized how I was feeling and stepped up. I think this was in Pixar's Inside Out. It's absolutely true.

Three weeks later, I feel well, overall. There's been a couple of hard nights but that's another topic. I'll wrap up by addressing the question that went through my head as I embraced R. for quite some time: Why the fuck am I doing all this?

I don't like to gamble. I never have. When one gambles, you are required to place your faith in something or someone that is beyond your control, by definition. Of course, unless you live in absolute isolation, one will often have to make decisions that require investing in others. Most people try to be sensible about it and place their bets on things and people that they think will be the most reliable and rewarding. That's why I decided to do all this and re-located to Calgary. I chose to bet on myself.

Here's the thing: you are the only person that will be around for you every day of your life. Friends, co-workers, even lovers and family: none of these are a guarantee for happiness or a replacement for self-worth because... well, things happen! Their priorities change, they move away, they die, THEY change as a person. I cannot articulate how important some of my friends are to me and how much I would sacrifice for them. Even so, I recognize that if I had decided to bet on them - which would have required staying in Montréal - I'm placing my happiness in their hands. Almost all of my friends (and myself), despite being stable, are in transitional periods of their lives. They're all finishing studies, and/or establishing their careers, and who knows where that'll take them. What if I had chosen to stay in Montréal, and within a couple of years they were gone? Or if (god forbid) there was drama and they weren't my friends anymore? Or something worse happened? I'd be shit out of luck.

Montréal is a wonderful city for many reasons, and I feel exceedingly fortunate to have grown up there. But, now, there are many things about it that limit my happiness. My career options are exceedingly limited. I dislike the humid climate. I despise the local, omnipresent language politics; I find them to be distracting and damaging. Civil corruption is also omnipresent and everyone accepts it, but it would actively make me angry. I resented not being able to be proudly Canadian without getting shit for it from someone. I cannot snowboard reliably owing to the shitty climate (the past two seasons were awful). Yes, the plateau is lovely and has unique character. The nightlife is fantastic. Running on Mont Royal in the fall is one of my favorite things. It's not enough. I chose Calgary because I can have the exact lifestyle that I desire. Obviously, it's not perfect (see: the Wild Rose political party, ugh), but it's far better.

I have every intention of keeping in contact with those I love (and so far have done okay with this). I cannot wait to see what unfolds for them in the future, and to be there with them for as many major life events that I possibly can. For now, I'm looking forward, and as painful as some of these tribulations of betting on myself have been... I have no regrets.

This post is dedicated to friends who encourage you to put yourself in an uncomfortable position, so that you may achieve something you wouldn't have on your own.

---------------

I have this friend named Maximilian. He holds a unique trifecta: friend, colleague, former roommate. Max is one of the most distinctive and unique individuals I've ever encountered. Loud, steadfast, vehemently opinionated: it's not really surprising we get along. Even when he drives me fucking crazy.

Speaking seriously: he's a fantastic friend.

Every so often though, he will attempt to kill me. This past weekend was one of those cases.

He first informed me about Le Nordet sometime last summer, when he was training heavily for a Half Iron Man triathlon. Le Nordet is a 30.5 km stretch of single-lane highway up in the Laurentians of Québec starting a few kilometers away from St. Donat. The region is offensively scenic, and this highway is popular for cyclists and motorcyclists owning to the beautiful ride it provides. It doesn't take you anywhere efficiently by car, which is why it's not well traveled by other vehicles.

Not only does it give stunning views and has sparse motor traffic, it's also a motherfucker of a ride. As you're riding through a mountain range, there's lots of climbs and descents. This means that after going and returning, (which is typically what most do as it is not a loop, and you need to get back to your car somehow) you would have covered a minimum distance of 61 km (37.9 mi) and ascended a total of ~830 m (2723 ft) in elevation. That's a LOT.

