Peeing at the Pond

I must be having a mid life crisis.  What else can explain that the fact that at 7:30 this morning I found myself parked at the boathouse by Quidi Vidi Lake?

The Pond is the name used by residents of St. John's and those of us living on the fringes of the capital city.  I've lived in this area for much of my life and I've yet to figure out if the proper name for the Pond is pronounced like Kitty Vitty or Quida Vida.  As a kid, I thought maybe how a certain person pronounced it had something to do with which side of the tracks they were from.  That made some sense until the province negotiated with the feds and agreed to abolish our rail-roads in exchange for more federal money to improve our highways.  The roads are wider, but I'm not so sure they are any better or safer either.  With no trains to haul our goods, our highways are now overrun with monster sized trucks that travel at breakneck speeds and are piloted by drivers who are often paid for expediency.  Our highways are not the 401, with very little of it being a true divided highway.  Westbound vehicles literally pass within feet of those travelling eastbound.  It's a real treat to see the sign on the shoulder "Keep Right Except To Pass".  It allows us some added separation from oncoming kamikazes and to get ahead of the guy putting along at 50 because he's pulling a 40 foot travel trailer with an underpowered Ford Ranger truck.

There were no tractor trailers or Japanese Zeros at the Pond this morning.  There was a heck of a lot of rain.  Despite the wetness, there were still joggers taking advantage of the 3.8 kilometer trail that circles the Pond.  Nowhere else in the city will you find a flat track, as well as one where you do not risk life and limb because you have to run in and around traffic.

There were also several hardy rowing crews heading out on the Pond for a spin.  The Pond is the site for the annual St. John's Regatta, which is the longest running sporting event in North America.  I'll always associate that phrase with the harmonic voice of the legendary radio personality, Mr. George MacLaren.  Most of the 20,000 people hoarded around the Pond are there to partake in the games of chance and the fine dining that is being slung and flung from the tents and trailers.  Very few of them are actually spectators of the six oared racing shells, which has always been a shame.  You can bet though, that even the least interested patron took notice when the excited tones of Mr. MacLaren resonated from the car radios and boom boxes that were situated around the top of the pond.  (Only in Newfoundland can a flat body of water, such as a pond or lake, have a top and a bottom.  It makes sense really.  The top is where the river flows into the pond and it flows out at the bottom.)  Thanks for the memories George.

One more quick reflection about our Royal Regatta.  I rowed in it in 1978, as a 13 year old.  Our crew was motley by today's standards, but it was an awesome experience and one that has forever made me feel connected to the Regatta and to the Pond.  Our coxswain, the guy who steered the boat and yelled at us to row harder, was a grizzled veteran of the races.  He was certainly old school.  He would drive us to our daily spins, but only as long as we were on the side of the road when he drove by.  If one of the six of us was missing, then we'd lose out on some badly needed practice.  We didn't do any dry land training, having unanimously decided to leave that for the more dedicated crews.  Our guess our coxswain missed that meeting or decided that he'd make us worthy to be called rowers.  When picking us up to head down to the Pond, he'd never actually stop, but would just slow a little.  We all became pretty good at sprinting a few hundred yards and diving into the bed of a moving pick up truck.  When my kids read this, they won't understand.  I will have to teach them that 1978 was before we knew that vehicles came with seat belts.  It was a time of innocence...... and naiveness.

Our coxswain assured us that the secret to winning was to toughen up our hands.  Blisters and rowing come hand in hand, but minimizing them may give you that one second advantage that may be the difference between winning and losing.  We were also told that the secret to tough hands was to pee on them.  Yes, pee.. as in pee.  So we did.  Now, we peed only on our own hands and not on those of our team mates.  Doing that would be gross!  In any event, it seemed to have worked.  On Regatta Day, we won our race by the narrowest of margins.  I hate to think what would have happened if we had not heeded our mentor's advice.  Losing would have peed us right off.

I now realize what brought me to the Pond this morning.  It was a not a mid life crisis, not yet anyway.  The other day I saw a picture of myself and I was shirtless.  I could use a bro or a manssiere

Heading to the Pond this morning is hopefully the start of that.  I didn't run all the way around the Pond.  I'm quite certain that I couldn't, even if I wanted to.  It was more of a stroll, interrupted by a few sprints and some push ups. Since I was last there, a tribute to the Royal Newfoundland Regiment has been erected on the Pleasantville side, near the bottom of the Pond.  I mention this because it is a must see.  I'm hopeful that frequent visits to Quidi Vidi will be the inspiration that I need to get in better shape.  We large people defend our largeness by stating that we are already in shape - round is a shape.  That's cute, but it no longer makes me feel good about myself.  I plan on putting a lot of miles on this middle aged body in the coming months.  I worry that all of that walking and occasional jogging may be too much for my softened body.  I hope I don't end up getting blisters on my feet because I'd have to stop my exercise routine and that would jeopardise my health.  Thankfully, I already know a tried and true way to prevent blisters.