Steve K

Marathoning: Good, Bad and Ugly

Late April and early May are a wonderful time for fans of marathon running. As I do every year, I followed the latest news from Boston and London, home to the world’s most famous marathons. The 2026 races brought some notable headlines, including a new course record by John Korir in Boston and a remarkable but hardly unexpected result, as Sebastian Sawe convincingly broke the 2-hour barrier in London.

But as has happened for several years, I was left with mixed feelings, especially reading some of the online chatter after these two premier races. I decided to let things sit for a while, to see if I really wanted to put my concerns into words. Since this is my blog, I will go ahead and share my opinions on the state of the sport. I’m interested in any reader comments, especially if you have a different take on this subject.

Celebrating the good

I’ll start by reiterating my opinion that athletics (and specifically, running) is the greatest of all the sports. Competitive running has been at the core of my existence for most of my life, and I remain captivated by a sport with such rich history, diverse personalities, infinite challenge, and tangible benefits.

Because running confers countless benefits, I’m thrilled whenever I see people taking up the sport, no matter their circumstances. I encourage anyone who is curious about running to take it up, with an open mind. If they choose to take the step into competitive running, so much the better.

Apparently many people are doing just that—it was announced this week that entry applications for the 2027 London Marathon exceeded 1.3 million. This is more than twice the figure for the 2024 race. The odds of being selected in the lottery are slim—now only about 1 in 100. And it’s not just London that is seeing dramatic growth. I haven’t done a detailed analysis, but big city marathons and many other races are filling up fast. It’s a worldwide phenomenon.

Higher participation in running is a very good thing. Running races, whatever the distance, is a worthy objective, and it will pay dividends for individuals and society as a whole. Here’s a quote from the foreword of my book, Stroke of Luck, as written by Dr. Michael Hill—he’s one of my heroes at the Foothills Stroke Unit. His words should inspire us all:

“If Steve’s book can inspire others both before and after illness to pursue a more active life, then it will have achieved a key purpose. If it can also inspire builders and planners and engineers to build environments, indoor and outdoor, that promote that physical activity, then whole groups and neighbourhoods will benefit. If it can inspire political leaders to imagine a society where these environments are protected, encouraged and nourished, then an entire nation can thrive.”

– Michael D Hill, OC MD MSc FRCPC FRCS

This coming weekend will be Calgary’s time to celebrate running, with the 62nd Calgary Marathon. I’ll take up my usual spot on 14 Street SW, around the 15k mark, camera in hand, to watch the action. Look for pictures on my Instagram shortly after the race!

Acknowledging the not-so-good

Notice that I didn’t say “finishing a marathon” is a very good thing. On balance, it usually is, but it’s on this point that I will add some cautionary words. Committing to a marathon takes extraordinary dedication, and finishing one is always a major accomplishment, especially for those who do so as amateurs.

The real question is, why have runners come to see the marathon as a measure of their status? It’s complicated. Running has become big business. There’s a subculture around races that is undeniably elitist, characterized by high entry barriers (and fees to match), international travel and expensive equipment.

It even involves fashion and jewelry (think blingy finisher’s medals). Medals from this year’s Boston Marathon (pictured at left) are already selling on eBay for $500 US. While this may suggest greater recognition of the value of the sport, it also points to what I see as a major threat—commercialism.

Commercialism has led to myths and misconceptions, mainly among new runners. There’s the “real runner” myth. There are fractures in the running community, along the lines of which races one “has done”. In my view, this puts pressure on runners to prove they belong. What nonsense! If you run, you are a runner. It’s not for me to dictate which races anyone should run, let alone races with a peculiar distance of 42.195 kilometres.

Worse is what I call the “holy grail” myth. This is an unfortunate result of the higher demand for race entries. If you increase demand for something unique and in short supply—like a race bib for the Boston Marathon—its value will increase. Runners setting their sights on Route 135 between Hopkinton and Boylston Street feel pressure to perform, to spend, to always have the latest shoe and the best nutritional supplements. Race entries, coaching, physiotherapy, travel.

What happened to just enjoying running for its own sake? I think we’ve let our competitive nature—the human need to strive, to achieve, and then to recognize our achievements—overtake our common sense. Even small, local races now have large, shiny finisher’s medals.

I put some of the blame on the Abbott World Marathon Majors, a series that has turned marathoning into a medal treasure hunt. I concede that the Abbott Majors has had some beneficial impact, by increasing awareness and interest in marathon running. Fortunately, it’s also spawned trends like the boom in trail running and the minimalist Parkrun.

What are the Abbott World Marathon Majors?

Starting in the mid-2000s, five big city marathons (Boston, New York, Chicago, London and Berlin) got together, and declared that they had special status owing to their size and reputation amongst runners. The World Marathon Majors was born. It was a novel idea. At the time it was almost certainly true.

Some years later, Abbott entered the picture, recognizing that an annual marathon series was a novel marketing opportunity. Their goal was to foster elite competition, but it quickly morphed into an enticement to average runners.

