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When Not Winning Still Matters

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  A small moment of recognition from Alberta Views and why it feels like a step forward. The Day I Didn’t Win — And Why It Still Matters Yesterday I opened my mail and found something I wasn’t expecting: a letter from Alberta Views about the short story contest I entered with The Quiet Things That Hold Me Together . I already knew I hadn’t won — no dramatic phone call, no email with confetti — but holding that letter in my hands still landed with a kind of weight. Not disappointment, exactly. More like recognition. They thanked me for entering. They told me the stories were judged anonymously. They told me the winner — Camille Pavlenko — earned the prize with The Cure for Breathlessness , a story described as quirky, well‑paced, charming, and ending with a “breathtaking” final image. And honestly, good for her. Anyone who can pull off a story that hits all those notes deserves the spotlight. But here’s the thing I keep coming back to: I didn’t win, but I showed up . And showing u...
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Nine A.M. Smiles and Artistic Fixes

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  From the dog park to Joe’s paintings to my own pen‑driven thoughts. Morning Walks, Paintings, and Pens Nine in the morning is a better hour for the dog park — no question. Today it was Davies, Jack, and Tanner Two‑Ball holding court. A couple smiles, a few grins, and dogs behaving exactly like dogs should. The whole place felt more awake than those 5 a.m. visits where even the birds look half‑asleep. Later on I walked with Joe, and his artistic mind was running full tilt. He showed me two paintings: one with a wired scenery fence, one without. Both looked wonderful in their own way. He said if he didn’t like anything in a painting, he’d paint right over it. That’s the artistic problem‑solving I admire — realism, but with the courage to erase and rebuild. No drama, just craft. Somewhere in the afternoon I caught myself mumbling about my own hobbies. Writing, pens, notes, messages — the analog side of my brain that likes data, logs, and the physical act of putting words down. I don...
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Four days of emotional needs intelligence

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 I'm great 👍 💭 Je suis m'io du Pense  I'm a bit mental  Such is life I've been crying for four days that I've lost my own pen 🖋️ Sick of it It's just a pen 🖊️ I think it's the smoke Very smoky out Nick  Windows open took the whole day for the air filters to reset the house Very smoky out Nick  Windows open took the whole day for the air filters to reset the house Last 🌃 that and this cooled the house down And we'll it stuck to much in advance for is and after is smelly Happy I don't smoke  But it bothers me I was so tired from all the emotions that I just slept  It's is a pen Or it is the pen  Who ever got the pen I hope it is it  The sad reality is it rational or it is neither noise or mark on to graph Graph but I thought I used it one morning and now I don't think I used it that morning and I wonder where I even lost it  Usually I know or have an idea where it is  Loss of words I got no idea or or ego in it is I got me a new ...
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Post Smoker Walk, in Today

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  The smoke today sits like a punishment from old habits — twenty‑five years of cigarettes rising back up in the air around me, thick enough to taste. The dog and I walked through it anyway, her tail cutting through the haze while my lungs reminded me of every year I spent ignoring them. Windows left open, the house filled with that dull grey heaviness, the kind that numbs the tongue and steals words right out of your mouth. Tetley and coffee couldn’t cut through it. The world felt blurred, like someone smeared pastels over the edges of the day. I kept moving, one nod, one grin from a stranger, just enough to say I’m still here in all this smoke. Mama was right — this new world feels like a second layer of reality, a post‑information haze, climate change turning the air into something you walk through instead of breathe. And still, the dog needed her walk, and I went.
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Pivoting the Output: Adjusting the Engine and Putting the Trail Mileage on Pause

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It’s frustrating when you build a momentum routine, gear up for it, and then your body hands you a sudden reality check. Lately, the strategy was simple : push the cardio, step up the impact, and build the engine. But when a short 2 km run leaves your legs feeling like heavy lead pipes for two full days afterward—and a forward tilt of the neck sends an unmistakable shock down the spine—you have to listen to what the central nervous system is actually telling you. Doing the exact same thing harder isn't toughness; it's bad mechanics. Loaded rucking and high-impact vertical pavement pounding are off the table for the immediate stretch. The downward force and neck compression just take too heavy a toll on the nervous system, turning what should be a solid conditioning session into days of systemic fatigue. So, the training has to shift. The goal hasn't changed, but the delivery vehicle has:   Incline work over flat impact : Driving up steep gradients to get the heart rate peak...
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A Quiet River, an Old Friend, and a Summer Day That Finally Felt Right

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 River Time With Bryan: Mussels, Deer Sightings, and a Whole Stretch of Popson to Ourselves A Quiet River Hour, a Late Summer Laugh, and a Full Day Lived Well Popson had that rare quiet today — the kind where the river feels like it’s waiting for you. I rolled in for a 1:30 meet‑up with Bryan, summer‑time punctuality meaning he drifted in closer to 1:50. No bother. The stillness was worth it. I stayed another twenty‑five minutes after he arrived, giving me a solid fifty‑five minutes of river time before heading home around 2:30. Enough space to breathe, reset, and then get typing fast before gaming with an old neighbourhood friend. The river was generous with its little surprises. Mussels scattered along the shallows, several of them tucked into the sand — definitely invasive, definitely not the usual Lethbridge sight. More of a BC thing, ocean‑to‑river hitchhikers. And a crawfish, looking like a freshwater shrimp, darting around the stones. I snapped a few photos, the kind you onl...
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My Anniversary Run

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 Starting again with a quiet anniversary run under the moonlight. A Late-Night Anniversary Run Tonight I finally stepped back into running after fifteen weeks away. It wasn’t a fast run or a long run — just twenty minutes, about two kilometres — but it was the kind of run that matters. A base run. A starting point. The kind of quiet, late-night effort that reminds you you’re still trying, still moving, still showing up for yourself. I took the dog with me, and the night had that calm, blue glow where the moon hangs low and bright over the neighbourhood. The streets were quiet, the air cool, and the world felt still enough that the run didn’t need to be anything more than what it was. I didn’t even break much of a sweat, but that wasn’t the point. After weeks of back pain, nerve issues, and the uncertainty that comes with trying to understand what’s physical and what’s mental, simply getting out the door was the victory. I’ve spent a lot of time wondering whether the challenges I’ve...
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