Kilimanjaro, Day 2

As I fell asleep last night, I thought that a 6am wake up might be pushing it, given the jetlag, my previous evening's 4am bedtime preceded by 26hrs of travel, not to mention the 10km hike at this altitude. As it turned out, I had no reason to be worried. I was asleep by 9pm and wide awake by 4am. I stayed in my very comfortable MEC Aquila -12C bag until first light, and emerged from my tent with my thermos in search of hot water and a good photo op.

I found both, made some coffee and saw, for the first time on this trip, the beautiful snow capped peak of this great mountain. I found a decent view of where we hiked in from, and marvelled at the reality of waking up above the clouds.

As I sipped my coffee I chatted with Alex our lead guide about his family and life as a climbing and safari guide. Like most of the Africans I've met, his stories are astonishing. He has 4 kids of his own, and he supported 4 street kids from Moshi, the small town where he calls home. He has seen two of the adoptees through university and a third completed a mechanic aprentiship not so long ago. His perspective is so valuable to me. His experiences and wisdom are so unique, the chance to share a conversation with people like Alex adds so much to these journeys.

We gathered for a quick breakfast of porridge, eggs, sausage (hotdog), toast papaya and citrus, packed our camp and were off up the mountain before 8:30am.

I packed out all of my gear again today, feeling confident that my pack was so perfectly distributed that it would hardly add to my physical exertion. I packed along our packaged lunch (same as yesterday) two hiking poles, and the obligatory 3L of water.

The two little fanny packs on the sturdy waist strap of the MEC EOS bag allow really easy access to things like my camera, lip moisturizer (it's a very macho-manly variety), snacks and hand sanitizer. The waist strap is fixed in the middle of the bag, but pivots with your hips allowing for natural movement. At the end of our day today, I was amazed at how great my back and shoulders felt. If I didn't know better I'd say that the pack actually makes me hike more efficiently.

Our climb started right at the sign-out hut, with a staircase-like pitch for 3 or 4 kms. Every third or fourth step was a high lunge up the equivalent of 2 or 3 regular stair-sized steps. The rock was slippery and wet, and as we switched back and forth I remarked at how similar it was to choosing your line when snowboarding or whitewater kayaking (I'd assume).

As we continued higher the vegetation continually changed. Our guide Praygod was generous with the names of plants and flowers, and constantly provided encouraging words in Swahili, "Pole, Pole sassa" for "slowly now", "sawa sawa hakuna matata" for "it's ok, no worries" and my favourite "Nguvu kama simba" for "have the power of a lion".

I reached into the left side pocket of my waist pack and found a sharpie, and asking Praygod to tell me all the sayings again I wrote them on my left hand and arm. For good measure I wrote the words for 1-10 next to the corresponding fingers as well, "moja, mbili, tatu, nne, tano, sita, saba, nabe, tisa, kumi". Thank you is "Asante", you're welcome is "karibu", and cheers is "hungea"... There, now we know Swahili!

We stopped for our packed lunch and the bird showed up, harassing us for our snacks. Everyone was hungry, and we didn't think Patrick, Alex or Praygod would be particularly pleased if we fed the giant avian mooch. Clearly it's accustomed to some charity from climbers.

As we marched on it began to trickle rain. Then the thunder struck, and the sky opened up and literally drained a lake onto us and the trail. Just before it really started hammering I ducked into a cave with Kevin to dig out my harcore MEC gaiters and put them on, in an attempt to keep the insides of my otherwise very waterproof Asics Lahar hikers dry. It proved to be good timing, and as we emerged from the cave the skies added hail to the rain, despite the fairly warm temperature. I hiked in shorts and knee high compression socks again today, and was never cold at all.

The climb became fairly technical as we made our way around some small passes with hand holds. I still haven't used the climbing poles, but I'm certain they'll be essential when the air is thinner (the air gets even thinner than this! WAY thinner, and I'm sleeping at 3850metres tonight...)

The last km of our trek was the first and only downhill section we've experienced since we departed from the Machame gate. It was a welcome change, and after over 6hours of hiking today, (one of those hours being extra soggy) our enthusiasm reappeared and we trotted into camp bright eyed and bushy tailed (author's licensed token exaggeration).

With a few hours before dinner I chatted with some Aussie hikers, explored a little, unpacked, ate popcorn, drank cocoa and had a little nap.

The fog cleared for the first time today and a full view of the town of Moshi ahead, and our destination; a now very clear picture of the stiff snowy peak, was visible.