Not surprisingly, the Abbott series has grown—Tokyo was added as the sixth major in 2012, then Sydney in 2024. More majors are coming, and Cape Town (eight) and Shanghai (nine) are next.

And the ugly

If your circumstances allow you to travel the world, to always own the latest carbon-plated supershoe, to enter and train and compete in marathons in some of the leading cities of the world—go right ahead. I hope people who are on this path are there for good and valid reasons.

But what if you can’t manage it? What if the wear and tear on your body from even one marathon is too much? What if wearing the same $500 superlight shoe that Sawe wore to set his record is actually hurting you? Here’s where the problems start.

Anyone who commits to a marathon—or any race—should do so because they intend to compete. That is easier said than done. If you are happier running your local Parkrun or 10k, with no consideration of your pace, wearing ordinary running shoes, then that’s what you should do. You’ll be better off in the long run.

The worst consequences of this pressure are becoming clear. There’s cheating aimed at securing valuable race entries—runners who will do anything to secure a Boston Qualifier, a BQ. Reports of bib swapping, course cutting and “bib mules” are now fairly common.

Then there’s the significant environmental toll from “marathon tourism”, as people fly around the world to compete in marquee races, when there are so many other events closer to home. Some would downplay the seriousness of these issues, but I don’t. How valuable is a finisher’s medal if it wasn’t earned fairly?

I want to mention the so-called running influencers, whose interest in Boston, New York or London seems to be in checking these races off a list. They use their online platform to bring their followers along with them. It’s the marathoning equivalent of snapping a selfie at the Eiffel Tower and the Grand Canyon.

What happens next? Look to Boston

I think explosive growth in demand is eroding some of the goodwill that exists around a sport fundamentally based on fitness. Even Boston, the premier marathon in the world, has become the focus of online angst. Why? For the very reason that it is so prestigious. Boston is the race with the most challenging entry criteria—a BQ is coveted more than any other credential in the marathoning world. For decades, Boston has simply been out of reach for many runners, even serious competitive runners. With limited exceptions for charity spots, if you weren’t fast enough, you couldn’t get in.

Interestingly, I see this feature putting Boston into a position of conflict with the other Abbott races. Clearly, a runner can’t complete their six-star commitment unless they can run Boston. So, isn’t it structurally unfair to those runners for the BAA to enforce Boston’s traditionally stringent entry standards?

I say NO, for one simple reason: Entry to Boston is a privilege, not a right.

I would hate to see Boston’s status as the world’s leading marathon diluted to satisfy essentially infinite demand for entries. In fact, I see the BAA facing an imminent dilemma—stick to their principles (limiting entries as much as necessary to put on a world-leading event) or find a way to accommodate the call on entries by non-qualifying Abbott runners. If it comes to this, there can be only one answer. I’m optimistic that the BAA will do the right thing, and I’m sure Boston would do just fine alongside and apart from the Abbott series. If that means some incomplete six-star medals, so be it.

The final word

The sport of marathoning is thriving, and I’m confident it will get past its current challenges. For those who enjoy running for its own sake, my advice will never change—find your own way in the sport. If that happens to include marathons, that’s awesome. I wish you great success. Just don’t let anyone dictate what races you must run, or that you must race at all. Remember, if you run, you are a runner, and you can be content with that.

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!

Magnificent Japan: Part 3

This post is my third from our recent Japan trip. I’ve dealt with the logistics of our travels in Part 1 and Part 2 of the series, and I have a lot to cover, so I’m going to jump right in.

Historic Kyoto

Kyoto is a must-see destination in Japan. It’s the capital city of Kyoto Prefecture in the Kansai region, and it has a population of 1.5 million. Interesting facts, but totally irrelevant, because Kyoto’s rich history makes it so much more than a compilation of facts and figures. Kyoto was the seat of imperial power in Japan for eleven centuries, from 794 to 1869.

Our time in Kyoto was short, and we made a false start just getting out of Kyoto Station—an impressive but rather intimidating building. We regrouped at a Mister Donut, where we shared a Pon de Ring, their signature mochi donut. (Their photo too.) I’ll admit this was a stop I’d wanted to make for nearly two weeks. It was worth the wait. Delicious!

With our courage restored, we successfully hailed a cab and headed for the Hotel Seiryu Kyoto Kiyomizu. The hotel, set in the preserved walls of a former school, had us speechless. It was spectacular. Trendy yet refined, with world-class amenities and impeccably attentive staff. The lounge offered postcard views of the nearby Yasaka Pagoda, a majestic five-storey landmark.

We could have spent our whole time in the hotel, but there was much exploring to do. As we had been doing for the whole trip, we followed Matthew’s advice. We ventured out into the Kiyomizu-dera area. When we visited the site of the eponymous temple, it was clear why it is such a popular attraction—a beautiful site, with great views of the city below.

Copyright for all photographs on the site is mine, unless noted.

