For those unaware, Pi-Day (March 14th) is the mathiest of math days; unless you also observe Tau-Day (June 28th) – which I do. Since tau is equal to 2 pi, Tau-Day must be equal to 2 Pi-Days, and 2 Pi-Days is better than 1 Pi-Day, so by definition Tau-Day would have to be the mathier of the two. Math!
To celebrate Pi-Day I opted to spend my day enjoying as much pie as I possibly could. This meant that I attempted to have pie for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I’m all about healthy choices.
Sadly my breakfast pie was not to be as The Joint Cafe was out of their oh-so-delicious banana coconut cream pie. I settled for a bagel and apple juice – which is about as far from banana coconut cream pie as one can get.
To make up for my breakfast pie failure, I sauntered over to the Woolwich Arrow for lunch-pie. I had learned the night before that they were serving pie from The Williamsford Pie Company. And it was oh so delicious.
To round out my Pi-Day, I enjoyed a delicious peach-raspberry-blueberry pie with friends. I made a point of having just enough pie to be able to say that I ate half a pie on Pi-Day. Why would I eat that much pie? Because half a pie is equivalent to pi radians worth of pie, that’s why.
Pi radians worth of pie on Pi-Day. Yup – I’m just that nerdy.
Last night when I was walking home after what seemed a long day of work, I spent the bulk of my time having an internal discussion with myself.
I’m too tired to run.
No, you aren’t. You’re just being a big bag of suck.
Yes, you are. I think.
See, maybe I’m not being a big bag of suck. I am rather tired.
But are you really that tired?
Well, I’m definitely tired, but maybe I’m not that tired…
See, I knew it!
And it went on like this for the 22 minutes or so that it took to saunter home. As I was closing in on my destination I had the following thought:
How about when you get home you at least put on your running gear, then decide if you’re going to run or wuss out.
My logic was simple – the act of getting dressed, as trivial as it was, might prove to be the extra boost I needed to actually get off my lazy butt and run. Worst case scenario – I would have wasted my time getting dressed up only to spend the eve on the couch eating bonbons and regret.
And so immediately on entering my condo I dropped my work bag, and headed upstairs to change. Before long I was in my running gear with my hat and gloves on, laces tied, and RunKeeper set and primed to go. And not too long after that I found myself back home having knocked out 5 more kilometres on my quest to 1000.
They say the clothes make the man. I think in this case the clothes made the runner. They were just the catalyst I needed to realize that I wasn’t really that tired – I was just being a big bag of suck.
Sometimes being tired is just an excuse; a way to avoid doing something I know I should do because the alternative seems far simpler. Sometimes being tired is truly that; a signal that my body is truly exhausted and needs rest. Knowing the difference isn’t always easy. I just hope that the next time I’m feeling tired, I’m able to distinguish which kind of tired I am.
Now if you don’t mind, I have a box of bonbons that aren’t going to eat themselves.
So 2014 is nigh. I’ve just finished cleaning up the house, organizing some platters of food, chilling some champagne1, and am about to go shuck some oysters as I await the arrival of some friends who will be ringing in the new year with me. All told, not a bad way to spend the last day of 2013.
Looking back, 2013 has been a crazy amazing year. Despite setbacks with my exercise goals, I’ve had an adventure filled 12 months. Crushing the Goofy Challenge with Mark, wandering New York City twice, learning the true meaning of What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas2, exploring the beauty of Newfoundland and Labrador with Danny, Lee-Jay, and Corey, celebrating the 2nd Annual Big Mountain Challenge with Rick and my brother3, and various other adventures with friends in Ottawa, Toronto, and London; all have reminded me that I am one lucky bastard.
And even though work was as crazy as it was, I have to say that I love my job and had so much fun this year. I was beyond fortunate to work with several amazing students – people who have reminded me again and again that if you give students something real to work on, they can do amazingly awesome things. Their hard work led to Farm-To-Fork.ca, and all of the subsequent and well-deserved attention that it brought. I’ve been spoiled because of their talent, drive, and passion. Because of them, I was invited to speak at several conferences and seminar series. Because of them the Farm To Fork project raised and continues to raise money because so many people understand its importance. Because of them I feel that I have something significant to contribute to the world beyond academic papers. And that dear readers is an amazing feeling.
Beyond all of this, I’ve just been lucky to spend the year with some amazing people. Family and friends who look out for me, take care of me, feed me, and spoil me on a seemingly continuous basis. To all of you, thank you for making this another fantastic year. Thank you for telling me I need to sleep more or eat more or get out more, or that I need to learn to say no. I can’t promise I’ll do any of that in the new year, but it makes me smile to know that you’ll still be worried enough to tell me so.