When the fog cleared there appeared to be some cell reception as our guides and porters all had their nokias out chatting and texting. I've had less luck finding bars, but if you're reading this I got the email off somehow...

I'll wander around now with my left hand-clutching-phone extended into the air, while my right brushes my teeth, in hopes that the millions or billions or trillions of 1's and 0's that these words translate into in computerlanguage can zip down the 3000meters to a tower somewhere in Moshi or wherever. Wild stuff.

I doubt if there will be service as we ascend higher, so this may be my last real-time blog entry (thanks to my mommy for posting it). Rest assured that I'm feeling great, but I'm really respecting this mountain, the terrain, weather and most of all, the altitude and all that comes with it. I'll push hard as far as my sealevel legs and lungs will take me!

La la salama, and nguvu kama simba...


Tanzania, Day 1

Osman, Solomon and Sarah were the three friendly faces I saw when I emerged from the Terminal at Kilimanjaro International. There were only 11 people on my flight, and 8 of them carried onto Mombasa after dropping us off. We had to share one pen to full our customs card (one that I brought, since the customs officer told the lady in front of me in the line, "this one is mine" while holding his pen up next to his face, unwilling to share the implement necessary to carry out the simple task). My new friend Osman drove while Sarah and I chatted about my journey; a 26hr haul through Frankfurt, Khartoum, Addis Ababa, and finally, this small city in Northwest Tanzania. Solomon rode shotgun in the Safari Landcruiser, devoid of seatbelts. I arrived at Kilimanjaro's Honey Badger Lodge at 4:15am, showered, brushed my teeth, plugged in my phone and camera, set up my mosquito net and fell asleep.

Morning came quick, and at 7:40 I was up and ready for breakfast. We had coffee, Hibiscus flower Pomegranate juice, eggs, toast, sausage, beans tomato, banana and watermelon.

A short meeting with our guides and we packed our gear into the van, hopped aboard and took off for Kilimanjaro national park. We ate a lunch of cold chicken and bread, mango juice and banana at the park gates, literally fighting off monkeys and giant crows, who felt entitled to our meal. A monkey showed me his teeth and hissed in my face. What an attitude!

I chose to carry all of my gear today, about 20Kg of gear, in my new MEC Eos 70L backpack. I've got warm clothes, two parkas, rain gear, sleeping bag, snack food, 3L of water, a book and some random miscellany. Alex, our guide warned me that it would be hard, and encouraged me to take a small day pack and allow the porters to take my bag instead. I kindly requested the chance to carry my own gear, explained that I'm athletic and know my limits, enjoy the challenge and that I would be very honest on day two with regards to how much I can handle. Alex hesitantly allowed me to pack out my own stuff today. I get the feeling that I will be closely monitored in my pursuit.

The motto on Kilimanjaro is "Pole, Pole", which means "Slow Down" (it's also written on the school crossing signs on the roads).  Our hiking guides, Patrick and Praygod encouraged us to go as slowly as we can, it's how we cheer eachother on, it's become our team mantra. This will be my first athletic pursuit where my goal is to travel as slowly as possible. I know I need the acclimatisation time, I have little experience with altitude, and my goal is to summit - not summit tomorrow.

The first day's scenery was characterised by a deeply mossed rainforesty jungle. There were monkeys and birds of all kinds, an incredible waterfall, ferns and a beautifully diverse canopy. It rained most of the way, but the canopy allowed only a trickle through onto us, and the occasional massive blob of cold water onto the back of my neck. It was warm enough for a t-shirt so I didn't bother with the heavy raingear. I'll save it for the cold rain or wet snow, in the case that it graces us (that's not an invitation).

The MEC rain cover for my pack kept my stuff dry, but my t-shirt was soaked (50-50 sweat/rain). My feet stayed dry, thanks to my Gore-Tex Asics Gel-trail Lahar hiking shoes, and the Asics knee-high compression socks kept my otherwise bare legs feeling fresh. I'm going to carry my own pack again tomorrow. The Eos performed well, spreading the weight evenly between my hips, shoulders and back.

Our team is 7 strong; RTP supporters from a variety of walks of life... Jaime is our Right to Play person, Danielle works for a bank and is an avid scuba diver, Kevin works for Imax and is the only person to have attempted Kilimanjaro before, Joanne is an entrepreneur who does lots of philanthropic work in Haiti, James is the man with the plan behind this trip and our top fundraiser, finally Jason, lives in Texas and runs "Lug" a stylin' luggage company. After a steep 10km, a little over 4hours through the jungle we emerged into a more alpine like area, with no canopy, some more coniferous style trees, more shrubbery and a soft moss hanging from almost every tree. After only 600m we found our camp and signed in. Our guides had set up our tents, and had dinner on the go for us.