On our first full day, we rode the historic Randen (Keifuku) Arashiyama tram to the end of the line and got a cab to the Otagi Nenbutsuji Shrine. The shrine is (almost) off the tourist track. It holds a hidden treasure, in the form of carved Buddhist statues (rakan). These whimsical statues tell a remarkable story of resilience, for a temple that has moved several times over its long history. The sculptures look ancient, but they actually aren’t. Several decades ago, the head priest initiated a program to share his skill as a sculptor with the community. Given that there are 1,200 statues around the shrine, his efforts were very successful!

From the temple, it was a easy walk back into the city. On the way, we visited the intimate Gio-ji Shrine, site of one of the finest moss gardens in Japan. Then we walked through the famed Arashiyama bamboo grove, where we encountered the full impact of Kyoto’s popularity with tourists.

Next day, we made the short trip to Uji, south of Kyoto. We decided to skip Nara, and its resident deer population, in favour of a longer visit to the Byodoin Temple. We found Phoenix Hall (the featured photo, above) and its adjacent museum fascinating, and the streets of Uji—renowned for matcha tea—well worth a bit of sightseeing.

On our return to Kyoto, the train conveniently stopped at Inari, steps from Fushimi Inari Taisha, one of Japan’s most popular sites. There, a long procession of torii gates guides visitors all the way to the top of Mount Inari. We didn’t make it that far, but we were suitably impressed by the spectacle of 10,000 vermillion gates. What dedication!

Here is a small album of photos from our time in Kyoto:

On our last morning, I snuck out early for a run along the Kamo River (Kamo-gawa). The light rain didn’t dampen my enthusiasm. The pathway was quiet—I saw only a few other runners and cyclists. My easy out-and-back jog was just what I needed. It reminded me of the Bow River pathway in Calgary, half a world away. Aside from the views, I really liked the pathway signs, with their absolutely precise distance measurements. It was a nice final memory of a wonderful city.

And finally, it’s dynamic Tokyo!

For the final time, we boarded a Shinkansen, this time bound for Tokyo Station. If you do like numbers, Tokyo’s are impressive. The Greater Tokyo area is the largest metropolitan region in the world, with a population of 37 to 41 million people. To put that in perspective, it’s the population of Canada—in one city!

Four days may not be enough.

I’ve left myself a big task—to summarize our visit to the capital city of Japan in just a few paragraphs. I can start with an admission that might help—I’m a subway junkie. Anytime we visit a city that has one, I like to study the “Beck Map”, a highly schematic map based on an iconic design created by Henry Beck in 1933 for the London Underground. Even in this simplified format, the Tokyo Metro system is mind-boggling…

Our hotel in Tokyo was another treasure. After much deliberation, Deborah chose The Okura Tokyo in the Toranomon area. It was a great choice, as the Okura combines mid-century tradition with modern sophistication. We immediately felt at home—a personal welcome from the hotel manager does have that effect! The view to the east from our 34th floor window wasn’t bad either. It spanned the distant Tokyo Skytree to the (much closer) Tokyo Tower.

Orienting ourselves, we figured out there were three subway stations near the hotel, giving us flexibility to get anywhere we wanted to go. We ventured out, with our trusty IC cards in hand. Well aware it was a touristy area, we headed for Shibuya—an easy ride on the Ginza Line, Station G07 to G01—and its chaotic Scramble crossing. We saw it, we crossed it, we snapped a couple of pictures. It was interesting, but we soon moved on, feeling this was a so-so introduction to Tokyo.

We headed north to get away from the crowds, and found pleasant Yoyogi Park, where we saw a few early cherry blossoms. Then we walked through the grounds of Meiji Jingu, an important Shinto shrine. The serene forest setting is actually manmade—100,000 trees were planted in 1920 to commemorate Emperor Meiji and Empress Shoken.

We did some shopping, including a visit to a couple of Tokyo’s famous camera shops in Shinjuku (for me) and a walk through Minato-ku and the high-end shops of Ginza (for Deborah). Closer to our hotel, we found Shiba Park at the base of the Tokyo Tower. That connected us to the Roppongi Hills area and the Azabudai Hills development, a chic cultural and dining hub. Each time out, we expanded our knowledge of the Metro system, with only a couple of missteps along the way…

There was history and art in and around the hotel. The original lobby was designed by Yoshiro Taniguchi for the 1962 opening. Then, in 2014, when a rebuilding project was undertaken, it was Yoshiro’s son Yoshio who preserved the look and feel of the original lobby. The Okura Museum of Art—the oldest existing private museum in Japan—was across the plaza. Having seen a tea ceremony in Kinosaki, which seemed a long time ago but was only a week, we enjoyed the exhibit of ancient tea utensils. And we checked out a Jaume Plensa sculpture that we could see from our hotel window—it was similar to one in Montreal that I wrote about here.