As it's not an easy ride, it's not meant for tourists - the cyclists doing this are usually competitive athletes looking to train (or do something scenic, and get a workout at the same time). I like to cycle, and I like to push my limits, but I'm by no means an elite athlete. Max, on the other hand, is a pretty badass cyclist owing to his training. I'm pretty sure you could carve up deli meats on the edges of his massive calves.

He'd tell me about this route and how lovely it is, and I'd agree that it must be lovely and never really consider that it'd be something I'd actually be able do without collapsing from cardiovascular seizure, or giving up prematurely.

Last week, Max planted the seed:
"Hey, you know what? Let's attempt Le Nordet this weekend."
"With me? Are you fucking crazy?"
"I'll bring my daughter in her trailer. That way, I'll have a handicap, and you won't feel pressured to keep up at my pace."
"Dude... I'd love to, but I really don't think I can physically handle that elevation."
"Whatever! Let's just give it a shot. Worst case, we do part of it, and have a lovely day. Best case, we complete it, and have an epic day."

It took a few conversations to convince me, but eventually, I agreed. In the words of my favorite streamer, Asmongold: "never stop going big dick."
...ahem. Essentially, don't sell yourself short, because you don't know what you'll be missing out on if you do.

As I said, I like to push my limits, so I usually revel in challenges - the crazier, the better - but I was legitimately concerned about Le Nordet. I've cycled longer distances without too much trouble (I think my record is 121 km in a single day), but going uphill kills me; my legs simply need to become stronger. When I set out on a challenge, I only like to do it if there's some kind of a possibility that I can overcome it: I really didn't know if I could do that, here.

Max's major point was that if we failed to complete the entire circuit, we still would still have accomplished *something*, and that's far better than not trying. We'd still be together and enjoy the outdoors. I'd experience something new. I agree with this mentality, and so, we were off we went on Saturday morning.

Well.

We completed it.

The whole goddamn thing. I don't know how.

It's still setting in. It took us 3 hours and 20 minutes of cycling time (not including time spent during a halfway break).

Huge shout out to Max for firstly, once again being a good friend, and pushing me to do something I wouldn't have thought to do without that extra push. Secondly, for being a fucking Spartan cyclist: he did the route WITH THE TRAILER AND HIS CHILD INSIDE OF IT. AND FOOD. AND EXTRA WATER. That's an extra 60-70 pounds of shit. He was slower than me because of this extra resistance BUT STILL DID THE DAMN THING. Other cyclists would literally STARE at him while he passed with the classic "what in the merciful fuck oh my god he's actually doing this circuit with that how the good lord how what the fuck" look of confusion. Several cheered him on and gave him thumbs up, which was awesome.

There is no better feeling that conquering a massively steep, lengthy pitch of road, and then getting to the other side... and being rewarded with a descent so rewarding you're buzzing the whole way down. Similar to a roller coaster. I later found out I blasted down some of these hills going 65-70 km/h (40-43 mph). It was out of this world.

(His daughter loved the excursion if you're wondering - she's such an easygoing, good-natured kid. She started to cry when we told her we were done and there would be no more cycling for the day. Luckily, she stopped when she was reminded we were going to the beach instead.)

We spent a the night at a chalet in the region, which was also lovely.

The next day, I was so pumped by what we had seen and done the previous day that after returning to Montréal, I ended up cycling another 30 km, including going over the Jacques Cartier Bridge.

I think today is going to be a rest day, though. And by rest day, I mean drinking sangria with other wonderful friends. Provided I can convince my legs to transport me there.

Now, photos! That really don't do the justice, but it's the best I can do.


The beginning of the circuit. Hoorah.


This is basically the sort of view/terrain you'd expect to see throughout the circuit.


Max, aka Iron Dad, doing his thing.


A river!


Pitches of this steepness were a motherfucker to climb, but meant you got to blaze down once you reached the top.


The halfway point :)


Coming back, we had to walk this stretch, it was too much for both of us. It allowed us to take in the region, though, which I can't complain.


We briefly dropped by the beach afterwards to jump in the lake, which was THE BEST FEELING EVER.


At the chalet. The "secret" sitting spot. I love this chalet.