We climbed over 2000m in elevation today, and I certainly started to feel some light effects of the thinner air. Just a little head ache, and a constant urge to pee.

After we set up camp our guides had cocoa and popcorn ready for us, and Mange-mange (our chef, are you feeling sorry for us yet?) cooked an incredible dinner of zucchini soup, avocado salad, fried fish, boiled potatoes and a hearty vegetable sauce... In like an hour from scratch on one gas element, he's the camp champion. Mange's tee shirt reads "me say Mambo", and he has the biggest smile in Africa. He personally carried his cooking gear and food up this afternoon, leaving 30minutes after us with a cigarette dangling from that smile, and catching up to us before we made camp.

Tomorrow is a big day, with almost 10km of hiking all at over 3500metres of elevation. We rise at 6am and pack up the camp, eat breakfast and hit the trail before 8am. I can hear the rushing river from my tent. If there's time in the morning, I'd like to make it down there to wash up before we set off.

I should turn in for the night, my tent mate Kevin is already out cold, and it's not even 9pm.

La la salama (sleep well).


Kili Climb: Adventure 1/10

In less than 24hrs I'm embarking on a week long adventure to climb Africa's highest mountain, Kilimanjaro. I'm a proud member of a team that has raised over $120K in support of Right To Play, and we start our climb early tomorrow AM in Tanzania. I'm in Frankfurt right now.

(donate here:


I've never climbed a mountain before, and I'm unfamiliar with the effects of altitude. I love hiking and trail running, and I have a fabulous hunger for adventure. I love raising money and awareness for RTP, and I love being active in the out of doors. Needless to say, I am tremendously stoked.


In addition to everyone who donated on my pledge site, I want to send a massive thanks out to Mountain Equipment Co-Op for helping to oufit our team with sleeping bags, headlamps and various hiking essentials. In addition to that, the fine folks at MEC set me up with the finest hiking backpack, rain gear, travel snacks and accessories available. MEC supports healthy and active living, adventurous pursuits and charitable efforts of all kinds... Thanks for being such a wicked industry leader MEC! 


I'll do my very best to blog and tweet about our adventure, I want to share this experience with any and everyone who wants to be a part of it. It's the first time that I've come across the pond to do something athletic where my goal is to go as slow and leisurely as possible, but I'm certain that's the only way to conquer this goal.


Slow and Steady makes it to the top!


Check back soon!



what is next?

(photo credit: Frank Ryan School, Ottawa Ontario)

What is next? That's a question I've been getting asked, as well as asking myself, a lot lately. Nobody ever really knows for certain, though.  We all make plans, set goals, get inspired, aspire to be awesome, and look ahead. But it's rare that our eventual trail matches the journey's map we drew in our imagination before setting off. That's exciting to me, not daunting or scary.  I'm looking forward to the future, whatever it might hold. I will continue to set goals and aspire to be great at my job at hand. I've got a full tank of gas and an open mind, what isn't possible?

This weekend I got news that I was nominated for Male Canadian Athlete of the Year! I'm in esteemed company too, with the likes of Brent Hayden and Ryan Cochrane, our bronze medalled swimming men of 100m and 1500m persuassions, respectively. I am lucky to call them friends, and very fortunate to be able to call them my teammates. I'd say "may the best man win"... but then I'd have no chance against these gentlemen and I'm competitive so I'll just say best of luck, fellas!

I've got a couple trips planned this fall, very excited. One of which I would like to tell you about... would you like to hear about it? Ok then read on dear reader...

I'm going on a trip to Africa with Right to Play! This time it's a little different. It'll be my third visit to the great continent with RTP. Both previous trips were site visits, to Liberia and Mali. They were educational and amazing, inspiring and life-altering trips that I will never forget. But my trip this fall is about FUNDRAISING. With six other Right to Play devotees, I will attempt to summit the great mountain of Africa, Mt. Kilimanjaro, in Tanzania.

But, I need your help. I will only go if I can raise five thousand dollars. And I REALLY want to go... but I've got to raise the dough first.

Right to Play brings the power of sport and play into the communities of 835,000 kids every WEEK worldwide. These kids live in countries affected by war, poverty and disease, and like ALL kids are, they are entitled to the educational power of sport.  The curricula that RTP provide in the field are specifically catered to the needs of each community, and I've seen the difference it makes. It's astounding what an educational game, a supportive coach, a friendly competitive opportunity, a pat on the back, high-five and a smile can do for a child's future.