Food? Oh yes! We took full advantage of the amazing breakfast buffet at the hotel, to get us through most of the day. For dinner, we found restaurants with great tonkatsu curry and soba noodles. And there were always onigiri for a snack. One evening, we did a convenience store (konbini) dinner, to see what all the fuss was about over egg salad sandwiches and chicken cutlets. Life changing? No, but they’re not bad.

Here’s an album of pictures from Tokyo…

My final run in Japan was a lap around the Imperial Palace. Not surprisingly, it is a popular location in central Tokyo. The grounds are beautiful, with sculptural trees and a huge moat. I noticed a nice touch on the path—the distance markers feature flowers for each prefecture in Japan. I ran and Deb walked, which meant we both earned an ice cream.

The Final Word

Although we’d allowed more time in Kyoto and Tokyo than in other locations, we left both cities feeling there was too much unseen and undone. We were captivated by Kyoto. While it took us a little time to warm up to Tokyo, we left knowing we needed to come back. In the end, we think we were simply overwhelmed, and maybe a bit tired after three weeks. The key takeaway is that we will return to this wonderful country. We’re already planning our next trip, and Matthew has given us a list of Tokyo neighbourhoods we must visit! Who knows, there may even need to be another blog piece, to wrap up some loose ends from this visit.

Sayonara! And until next time, be well and BE FAST!

Mysterious Japan: Part 2

This edition of my trip report focuses on our travels to two smaller destinations, both on the western side of Honshu, the main island of Japan. As mentioned in Part 1, our son Matthew was a great resource for the logistics and details of our trip, particularly this part of it. I hope you’ll enjoy this summary, and of course, do check back in soon for the final installment!

Outline of the Week

First, a quick overview of our travels for this part of our vacation. Picking up the story at Hiroshima Station, we boarded a Shinkansen for Okayama, the capital city of Okayama Prefecture. From there, we caught a city bus to the port of Uno, and then a passenger ferry to the island of Naoshima.

A couple of days later, we reversed course for Okayama, this time on a local train. Then we transferred to a bullet train bound for Osaka, a short distance to the east. We overnighted near Shin-Osaka Station. The next day we took a regional train to Kinosaki-onsen, a small town in Hyogo Prefecture on the northern Sea of Japan coast.

It’s worth saying at this point, again, how impressed we were by the transportation systems in Japan. We were worried about all these connections, but as it turned out, we had no trouble getting to any of our destinations. Every transfer was flawless, and every component of the system was on time, clean and efficient.

The Art Island of Naoshima

Naoshima is a small island in Japan’s Seto Inland Sea. The whole island is only about 14 square kilometres. The terrain is quite hilly. Ferries make the short hop from Uno to the main port (Miyanoura) in about 10-15 minutes. The economy in the north of the island has long relied on industry, mainly copper smelting and aquaculture.

You may ask, what is the attraction to Naoshima? Well, over the last several decades, the south end of the island has become a centre for art and architecture. Benesse House is an organization that works to incorporate art into the local landscape. And when I say into, I mean “into”. The hotel and art museum, which opened in 1992, were designed by renowned Japanese architect Tadao Ando to fit seamlessly into the landscape. One of the buildings, the Chichu Art Museum, is completely underground. There are installations across the island, including multiple sites around the Benesse complex and several conceptual “art houses”.

Copyright for all photographs on the site is mine, unless noted.

We thoroughly enjoyed our stay in Benesse House Park. The view out over the grounds and the sea was beautiful. Even in a steady rain, the setting was impressive—and in a way, the rain enhanced the appeal of the stark concrete buildings. The artwork at the site includes sculpture and photography. We made the short walk to the Museum, and stopped at a couple of the open-air installations along the way. And we had some great meals in the hotel restaurant. The striking feature image for this post was taken just as the sky cleared after dinner on our second day.

The most famous piece on the site, Pumpkin, is a large sculpture by Yayoi Kusama. Pumpkin sits on its own pier a short distance from the hotel. It is definitely the most popular piece too, judging by the crowds that were snapping selfies with it. (I finally managed to get a nice photo of it when I went out for an early morning jog.) The piece was created for a 1994 exhibition of open air works around the museum. Adding to its appeal, the sculpture was blown out to sea (and rescued) in 2022.

Kusama, who is now 97 years old, has been an avantgarde artist for decades. Her pieces often include polka dots, which she attributes to hallucinations she had as a child. Other works of hers are found in Naoshima. We particularly liked her Narcissus Garden, a free form sculpture of stainless steel balls, installed in an open-air pavilion called the Valley Gallery.

Another large and popular Kusama pumpkin—this one red—is installed at the Miyanoura port. It made for a colourful picture when the ferry was moored close by. We enjoyed a short stroll around the town, which features a public bath that doubles as an art installation. Maybe on our next visit…

The Hot Springs of Kinosaki-onsen

Our next major stop in Japan was similar to Naoshima in one respect—it was rather remote. However, its attractions were quite different. We headed to Kinosaki-onsen, on the northern coast of the Kansai region. Onsen are traditional Japanese hot springs, treasured for their mineral-rich waters. The town of Kinosaki is particularly famous, as it has seven public baths where visitors can experience the relaxing geothermal waters in a serene setting.