So raise your glass and toast the year that was. To the ups and downs, the good and the bad. Here’s wishing that 2014 brings with it all the things that make you smile.
Dearest readers, I was originally going to write a post describing the awesome time I just had with Rick and Dr. Beth in Toronto (and it was awesome), but I decided to pour myself a scotch instead.
After pouring said scotch (and against my better judgement), I decided that I needed to sample some of the various Christmas wares1 I have around the house. I did this knowing full well that I had no need for the extra Calories, nor did I have a need for the extra sugar and fat right before bed. But I did it anyway because indulging in this manner is somehow acceptable during the Christmas holidays.
As I enjoyed my scotch and cookies, I couldn’t help but form a mental image of Cookie Monster singing C is for Cookie. Shortly after forming said image, I found myself humming and singing along to the song I remember so fondly from childhood.
Munch, munch, munch, C is for cookie, munch, munch, munch, that’s good enough for me, munch, munch, munch, Oh cookie, cookie, cookie, munch, munch, munch, cookie starts with c.
Being the inquisitive type, my mind soon formulated the following question: If C is for cookie, what is D for?
Diabetes! my mind immediately responded. I may have chuckled to myself as I popped another cookie in my gob. Ha! Gillis – you are hilarious.
What about E? I asked myself half expecting a similarly witty if not slightly inappropriate response.
Expanding waistline! Engorged belly! Extra pounds!
I was almost afraid to ask And F?
Fatty Fat Fat Fat!
Some of you may know that Fatty Fat Fat Fat was one of my nicknames as a kid. Clearly my brain was not-so-subtly hinting at something. It was at this point that I stopped thinking about my Christmas alphabet, because my brain was being a cruel jerk. It was also at this point that I decided to have one more cookie, because screw you brain, I’m in charge here.
And with that I called it a night.
Okay – full disclosure – I may have had another cookie for good measure. And by another I may mean two.
Like many of you, I spent yesterday celebrating the Christmas holiday the way it was intended to be celebrated: with lots and lots of food. And booze. And more food. And coffee. Also scotch. And pie.
And because I’m a spoiled bastard, I did all of this while barely contributing much more than my presence to the Christmas celebrations. Personally, I think the Christmas day hosts got the short end of the stick. They prepped and cooked and cleaned and served and served some more; I was chauffeured around, delivered to and fro, stuffed full of treats and coffee, and I was fed and then fed some more.
Today my waistline feels as if it has expanded into territory it hasn’t seen since a hasty retreat several years ago. While the food was definitely worth it, I’m sure a case of buyer’s remorse is going to kick in soon enough. But that’s something to worry about another day. For now, I’m going to enjoy the quiet comfort of my home, and the wee fuzzball snoozing next to me.
I’m also going to spend the day with the very comforting knowledge that I have an amazing group of friends; people who invited me into their homes, treated me as family, and shared their holiday traditions with me. So thanks again Bang, Lindsay, and Henry for an awesome Christmas brunch. And thanks Mark and Julie for a fantastic Christmas feast. I’m so very fortunate that I have you nerds in my life.
I’m trying to decide if thirty-eight has a nice ring to it or not. There’s nothing particularly wrong with thirty-eight. It’s a perfectly cromulent number, composed of two rather curvy digits (and who doesn’t like curvy digits?). But it’s also not entirely notable. It doesn’t represent any of the standard milestones – sweet 16, legal drinking age in Canada, legal drinking age in the States, 25, or dirty 30 – and it’s just shy of the four decade flag. It’s not prime. It’s not a perfect square. It’s just plain ole thirty-eight.
And yet, as I sit here thinking about how plain thirty-eight appears to be, I just can’t seem to accept it. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that 38 could be awesome.
I mean, the years that came before 38 have been pretty great. I’ve been fortunate enough to land myself a job that I love, and that permits me the opportunity to explore (both theoretically and in application) the world around us. I’m surrounded by a rather weird yet incredibly wonderful assortment of family and friends who, despite the crazy ideas that pop into my head, never cease to offer their support and love (and sometimes pie, or date squares1, or chocolate). And I’ve been able to travel – not nearly as much as I’d like, because let’s be honest, I’d be travelling and exploring and adventuring every day if I were independently wealthy.
My life is pretty awesome. I don’t write that to brag. I write it because it’s good to take stock and remind myself just how lucky I am; to remember that even on those days where I’m not feeling like things are going my way, that the overall trend has been positive and getting better every day.
And this is why I get the sense that 38 is going to be anything but plain.