So, here's my fundraising page: ADAM's FUNDRAISING PAGE

100% of the money I raise will go directly to RTP. My goal is to climb a big mountain, but with your help, the result can be a lot greater than just a summit.

Please be generous!




:LONDON 2012:

I can’t believe it was already three weeks ago.  I looked forward to August 8th of 2012 for almost 4 years.  I thought about it every day and every night.  I dreamt about the day.  I worried about it.  I grew anxious for it, but I also feared it.  One day out of four years, that would cruelly, arrogantly and unrepentantly dictate how well I had done my job over the past 1461 days, or so.  And just like that, it’s behind me.  Behind us; since I was certainly not alone in my obsession over those 16 days.  Tens of thousands of athletes worldwide made those 16 summer-of-twenty-twelve days their obsession over the course of the quadrennial to which we have just bid farewell.  It’s gone now but the history books have recorded virtually every detail.  

After having a few weeks to decompress and digest, I’m finally prepared to write my own words of reflection on my experience at my third Olympic Games.

Before I wax, just in case I drone on to excess and a handful of readers don’t make it to the finish line, I want to stress what incredible support I was fortunate enough to receive throughout my preparation.  I want to thank The Burloak Canoe Club, Own the Podium, B2TEN, Canoe Kayak Canada, the Canadian Olympic Committee, Sport Canada and the Governments of Ontario and Canada.  I want to say a massive thank you to my sponsors and supporters; Roots Canada, Proctor and Gamble, Petrobakken, Mazda, Bell, Nelo, General Mills, Oakley, Asics, Spidertech, Waterstreet Financial, 7 Systems, The Running Company and Specialized.  I’d be a crazy jerk if I didn’t thank my Mom, my Dad, my brother Luke, my coach Scott Oldershaw and all of my family and friends, especially everyone from Burloak.  That creek of ours is overflowing with our sweat and tears. Every race is a group effort whether we’re in K1, C1 or War Canoe, at Western Ontario Divisional Championships or at the Olympic Games. 

As my great friend Mark Oldershaw alluded to in his recent, eloquent and perfect blog entry at his, it’s difficult to know where to begin.  Since I’ve already written about most of the stuff that happened over the course of the year, I’m going to start at the beginning of our pre-Olympic prep-camp in our familiar training base of Le-Temple-sur-Lot, France.

We had a small team this time round, however rife with talent and potential.  We needed to ensure that our prep-camp wasn’t lonely, that it wasn’t six solo efforts out on the river every day.  So we each brought a training partner.  Brady Reardon is my friend, a second generation Olympian (Beijing 2008) and my Burloak and Team Canada teammate for over a decade.  He missed out on the 2012 Olympic team, and selflessly devoted the better part of his summer to ensuring I’d have a fit sparring partner when I needed one.  If I could crack a chunk off of my silver medal, it would belong to Brady.  He came to France and soldiered through every session without the slightest glimmer of hesitation or negativity.  He helped to make my strengths stronger, and forced my faults to glare.  He’s managed to add some momentum to his training and fitness this past year, and I’m certain that he hasn’t yet realized his full potential, or shown us his full hand.  Thanks for pushing my limits, Brady.    

A few memories from our prep-camp stand out in my mind:

Gabriel Beauchesne-Sevigny, who joined Mark Oldershaw as training partner was so anxious to help in any way he could.  On one of our final training days in France, he joined me impromptu for a hard afternoon run.  About 15 minutes before I was leaving I asked if he’d join me, because I needed the push.  Without even thinking about it he agreed to come along, asking if it was a run or a jog.  I told him it would be a lung burner and he smiled back with some kind of masochistic anticipation.  Once we had been at it for about 5 minutes, I mentioned the hill at the end of the road we were running on.  After 10 minutes of gradually increasing the pace, we would hit a decent incline that would take 5 hard minutes to mount.  We saw it coming, and increased our cadence a bit.  As soon as we hit the incline, we dialled to the pace we figured we could handle for five minutes of maximal aerobic intensity.  Gab and I have some experience with hills.  Our uphill battles are pretty epic, if maybe only between the two of us.  Whether we’re running, biking or cross country skiing, we seem to enjoy burning our legs into charred, heavy logs of sinew and lactic acid.  This interval was no exception.  When we hit the top I got a sweaty French Canadian embrace, and Gab said to me in earnest; “When your legs are in shape, you paddle fast.  You’re so ready bro”.