Our JR West regional train got us to Kinosaki at less than Shinkansen speed, but was just as efficient. While we had brushed up on the etiquette for visiting onsen, we really weren’t sure what to expect. We arrived at our ryokan, the comfortable Morizuya Inn on the town’s picturesque main street. Hatchi, the owner/manager, immediately made us feel welcome, even insisting on some photos on a scenic bridge over the Otoni River.

First things first, we put on our yukata (dressing gowns) and enjoyed a traditional multi-course dinner in the dining room. Crab is the local specialty, it was in season, and it was definitely a highlight of our meal.

Many visitors make it a goal to see all the traditional onsens in the town. They can even get a stamp from each one as a souvenir. We set our sights a little lower, having never been to a public bath in Japan. In the end, we visited two of them, and we enjoyed the experience. Very relaxing! We began to appreciate why this is such an important part of Japanese culture.

Later, we took part in another cultural experience—the tea ceremony, led by Hatchi’s mother. She is a lovely woman, and the ceremony was very special.

Here are a few pictures from our laid-back time in this unique place. The picture of two ladies looking at a store window reminded me of one of my favourite Fred Herzog photos. On our last morning in town, I had the streets to myself for an early morning jog, and I was treated to a magical sunrise. There was some overnight snow on the cars, but coming from Alberta that didn’t seem photo-worthy!

More Impressions

The middle part of our vacation brought many more positive impressions. We had been to opposite sides of the main island, and seen two very different places—the first celebrated man’s impact on the natural environment, while the other let us experience nature’s impact on us. The food was all extraordinary, especially the traditional Japanese meals. And the people were wonderful—so welcoming and respectful.

Up next were the major cities, Kyoto and Tokyo. Stay tuned for that.

Until then, be well and BE FAST!

Magical Japan: Part 1

Japan is definitely on a roll. The trend in its tourism statistics is astounding—international visitors increased 11 percent per year from 2010 to 2024. Many reasons are cited for Japan’s popularity: it has a rich cultural heritage, it’s safe, it has great food, and unmatched transportation systems.

Our son Matthew is an experienced traveller to Japan, and he was instrumental in our decision to plan a visit. In consideration of the tourism figures, we settled on the last few weeks of winter as a good time to travel there. I’ll be posting several articles to convey our full experience, so I hope you’ll stop by and read them all!

Outline of the Trip

Tokyo’s Narita Airport would be our entry point into Japan, but we decided to immediately head away from the capital. Our logic was simple: we would arrive shortly before the Tokyo Marathon, and we wanted to avoid those crowds. Instead, we would head to the western edge of Japan and work our way back to Tokyo at the end of our vacation. A bonus for Deborah was the chance to fly on Peach, one of Japan’s domestic carriers. We overnighted near the airport and caught an early flight the next morning, which was terrific. Our destination? Fukuoka!

Fukuoka: Gateway to Asia

Fukuoka is the largest city in the Kyushu region and the capital city of Fukuoka Prefecture, south and west of the main island of Honshu. Its population is 1.5 million. Demographically, Fukuoka is a young city, and we found it to have an energetic vibe.

We stayed at the striking Hotel Il Palazzo, a recently renovated boutique hotel located steps from the Naka River. The hotel was designed by Italian architect Aldo Rossi, an ambitious project that combined Eastern and Western influences. Rossi was inspired by the palazzos of Venice and the traditional temple of Kyoto.

Copyright for all photographs on the site is mine, unless noted.

We made the most of our time in the central Hakata district: we walked through the Kawabata pedestrian arcade to avoid the rain, strolled the grounds of the Kushida Shrine, and checked out the famous (and crowded) Nakasu Yatai Street after dark. Yatai are pop-up food stalls that Fukuoka is known for. In fact, Fukuoka has a reputation as a “foodie” city. It is perhaps best known for tonkatsu ramen, thin noodles in rich pork bone broth, which is one of my favourite noodle dishes. Of course, we enjoyed a fine bowl of this delicious soup while in the city.

Speaking of food, Deborah managed to secure us a reservation to Zaisho, one of Fukuoka’s best omakase restaurants. Our hotel was an easy walk from the restaurant. The young chef wowed us with six seasonal delicacies and twelve (!) nigiri (bite-sized sushi comprised of fresh fish served over rice). Delicious!

Given our short time in Fukuoka, we took advantage of the efficient subway system (and the versatile IC cards that we would go on to use extensively during our trip) to visit Ohori Park, a large urban park with a scenic central pond.

I had a secondary motive to visit the park—it is the start and finish location for the historic Fukuoka International Marathon. Now, it would take me a whole article to properly explain the significance of this storied race. I have written about it before, in my tribute to Jerome Drayton.