So here’s to another year of adventure, another year filled with shenanigans, and family, and friends; a year full of highs and lows – but mostly highs; a year full of laughter, and more laughter, and laughing so hard I cry just a little; here’s to 38.
1 I’m not saying that date squares would be a pretty stellar birthday gift, but, actually, wait, that’s exactly what I’m saying.
So those of you out there with a keen eye – and let’s be serious, that’s probably all of you – may have noticed a new addition to the blog you have come to know and love1 as Consumed By Wanderlust. Of course, I’m speaking about that fancy new button over there to the right. The one that looks like an unembiggened2 version of this picture to the left.
Well that button is going to be here for a while.
Of course, you’re probably wondering what purpose it might serve. Wonder no more. That button is your link to a massive fundraising campaign that I’m involved in with my friend Danny Williamson, two amazing senior undergraduate students Lee-Jay Cluskey-Belanger and Beni Katznelson, and a team of 30 amazingly dedicated third year Computer Science students at the University of Guelph. The goal is to raise $15000 to help fund the Farm To Fork project – a website designed to improve the quantity and quality of food that makes it to the local food banks and food pantries.
While this isn’t your typical fund-raising campaign associated with a food bank, the end result is the same. With your help, Farm To Fork will be able to improve the quality and quantity of the food that makes its way to families in need. More than just that, Farm To Fork will help maintain a constant flow of quality food; something that is desperately needed between annual food drives.
If you’re interested in donating – please click on the button to the right, or click here. The campaign runs from now until May 19th. Every dollar counts. If you aren’t able to donate, please consider passing this campaign on to as many people as you can.
So apparently I’ve been slacking in so many ways. To start, let me begin by apologizing for not having written anything in so very long. I could use the excuse that I’ve been swamped with a million different things, which is true, but that never seemed to stop me from writing in the past. I blame the fact that I’m a lazy slacking bastard.
Interestingly1, I’ve also slacked – at least it seems to me – in pretty much every other aspect of my life2. Writing? Slacked. Repairs to my condo? Slacked. Running? Slacked. Yoga? Slacked. It seems the only area of my life that hasn’t involved a substantial amount of slacking has been eating and slacking. In fact, I’ve excelled in those areas. You could say that I’m a connoisseur of slackitudity. Okay, you might not say that, but I might.
Anyway, I guess this post is my attempt to get my lazy ass back on track; in terms of writing, in terms of running, in terms of yoga, in terms of everything.
In that sense, let it be known that the slacker-who-is is about to become the slacker-who-was, because there are too many things I need and want to do, and being a slacker isn’t going to get me to where I want to be.
Be warned slacker-who-is; things are about to change.
So just over a week ago I made my way once again to the airport for fun and adventure – this time in the form of a wedding1. In Vegas2.
Having never been to Vegas I really didn’t know what to expect, but this trip wasn’t so much about Vegas itself as it was about celebrating my friends Danny and Erin getting married. And what a celebration. Given the law of the land, I can tell you that a good time was had by all. The food was fantastic, and I may or may not have had a bottle of Laphroaig to toast the newly married couple with3. We also had an amazing room for the reception that overlooked the city.
The day after the night before, some of the party-goers and the happy couple headed off to tour the strip. I won’t say I was feeling perfect, but walking around for several hours, enjoying the blue sky and the fresh air certainly didn’t hurt.
Sadly, the well established law of the land – What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas – didn’t seem to hold true for me. I don’t know if it was a result of the cigarette smoke in the casinos4, the jet lag, the time change, the handling of money, the casinos, the slots, the time spent on the plane, or a lovely combination of these, but I brought home some nasty bug. I tried to fight it all week, but by yesterday I was down for the count. Fortunately my friend Danny – the groom component of the happy couple previously mentioned – insisted that I stay home and get better. And so I did. Because he knows things about things.
Fortunately I’m feeling much better today. Whatever evil possessed my body seems to be leaving.
Sadly, I’m left with the unfortunate realization that I broke the cardinal rule of Vegas. I’m going to assume whatever punishment the universe sees fit to dole out will be reduced or eliminated as a result of Friday’s time already served.
1 Not my wedding. Don’t be silly.
2 Which means I can cross off Vegas from my list of travel destinations on my Not-So-Bucket-List list. And given my trip to Florida in January, my trip to New York in February, and this trip to Vegas, I’m 3 cities down on my goal to travel to 12 cities outside of Ontario in 20135.
3 Note: it wasn’t so much a formal toast as it was I drank some scotch in their honour.
5 Hmmm, I’ve just realized that I haven’t updated my Not-So-Bucket-List list in a while. There are a few other things I can cross off – like travelling to New York city for example.