Young Jason McCoombs and I had never really chatted before heading over to Temple.  He’s new on the team and I’m old on the team, he’s a canoer and I’m a kayaker, he does the sprints and I do the long stuff, he’s from Nova Scotia and I’m from Ontario.  So we didn’t not-chat because we’re jerks and we hate one another, we just needed something to chat about.  I was sitting with this terrible toy I brought along with me in the common room, half watching the Olympics on TV and half trying to figure out the elusive Rubik’s Cube.  Jason was right next to me, audibly gasping every time I screwed the thing up.  After it became obvious, I asked him if he wanted the thing.  He snatched it from my hands and it was 6 solid colours within 20-seconds.  Maybe I’ve been on the National Team since he was playing in the sandbox, but there’s clearly still a ton I can learn from him, on and off the water.  I’m looking forward to being his teammate for years to come.

I don’t have a little sister, and Emilie Fournel doesn’t have a big brother, maybe that’s one of the reasons we get along so well.  When Em is pissed off and needs someone to talk to, I don’t mind being that person, and when I’m sad and need a girl’s advice, Em has always been there.  The first time we met she presented me with the trophy dedicated to the memory of her Father, Olympian Jean Fournel (Montreal 1976).  We sat there on the podium in 1999, 17 and 12 years old, crying with her brother Hugues. One night in France we were walking back from dinner together and it was obvious we were mutually crummy moods.  It’s the halfway-through-the-training camp blues; where the excitement of your arrival doesn’t quite meet up in the middle with the excitement of going somewhere new.  We are not patient people.  Em and I vented about our anxieties and frustrations and fears and annoyances on that walk home.  By the time we were back we were laughing about how trivial our problems are and how super-dooper excited we were to be going to the Olympics together again. 

My men’s kayak teammates, Mark de Jonge, Ryan Cochrane and Hugues Fournel, were only rookies in the sense that this was their first Olympic Games.  Mark, Ryan and I have been racing against each other and for Canada together since we were teenagers, and I remember Hugues out-shooting me in K1 200m at Nationals in 2007 for his first ever Senior K1 medal.  The genuine enthusiasm and excitement these guys oozed, coupled with their professionalism and intensity helped to fuel my Olympic journey.  I looked for a chair next to one of these guys at every meal, hoping to steal by osmosis some rookie-zest.  I couldn’t be prouder to call these guys my current and future teammates.

The camp in France ended abruptly on a Wednesday morning, and we took a short flight to London where the Olympics were already fully underway.  We arrived late into the night, thankful for a 24-hour cafeteria.  We unpacked our Olympic gear like kids, showing it off in the hallway between our rooms, splicing together ridiculous outfits for the sake of sartorial hilarity.  Our little squad had developed a wicked tight little bond.   There was truly the sense that we were attacking this thing together.  Sharing our mutually distinct quivers of skill and experience among our team made us each more whole.  Each of us was more prepared for this challenge because we were facing it together.

I can barely remember the three days of training that preceded the regatta at Eton Dorney.  Mark Oldershaw and I quickly developed and perfected an early morning routine that made our 7am 30-minute bus ride bearable.  I would bring oatmeal and coffee with me and spill it on my lap and often his too.  He’d listen to his ipod and stare out the bus window at Windsor Castle dreaming that he was a knight on his way to tournament.  We’re familiar old pals, and we know what makes the other guy tick.  I know when he could use a slap on his back, and he always says just the right thing when I need it.  He knew that I desperately wanted to watch the women’s triathlon, and that the bus schedule dictated that we’d have to sit at our race course and watch on their television rather than get back to the village for a warm lunch and a shower, but he sat and we watched it together.  The night before our heats he wanted to go out for a walk in the woods because we’d sat around on the computer most of the afternoon, and I could tell he didn’t want to talk about canoeing or kayaking so we talked about other crap instead.  I’ve never seen Mark more perfectly prepared, more attune and content.  Since we did all the prep together, I felt I could share his confidence.  And so I did.

My heat and semi final were really good.  I won ‘em both, and got off the water feeling way more confident than when I went on.  I felt like the water was perfect for me.  I felt like I could go any speed. If someone showed up next to me in a 450 Horsepower bass boat, I’d give them a go.  That made Tuesday, our day off between semi and final, a little easier.  I paddled 10km.  I did a few little pick-ups.  I did a 1000, maybe two.  I did whatever I wanted to do.  Then I got off the water, safe in the knowledge that I was ready to go.    