To be truthful, Fukuoka is now relegated from the upper tier of marathon racing. No matter. I was there, and I was determined to do a 4.22 km run—one-tenth of a marathon— by running two laps of the park’s perimeter path, in what I call the Fukuoka Commemorative Run. I changed at the convenient UNPLAN Hostel, and did my run on a beautiful morning.

As I revelled in the company of speedy young athletes, Deb walked and enjoyed the views. She even had an owl sighting, courtesy of an elderly birdwatcher. We enjoyed our first (but far from last) onigiri, delicious and ubiquitous stuffed rice snacks wrapped in seaweed. Then we strolled through the ruins of Fukuoka Castle, where we spotted the first seasonal plum blossoms. Not cherry blossoms—those come later! Already the crowds were growing in anticipation of this welcome sign of spring in Japan.

As we headed to Fukuoka Station for our first ride on the Shinkansen—Japan’s amazing bullet trains—it was already clear that our time in Japan was going to be memorable. Our next destination? Hiroshima!

Hiroshima: City of Peace

Naturally, our arrival at Hiroshima Station was right on time. Hiroshima has a population of 1.2 million, and our hotel (the CANDEO Hatchibori) was ideally located to explore the city.

Hiroshima will always be known as the target of the first nuclear bombing, on August 6, 1945. I’ve been aware of this sad event my whole life, because August 6 happens to be my birthday. We signed up for a two-hour walking tour with Viator. Our guide Moe was very knowledgeable about the city’s history and the bombing. Her grandparents were survivors. She took our small group through Peace Memorial Park, and later in the day Deb and I visited the museum—a must see destination in Hiroshima. The emotional power of the exhibits was overwhelming.

There is much more to Hiroshima than its wartime history. After visiting the museum, we walked through Hiroshima Central Park to the grounds of Hiroshima Castle. We heard the roars of a football match at the nearby Edion Peace Wing Stadium, a bold new facility. In case you’re wondering, Hiroshima’s professional sports teams are the Sanfrecce Hiroshima (men’s and women’s football), the Toyo Carp (baseball)—cool name!—and the Dragonflies (basketball).

A popular day trip from Hiroshima is to the island of Miyajima. We navigated the city’s tram, train and ferry systems to reach the island, and enjoyed some sightseeing in and around the expansive Itsukushima Shrine. The tide was going out, exposing the “floating” Torii Gate for which the shrine is famous. It’s the featured picture at the top of this post. We were captivated by local rituals, like goshuin, the tradition of having a book signed at shrines and temples. Fans of the hobby were lined up to collect unique, hand-drawn calligraphy and stamps as a record of their visit. Rounding out a perfect Sunday afternoon outing was a delicious coffee ice cream.

While in Hiroshima, we (well, maybe I) wanted to sample okonomiyaki—a savoury pancake made with layers of batter, cabbage, meat, and noodles. Okonomiyaki Mitchan Sohonten is a local restaurant, well known for its version of the dish, and it was two blocks from our hotel. We joined the locals in busy cafeteria style seating and ordered a single plate, which was large enough for both of us to enjoy, with a cold Asahi of course!

First Impressions

After only a few days, Japan was weaving a spell over us. It was all so new, and yet welcoming. The people were kind and respectful. The food was beautiful and delicious. We couldn’t wait for our next stop. As it happened, the Nozomi N700 Series train service whisked us there in excess of 250 kilometres per hour.

Until next time, “genkide, soshite hayaku”… I think that’s close to “be well, and BE FAST!”

Thoughts on Decline

I think about my own mortality a lot. Perhaps too much. Sometimes a trivial observation will send my mind down that track—like when I’m walking down a busy street, and I realize that I’m older than almost all the people I see.

Given my personal health story, thoughts of my humanness are perhaps more present than they were when I was young and, as the saying goes, invincible. I’ve experienced a significant decline, one that goes beyond “aging”, although a growing count of orbits around the sun means I’m experiencing that type of decline as well. Apparently, aging occurs in both a stepwise and linear fashion, and the decades of our 40s and 60s are where the biggest steps occur. I think I can attest. And of course, I know how the story will end.

But then, sometimes, the most amazing things happen, things that make me celebrate my situation, my very obvious mortality. Things like today’s run¹, in which I reluctantly took on Calgary’s arctic conditions, and returned home somehow feeling 20 years younger. It was a wonderful outing, easily my best run in a month, and one that made me feel truly alive. You may know the feeling— it’s like history being made, even if the run itself counted for nothing.

My recent reading list includes several books that deal with decline and death, and that may explain my focus on the subject. While this piece doesn’t offer any great insights, I generally find it easiest to deal with things by writing. So here goes, with a decidedly unfestive, but hopefully not depressing, piece.

Being Mortal, by Atul Gawande

Being Mortal, by surgeon and author Atul Gawande, was suggested to me by a friend. We were both dealing with parents in their declining years—in fact, my mother had died just a few weeks before. I sat on his recommendation for a while, perhaps because I was afraid to open the book. I’m glad I eventually did.