After I finished up at the office today, I headed downtown to meet up with my friends Dr. Mark and Dr. Julie. Our goal – head to the second Bleed For Guelphblood drive; a drive organized by the very same doctors I was meeting.
While I didn’t donate blood myself – damn monkeys – I decided to tag along to offer moral support to those who did. And by moral support I mean that I tagged along in the event that I might get to enjoy some of the treats that one gets when one donates blood. Treats like Oreo cookies.
For those not in the know, Oreo cookies are free of all things dairy, which means they are one of the few cookies that I can buy when I go grocery shopping. Of course, if you read yesterday’s post you’ll know that I don’t buy Oreos in the fear/knowledge that I will eat the entire bag in a sitting and then suffer the intense feelings of guilt (in the form of gut rot) that naturally follows such an act of gluttony.
Anyway, oodles of blood was donated amid a lot of laughter and good conversation. Thanks to the good doctors for organizing another successful drive. And for those counting, I got me some Oreos. And damn they were good.
I’ve spent the better part of my day number crunching, drafting a report, thinking about a grant, and eating. Eating a lot it seems (well, a lot for me).
Okay, maybe it’s not so much that I’ve eaten a lot, maybe it’s just that I seem to have eaten nothing better than the empty Calories known as cookies and coffee. True, I also had some eggs and smoked salmon, and perhaps some chicken and shiitake mushroom soup – all very good and healthy food choices – but it feels as if I’ve eaten mainly sugar-laden balls-o-unhealthiness washed down with artificially whitened-sweetened-and-fully-caffeinated java juice. Perhaps it’s the gut rot speaking, but I’m guessing I shouldn’t have had that last cookie/coffee combo.
Sadly, I’m sitting here plugging away at the number crunching/report/grant related stuff I need to do, and all I can think about is another cookie and coffee. On the plus side, all of the cookies are gone as I know better than to buy an entire bag of them for fear that I will eat them all in one sitting. And I would. Because I’m gluttonous like that. On the negative side, I have oodles of coffee in my condo. I also have oodles of coffee cups. And a Keurig machine. This could be a lost cause.
To add insult to injury, I didn’t run this weekend either. That’s correct – mine was a weekend full of gluttony and sloth.
This marks the first weekend I haven’t stepped on the treadmill in I don’t know how long. And I feel terrible. Stuffing my face full of cookies, drinking copious amounts of coffee, sitting in front of my computer for far too long this weekend, AND not running? What the hell Gillis? What the hell? indeed. I feel a bit like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters, except without the jaunty hat, sailor’s collar, and neckerchief.
Clearly tomorrow I have to get back on track. For now, I’m going to avoid another cup of coffee, and I’m also going to try to use my current post-gluttony feelings to keep me motivated this week. Because I can’t turn into Stay Puft – I just can’t pull off that outfit like he can.
Based on the fact that I just accidentally passed out for about an hour or so, I’m going to make the rather profound declaration that I’m tired. In fact, on a scale of 1 to 10 Zs1, I’m guessing I’m going to rank around Stupid-Exhausted. For those counting, that’s 10 times more tired than Wiped, but only one tenth as tired as I just poured orange juice on my cereal tired.
The weirdest thing about this particular nap is that it completely snuck up on me. I didn’t feel particularly tired at work, nor did I feel too bad when I left the office, picking up groceries on my way home. Once I got home, I jumped on the treadmill and pumped out a 12 km run. Napping was the last thing on my mind.
Truth be told, it wasn’t until after I stretched, and had some dinner that I even noticed how tired I was. I was enjoying an episode of Futurama when I started to nod off. I’m sure it didn’t help the situation that I has just eaten, nor that my fireplace was warm and cozy, nor that Elliot had nuzzled in next to me. I tried to fight the nap – at least initially – but it was ultimately a battle I was meant to lose.
The worst part about this unexpected nap is that I had intended to work this eve, especially given the mountain of projects I’m trying to stay on top of. I’d also hoped to finally get around to cleaning up my kitchen. Oh, and I guess there are all of those groceries that still need to be put away, laundry to be finished, and my bed still needs to be made. Blurgh. Stupid unexpected nap getting between me and a productive evening. Stupid unexpected nap long time.
Alright, let’s be real – the worst part about this unexpected nap was absolutely nothing at all. Because work and dishes and laundry and groceries and the like can all wait – at least for today.
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for bed. That nap tuckered me out.
Night all y’all.