When Mark and I arrived at the race course early on the 8th of August we changed into paddling clothes and rode the stationary bikes for 5 minutes to wake our legs up.  I got on the water and warmed up in the rain.  I paddled up the course, and then back down to the bottom for a little 3km loop.  I tried to feel the water on my paddle like it was a big extension of my hand.  I felt my legs drive my stroke even at a very light intensity.  I built up a little sweat, did one good sprint, and put my boat back on the rack.  I had about an hour until my race.

Bernie Irvin is so much more than a massage therapist to me. He handed me a small cup of coffee, and told me to sit on the massage table. As he shook out my legs and pushed his strong hands hard into my back he said “this machine is ready for work”.  He would know.  His hands have kept my body in working order since I was 19 years old.  His final words to me before I race are always perfect and well considered.  His first ones to me upon my return are the same every time; “Thank you, for your fine work on the water”.  No Bernie, thank you.

The sky broke and the sun came through the clouds, so I changed my mind about what to wear and which lenses to use in my Oakley sunglasses.  I had twenty five minutes, Mark had about forty. Bernie pinned my number on my back and Mark gave it a slap and said: “You’re faster than you’ve ever been, let’s go buddy”.  I just smiled back at him and said, “Let’s go do this bro”. 

Scott carried my boat with me down to the dock.  I rinsed my hands off in the cold water, stepped into my boat and looked to Scott for some wisdom.  He reminded me what the plan was.  He made me feel confident about it.  He told me in his own way that I’m really fast and that he believes in me.  That’s all I needed, just to know that the best coach in the world happens to thinks that I’m good enough.

I raced like I know how to race best.  My first 5 strokes gripped the water perfectly and I could relax within 20 seconds of the start.  I took it out quick, willing to lead and set a comfortably fast pace.  Eirik stayed close and had a really solid push through the final 250.  I did everything I could to hold him off, but he had more gas that morning.  We’ve had some really great battles over the years. It’s been a full ten years since he invited me to train in Oslo and sleep on his Ikea fold out for a month.  We went from that camp, in 2003, to Belgium for a World Cup.  I lead most of the way in that race in Hazewinkel and he had a stronger last 250, so he won and I was 2nd.  Old habits die hard I guess.  Congrats to Eirik on an awesome race in London.  Grattis on an amazing career Eirik, and tusen tak for a decade of solid races.   

I’m humbled to have shared the podium with Max Hoff, who over the last four years has done more to raise the K1 1000m bar than anyone else.  I’m proud of my long-time training partner, Anders Gustafsson for his 5th place finish.  I think it’s possible that he and I have logged more kilometers together than any two kayakers from different countries ever have.  I’m constantly inspired by the awesome fraternity of kayak-gentlemen that I’m fortunate enough to paddle with every summer.

Max and I were changing into our Olympic podium clothes when we realized that our C1 counterparts, Mark Oldershaw and Sebastien Brendel were racing shortly.  We ran out onto the dock to the behest of our volunteer handlers, half dressed and screaming at the top of our freshly-made-raw lungs at our compatriots.  We cheered as our buddies became Olympic medalists, and re-congratulated each other on a well fought battle by our two countries, on two fronts.

As Mark crossed the finish line in third place I raised my fists in victory for him.  I thought of Scott and wondered where he was watching from and imagined how happy he’d be.  I thought of how much his mother Connie-Lee and his sister Tessa might be crying.  I thought about how excited his big brother Adam would be, watching with all the athletes he coaches at our club.  I thought about how proud his Grampa Bert would be.  It was one for the Oldershaw clan, and I was totally overwhelmed with happiness and pride for all of them.  When I found Scott he gave me the kind of big hug he generally reserves only for Olympic medals, he said congrats and I congratulated him on Mark’s performance as well.  Once I found Mark I gave him a hug too, I buried my face into his shoulder and pulled his massive frame towards my own muttered something about pride and probably swore something and could feel how truly elated he was with his performance that morning.    

I finished dressing up for the medal ceremony, accepted a congratulations for Mark from Eirik, and then I got to step up onto the Olympic podium again, and for that opportunity I am truly grateful.  A few days later I got to watch another friend become an Olympic medallist as Mark de Jonge broke the sound barrier in his K1 to take a bronze in the K1 200m.  I can't think of a better feeling, than realizing our shared Olympic dream together as a team.  Our little squad did all right.  Overall I’d say that I’m really happy... and if that isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.