The Grind

Yesterday, Dawn and I did the Drive - we sweltered - and then downtown Vancouver - slightly occluded sky. In the evening we saw Anthony and Cleopatra at Bard on the Beach - perfect temp.

Today we did The Grind. No, not that kind of grind, the Grouse Grind.
Holy Mary Mother of God.
I'm not sure how we got up that mountain but we did. At the top, there was a lovely mist tent, divine. Every few yards I thought I was going to expire.

As you start up the mountain, people can still talk, their voices clanged, broke into my zone, stressed me, it reminded me of the RS Thomas poem that thinks of God listening to our incessant voices for eternity.
As we got further into the torture, there was less noise, just the wheezing and heavy breathing of people who couldn't remember how or why they had started this.

God's stairmaster got steeper and steeper and more difficult to climb. I looked down and wondered why a religion would develop that required people to never cut their hair and to wear fabric around it, in a country as hot as India.

Dawn and I knew we'd get there eventually, it just seemed that night may fall before we did. Kevin had done it last year, he had more faith.

We reached the top after two and a half hours. On the electronic reader board at the top, the current best time for a female under the age of 13, was 54 minutes. I'd have wept, but I didn't care. I had my poutine and a pass to get down.
I mustn't grumble, we'd chosen to do it and I hear you have to do more strenuous things in the Israeli army.