1 Measured on the log scale, naturally. Ha! I kill me.
Despite knowing that my last long run before the big race this coming weekend was due to an epic eating failure on my part, and knowing full well that I need to take the next 5 days to rest my legs, I spent the bulk of the day annoyed with myself for being so stupid yesterday. Not only that, but a significant portion of my thoughts were devoted to an internal debate:
Evil Dan: You should run today to make up for yesterday’s failure. I mean really, it’s the only way to redeem yourself. Otherwise you’re just a great big wuss-bag who let a potential yarfing, weakness, and dizziness get in the way of you and a full run. I mean, really – unless you’re dead you should have kept running.
Not-Evil-At-All Dan (spoken all whisper like): I don’t think that’s a good idea. And I really didn’t feel well.
Not-So-Evil Dan: No! No matter how fat and gross and lazy you feel right now – no running. Okay, no more than 12 km. I mean you do feel fat and gross and lazy after all.
Evil Dan(laughing snidely): Pffffft. Twelve kilometres? That’s not even a challenge. You might as well not even run if you’re only going to do 12. You really should run at least a half-marathon, otherwise you’re just half-ass’ing it. In fact, for being a suck about it, you should probably run at least 24.
Not-Evil-At-All Dan(the rage quietly building): Um, who said I was being a suck?
Evil Dan: Oh, you’re totally being a suck about it. You’re not even willing to do 12.
Not-So-Evil Dan: Ya, no kidding. Wuss.
Not-Evil-At-All Dan(the Hulk rage building): NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP! I’m in charge here. You two – shut it. Now you – Gillis – go eat something. And while you’re at it, drink some water.
[Not-So-Evil Dan and Evil Dan make a hasty exit, while Not-Evil-At-All Dan pumps his hulk-sized chest in victory.]
Yes, there are apparently at least 3 versions of my conscience. Two of them are clearly on the wicked side of the spectrum, the other not so much. That version – the latter of the 3 – is like the Hulk. At first he’s all quiet like and such, but push him too far and he erupts in a green-Hulk like rage. Of course all of this goes on in my head unbeknownst to those around me.
And so this went, all day, as if on repeat. Every time the Hulk had to burst forth and kick those other two versions of myself to the curb, they would slowly creep back when I was distracted by such things as reading a PhD thesis, finishing one grant proposal, working on another, or attending meetings. They really are persistant little bastards. Fortunately I stuck to my guns – that is, the Hulk version of me kept the upper hand.
Now I just have to keep doing this for the rest of the week as I rest for the big race. Sadly, this is far easier said than done.
SOOOOOOO, apparently that old saying You are what you eat is true.
How do I know this?
Well today I had to jump on the treadmill to run my last long race before I head to Florida for the Goofy Race. Given that I wanted to run a 30+ km run, you’d assume that I would have planned appropriately. And for the most part I did.
I slept an appropriate length of time. I stretched. I went for a massage. I relaxed. I visualized the run; seeing mile after mile pass as I ran until the necessary distance was covered. And I ate.
Oh wait. No I didn’t.
Of course, I didn’t realize this until shortly after jumping on the treadmill. Within 4 miles I realized something was off. I felt wobbly. I felt a bit yarfy. Actually, I felt a lot yarfy. Strangely, my legs felt strong, and my breathing felt strong, but at the same time I felt weak – really weak. I pondered if it was my mind playing tricks on me, but I soon realized it wasn’t some sort of mind game. I was pale – really pale. And the more I ran the more I felt like I was going to yarf.
Fortunately I didn’t yarf. I did manage to push out another 4 miles, eventually stopping at 8. It wasn’t pretty – I looked like a bag-o-smashed-hammers – but I did it.
So, getting back to the old saying, you might be wondering what I ate today.
The answer to that is simple. I ate a big bag of stupid.
Note to my readers: I may or may not be “suffering” the effects of a few beers. As such, this post will be rather limited. Should this disturb you, I suggest that you walk away from your computer, pour yourself a drink, and then another, and perhaps another. Only after that, return to this particular post.
Honestly, it’s probably best if you have a beverage before reading any of my posts.
Regardless, you’ve been warned. Proceed with caution.
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Apparently the equation
Dan + 2 x Cask(IPA) = Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee,
where Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee = 2 beer drunk, obviously.
Anyway, I don’t have much to say at this point, other than that tonight was the first pub night of the year. And in classic pub form, I enjoyed a few beers and some deliciously delicious salt and pepper chicken wings with colleagues at the Woolwich Arrow downtown.
Honestly, I should probably go to bed, but it’s way upstairs and I’m way downstairs. I’m sure you understand my dilemma.
Instead, I think I’ll watch some movies. Or sleep. Maybe both. I’m crafty like that.