The Best Kept Secret - Me and Terry Fox

I did my first Terry Fox Run when I was in my early 30's. While never what I would call a serious runner, I had run off and on since my teens and figured "How hard can 10 km be?"

That first run was in fact pretty easy but by the time I hit 42, I knew I was in trouble. Years of running on pavement in so-so shoes were taking a toll on my joints. I kept things up for another couple of years until I heard an orthopedic surgeon speak about all the knee and hip replacements he was doing on baby boomers who had spent too much of their youth running on pavement in so-so shoes.

With my children now making it a group event, and the thought of aching knees weighing me down, I decided this year to ride my bike.

So yesterday found me with thousands of others all doing our thing for cancer research. After stopping for a drink at one of the water stations, our family soldiered on. My husband and eldest daughter zoomed ahead and I was left watching our seven year old try to weave her bike through the crowd.

So intent was I on watching her that I only noticed a group of walkers immediately in front of me as I was about to crash into them. I veered off the pavement and onto the dirt path that runs alongside.

As luck would have it, there was a large puddle exactly at the point where I began my detour. As I carefully tried not to get too wet, I inadvertently splashed the large group of walkers.

Soon all I could hear was the sound of their squeals and their cries of, "I can't believe she did that!". Despite repeatedly calling out the Canadian national slogan to them - "Sorry, sorry. I'm so sorry." - they continued to stare daggers at me.

Realizing this was a no-win situation, I turned forward again, just in the nick of time to avoid taking out a father on his bike. He was towing two young sons in a wagon and he didn't look too happy either.

My daughter had nicely navigated the quagmire of runners and was now half a kilometre ahead of me. I figured the best thing to do was catch up to her.

At the finish line, event organizers offered food, free massage and music. I was enjoying these festivities when I spotted one of the walkers. Fearing she'd want to give me a further piece of her mind, I knew I needed a disguise. I quickly took off my windbreaker, kept my water bottle hoisted to my face and made for the exit.

I limped home thinking, "What a sad, sad woman I've become." I'm no longer capable of participating in a community charity event without injuring myself or others or revealing my true identity.

My daughter tried to cheer me with, "Don't worry mom. At your advanced age you shouldn't be running anyway. Maybe next year you can collect the pledge forms."

She might be right. I wonder if I'll need a disguise.