Oh Messy Life #11: The ascent
Baby's first Grouse Grind PLUS a quote in GQ, Eliza on tour, Meaghan's masterful criticism, I directed a music video, and a Proper Chune courtesy Charly Bliss
NORTH VANCOUVER – Mom says, when her heart stopped beating, it felt like she was transported somewhere else. One minute she was sitting in bed. The next she was on a stage. Standing in front of a crowd. The Ancients, she calls them. Family members, dating back generations. She says it was dark there but that knew it was a good place.
She says she was standing on the stage when my uncle Tony, who died of cancer, approached her. She says he told her she didn’t have to stay, that it doesn’t have to be her time.
There was a channel of water above her. An exit.
Mom told Tony she wasn’t a good swimmer, but he said she needed air. He told her to kick to the surface.
So she did.
She knew she needed to use her head to break through, but something was stopping her. A scrunchie wrapped up in her hair. She says it was too soft to open the door. So she took it off. Went head first.
After that, she remembers sitting in her bed. The scrunchie was clenched in her fist. She sat there for a while, happy, but trying to make sense of what had happened.
She spent 11 days in the hospital
That was in August 2020. Before the unprecedented times collapsed into the liminal past; before what should be unforgettable became, in my mind at least, utterly surreal.
Sometimes I almost forget that it happened. Forget about her defibrillator and her room with a view of Lake Ontario. Forget about her conference with the dead.
Hiking with Leah and The Dans this morning, though, I remember it in bits and fragments. How hearts can cease to function with no warning. How mine might do the same one day.
And I wonder (briefly, not seriously) whether that day is today.
We’re less than a quarter of the way into the Grouse Grind — a grueling 2.5-kilometer ascent up a North Vancouver mountain — and already I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.
I expected the trail to be hard. Leah told me it would be. The Dans told me it would be. Everybody told me it would be.
So why am I surprised by the exertion required to keep going?
I inhale deeply and try to recover my breath without slowing down. It’s a little after 10 a.m. and I can smell the sunshine slowly baking the forest, the aroma of dirt and pines rising with the warm air.
Ahead of me The Dans — Zajac and Kell — are trying to match Leah’s pace, unaware of her deeply held belief that if she slows down, she may never start again. The four of us had been talking. About money, about travel, about nature. But that’s over now. Our dialogues have shifted from the external to the internal, and for the moment, my thoughts are focused on the climb, and on my own low simmering panic.
From up ahead Dan Zajac speaks.
“I think we should rank Brat,” he says, walking next to Dan Kell.
As he says this the pair pass through a pocket of sunshine so bright that I can see the sweat glistening in the culverts running down their spines.
The four of us removed our shirts a few minutes ago to try and keep cool, and I now can’t help but feel that everybody else has gotten hotter – skin clearer, muscles tighter, body hair all but non-existent – whereas I’m more or less the same.
Like so many things in life, it’s not that my situation is bad; but as I trail behind them, covered in sweat, I wish it was better, wish that I had a six-pack and broad shoulders and enough oxygen to discuss anything but survival.
But I don’t. Not now.
I consider Dan’s idea and, for a moment, the physical sensation of the hike recedes into the background. The cold sweat on my arms, the lactic acid in my legs, the pain in my feet, all of it disappears. I want to rank Brat but I also want to live.
“Sorry man,” I say “We will but I need to focus right now.”
We walk a little further until Leah stops at a shoulder on the side of the trail.
“Water break?” she asks.
I stop and whip the backpack onto my knee, retrieve Leah’s TURF-branded Nalgene from the pouch. I unscrew the lid and take a long sip.
Around us, other hikers are resting against the mountain, their sweat-stained bodies pressed against the dirt and dust. Up the path, a Japanese tourist in jeans smiles sweetly. I suspect she will be Grinding for hours.
The trail is too dangerous to descend on foot. The only way down is via a gondola at the top. The only way out is through.
More than a kilometer to go. I inhale deeply. The cold air turns warm inside my nose.
For as slow as I feel, I think I am having fun.
Leah speaks.
“What’s your review so far?”
I tell her it’s too early to say, that I need to finish before I can give an actual opinion.
And so we press on. Up along the wooden steps, through the termite-bitten trees.
On my right, I see a man with two walking poles and a baby strapped to his back. He looks nothing like The Dans or Leah or even me. But he is here. If he feels self-conscious, or vain, he’s not letting it show.
It’s enough to spark a minor realization: I’m breathing heavy, but I no longer hear my heartbeat in my ears. The panic subsides. It’s not quite time.
***
We finish the trail in just over an hour and fifteen minutes. I am drenched in sweat, as are The Dans, though Leah looks resplendent as ever. We put our shirts back on and eat lunch at a restaurant overlooking the city. It’s overpriced and of middling quality1, but today I don’t care.
As I stare at the haze over the water, Leah and The Dans talk about the future, about our upcoming trip to Sydney, and how Australia’s houses have no insulation.
The hike itself is a 7, the overall experience is a 10. I would do it again. Maybe next weekend.
After this we’ll linger on the mountain top for a few hours, until I realize we need to return the Modo. As we drive home, towards Highway 1, we finally rank Brat. There isn’t much by way of consensus. Dan Zajac and Leah and I all like different songs, and Dan Kell doesn’t really care.
We agree 365 is probably #1.
Oh Messy Life
It’s a Felinenominon: friend of the newsletter
had a fun week over at GQ. She filed one story on Olympic bulges *pause* and another about cat dads and the kittens who love them, which featured a quote from yours truly (my first appearance in the Condé Naste universe).I saw Deadpool and Wolverine by myself instead of going to the Vancouver Pride Parade. It was the straightest thing I’ve maybe ever done and extremely regrettable because that movie sucks ass. I am so sick of no stakes, multiverse, time travel movies. Grow up!
Don’t break the bank: that low-budget music video I directed for Bealby Point is finally finished. Story + visuals by me. Shout out to The Lads and Shane for everything else.
- and Julia from binchtopia have one stop left on The Goodbye L.A. Hello New York Tour. It’s in NYC (duh). Tix available here.
Our greatest living music critic
was back in Pitchfork last Sunday with a retrospective review of Britney Spears’ Blackout. False TikTok music commentators take note; this is how you do it. Read here.
Proper Chune
I was lucky enough to receive and advance copy of Charly Bliss’ new record, Forever, and brother, there are some fucking CHUNES on this thang. If you like Waiting For You then you will be happy.
Dan got the hummus based off of another table’s rave reviews; it did not meet his sauce-y standards…
The absolute FEAR I felt on the Grouse Grind when I realized there was (literally) no going back. This is a lovely piece of writing about the experience!
Ya the big yellow warning sign certainly gave me pause lol