Gawande describes how modern medical intervention has changed the profile of physical decline, essentially blurring the transition from life to death. While sobering, the book makes the point that our societal approach to medicine is often not suited to the needs of people nearing the end of life.

Gawande argues that the role of the medical establishment should not be to ensure survival at all costs. He would rather see the system as enabling well-being, however a person (the patient) might define it. He presents numerous examples of human decline, not all of which are age-related, to support his contention that the best action at any time may be palliative, rather than interventional.

I finished Being Mortal with a feeling of anxiety. I suppose the book confirmed what I already knew, that the circumstances of my own demise are likely to be unknown to me. I looked back over the ever-growing list of people I’ve known who have died. The full gamut of difficult human experience is there for my contemplation.

My takeaways? I should ensure that those around me are aware of my wishes at the end of my life, and to the extent possible, stay involved in the process.

Running with the Pack, by Mark Rowlands

Running with the Pack, by philosopher and University of Miami professor Mark Rowlands, is a book I discovered during the formative stages of my research for Stroke of Luck. The challenge I faced at the time was to understand my long personal connection with running at a deeper level. The evidence clearly demonstrated a connection, but I was grappling with a version of that most fundamental philosophical question: “What is the meaning of life?”

Rowlands’ unique book helped me organize my thoughts. I appreciated his ability to parse philosophical discourse into manageable pieces. Better still was his framing of mini-lectures around his own running. (And his dogs, which play a major role in his life.) While the answers remain as elusive as ever, I certainly relate to Rowlands’ thought process.

I wanted to see what Rowlands had to say about decline. In fact, he says a lot. He observes that philosophers have tended to be less interested in decline, even though for human beings it is an inevitable aspect of living. Using the example of running injuries, Rowlands explains why there really is no escaping our decline, given our evolution as mammals and our physiology.

So, what are we to do? Rowlands would have us look to young children and animals, especially dogs. These beings instinctively know what is important in life—the things that bring joy, the things that are worth doing for their own sake. Things like, you guessed it, running. The highlight of Rowlands’ book is his explanation of the “intrinsic value” of running; the idea that when we are immersed in a run, we experience it for its own sake. We find joy in an activity that has no instrumental value.

This line of thinking was hugely beneficial to my own assessment of running and its importance to me. As Rowlands says, “youth exists whenever action has become play”. That may explain why today’s run made me feel 20 years younger—it was pure joy to be outside and in control. In a small way, it was a statement of defiance against my own decline.

The Death of Ivan Ilyich, by Leo Tolstoy

The Death of Ivan Ilyich is a short work by Leo Tolstoy, written in 1886. It tells the story of the demise of a prominent and successful bureaucrat from an unspecified affliction, or possibly the result of a seemingly insignificant fall while doing a home renovation project. (Aside: I must remember to point out to Deb how dangerous these activities can be!)

Whatever the cause, Ivan’s death is slow and painful, both physically and emotionally. His illness highlights many themes that remain relevant today. First is the superficial nature of Ivan’s relationships with his family and friends. Those close to him are too absorbed in their own affairs to understand what he is going through, much less feel any empathy for him. Quite the opposite. His suffering proves to be an inconvenience to his socially conscious wife and an opportunity for his rivals at work.

Second, it’s a story about the role of medicine. The medical care offered to Ivan is inept and, worse, insensitive. As readers, it’s tempting to look at Ivan’s situation with full awareness of the miracles that modern medicine could have offered him. However, after having read Being Mortal, I realized that Ivan faced the same issues we face today. Are today’s invasive interventions any more humanistic than those of Ivan’s callous doctor? Medicine shouldn’t be about the miracles that science can offer, but whether and when the tools at hand should be used at all.

What does it all mean?

I’ve highlighted three books that allowed me to think about decline from new and different perspectives. The books could not be more different. This is a subject where it is worthwhile considering as many viewpoints as possible. For that reason alone, I recommend all three books. Read together, they complement each other well.

It seems the best course of action is to be prepared for my own decline by knowing how I define living. That will inform any difficult conversations with family and friends, as we face decisions about the type and extent of medical intervention I am ultimately willing to endure. Until then, I should seek joy as I’ve always done—by going for a run!

I hope 2026 is good for you and yours. Remember, BE FAST!

I wrote this piece in mid-December, during a long cold snap. I decided to sit on it for a while, realizing that it would have been a downer during the festive season. Now, here we are, well into the new year and in the middle of another cold snap, so I decided it was time to hit the “publish” button. SK ↩︎

Exploring North York

We’ve been spending time in North York lately, due to a family matter. For a Hamilton boy like me, the boroughs of Toronto have always been a mystery. Over the years, I have become familiar with a small area of North York, near the intersection of Keele Street and Lawrence Avenue. Our most recent visit yielded some memorable experiences, resulting in this piece.

A brief history of North York

What we now know as North York was the northern part of York Township—the city of Toronto (originally York) formed the southern part. In 1922, the mainly rural population voted to separate from Toronto. Apparently, there was resentment about the lack of services provided by the city in relation to the taxes being paid.

North York has had a long connection to Canada’s aviation industry. This made sense because Downsview was the highest point of land between the Don and Humber Rivers. The Downsview Airport opened as a general airfield in 1929. Early maps (like this one from The Downsview Advocate) show several airfields and aviation facilities.

Downsview was located next to a de Havilland Canada aircraft manufacturing plant, which used the airfield as a test site. It became a Royal Canadian Air Force station in the Second World War. In 1947, the Department of National Defence bought surrounding land to expand the airfield into a RCAF base. Then, in 1953, the RCAF established its storage and repair facilities for Eastern Canada at Downsview. The runways were lengthened to accommodate all types and sizes of aircraft.

Urban development in North York was minimal until after the war. A housing boom in the 1950s and 1960s brought residents into close contact with activities at Downsview. North York grew rapidly—it was incorporated as a borough in 1967, then as a city in 1979, and was amalgamated into Toronto in 1998.

Urban growth was the beginning of the end for the airport. When the Government of Canada announced the closure of Canadian Forces Base Toronto in 1995, the site transitioned into two distinct parcels: Downsview Park and Downsview Lands. Both parcels are overseen by the Canada Lands Company. Downsview Park is a large green space—more on that below.

The airport sits on the Downsview Lands. It was closed in March 2024. Now, a major urban redevelopment project, “YZD”, is underway for the site. Valued at $22 billion, the project is unique in that it will repurpose facilities at the airfield (the hangars and the mile-long runway) into a new community for 55,000 residents. This project plan (the id8 Framework Plan) shows the park and the future residential areas.

Downsview parkrun, solo edition

Our location was just south of the busy Highway 401. Downsview Park is about the same distance from the highway on the north side. That meant we were fairly close to the Downsview parkrun.

Like all parkruns, Downsview is a stress-free running event, held every Saturday morning. Well, almost every Saturday morning.

I pitched the idea of arranging our daily outing around the parkrun, and Deb was up for it. We figured we could take an Uber to the start, see the park, and then walk back to the house. Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans. Toronto was in the grip of a cold snap so severe that the organizers cancelled the run, out of concern for the volunteers.

Our enthusiasm was only slightly dented by this news, because we had set our minds on seeing the park. So we went ahead with our plan. I did an easy jog, two laps of the park on the well-marked trail, while Deb walked. It was a beautiful, sunny morning. The park is a treasure. It was a good thing we had bundled up, because it was cold. A good excuse to keep moving.

I took a few pictures with my iPhone 14, which is never quite as convenient as my Ricoh GR III—especially since I had to take my gloves off each time!

A highlight of my run was a meeting with a group of birdwatchers. I had to admire the dedication of these hardy folks. It’s one thing to be running at -20 Celsius and quite another to be standing knee-deep in snow. I was curious what they were looking at, so I stopped and said hello. They pointed out a long-eared owl, perched in a tree about 50 feet away. Once more, I took my gloves off and tried to snap a picture. It was not a resounding success. The shot on the left is mine. The one on the right, from the Audubon Society, shows what the bird actually looks like.

Record snowfalls—a personal history

The cold and wind that led to the cancellation of the parkrun were just a taste of what was to come. On Sunday, Toronto experienced the largest single-day snowfall in its history. The official figure was 46 cm of snow. We had work to do in the house, so I was content to stay inside while the storm raged. Deb was more adventurous, and she gamely did some shovelling around the house.

The talk about record snowfalls reminded me that, by coincidence, I had been in Toronto many years earlier for another historic winter event. There was some notoriety around that day in January 1999 when Toronto’s mayor, Mel Lastman, called in the military to help dig out the city. He was ridiculed because, you know, this is Canada. We can deal with snow. (Photo: The Weather Network)

My connection to the 1999 snowfall was professional in nature. I was in town for a business meeting, and I was staying at the luxurious Royal York Hotel. The city shut down, and I was trapped. Oh, the hardship! Mind you, the hotel’s kitchen and bars remained fully operational, so it wasn’t all bad. In fact, since the streets were abandoned, I got to my meeting 30 minutes early.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who was curious about how these two events (1999 and 2026) compare. Check out this chart from a CBC article. It turns out 1999 was worse than 2026, only because of the accumulation of snow that occurred in the days leading up to the big event. In retrospect, maybe we can cut Mayor Mel some slack after all!

The days before and after Toronto’s record snowfall provided some good photo opportunities. It was a monochrome world as the city dug itself out. Here’s a sample. Copyright for all photos is mine.

Wrapping up

All told, it was an interesting week in Toronto (or North York, if you prefer). We experienced weather more reminiscent of Alberta than Ontario. I tried to add the Downsview parkrun to my resume, and even though that didn’t happen, Deb and I had an enjoyable outing. And then we weathered the storm. I expect to be back there in the spring—-hopefully it will be worthy of another post.

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!