Steve K

In Praise of Japanese SLR Cameras

This is a totally useless piece.

Useless, that is, if you carry a camera around with you at all times, one that is instantly available in your cell phone. Or if the link between your camera and your social media accounts is as short and quick as pressing a button.

Some of us have a broader definition of a camera, or think of photographs for something more than their transient value.

My collection from the heyday of Japanese single-lens reflex (SLR) film cameras is a small treasure. It’s unbelievable these cameras work so well after 40 or 50 years. They are flawless machines. Sure, there are foam seals I should replace. And some of the batteries are getting hard to find. But overall, they’re doing better than I am after all that time!

Canon AT-1

The Canon AT-1 invokes many fond memories for me. I bought mine in 1978 with savings from my first job. My aunt Connie worked at the Sears store in the Centre Mall in Hamilton, and she made the purchase so I could benefit from her employee discount. I remember paying $265. It’s odd to think that Sears used to have a photography department… but I digress.

When I bought the AT-1, I didn’t know anything about cameras or photography. I learned the basics of shooting film—metering exposure AND focusing in a completely manual camera. (The AT-1 was never as popular as the automatic variant, the AE-1, but I was on a budget.) Once you’re used to it, manual metering is simple. It’s a bit like target practice: move the exposure needle by changing aperture and/or shutter speed until it lines up with another needle indicating the measured light. Like learning to drive a car with a manual transmission, this is a good skill to have!

Manual focusing brought its own challenges, especially if you were keen on shooting sports, as I was. Sure, I missed plenty of shots, but I also felt the thrill of getting many more.

The AT-1 feels solid, and its viewfinder is big and bright. Canon FD lenses mount to the camera with a secure metal ring. Because it was my first camera, I’m biased towards its controls, which are accessible and well laid out. I will admit, it now feels slightly bulky compared to the other cameras in this review.

For years after I bought the camera, I pored through photography books and magazines. When I could afford it, I added lenses to the f1.8/50mm that came standard with the camera. For a short time, when we lived in Edmonton, I even set up a darkroom in my basement. I give this humble camera a lot of credit for instilling in me a lifelong interest in photography.

Olympus OM-2

I ended up with a parallel camera kit to my own after my father-in-law Kurt’s passing. Where I was invested in Canon, he was an Olympus guy. His outfit was built around the Olympus OM-2, a highly regarded automatic camera manufactured between 1975 and 1988. I also inherited several lenses.

Kurt and I shared our experiences; mine with Canon and his with Olympus. He used the OM-2 a lot. He was a stickler for getting composition and lighting just so. Naturally, I think of him every time I pick up the camera.

The first and most impressive feature about the OM-2 is its small size. It’s light but doesn’t feel cheap. The OM cameras were designed by Yoshihisa Maitani, something of a legend in photographic circles. The OM-2 is noticeably smaller than the AT-1. I can see there were some compromises to make the camera and lenses so compact. For example, the aperture has only full steps rather than half steps. While I like the way the camera feels in my hands, I do find the controls slightly cramped.

From my experience, the OM-2 is close to perfect. It has a bright viewfinder and some novel features. It can be operated in Aperture Priority mode or manual mode. Did I mention I like shooting in manual mode? (I admit it’s great to have the option of setting the aperture and letting the camera do the hard work.)

My only quibble with the OM-2 layout is that the shutter speed dial is next to the lens barrel, rather than on top of the body. I find that illogical. Or maybe it’s just different than the setup on the AT-1 (or most other SLRs).

The OM-2 is very accurate when metering a shot. I mainly shoot B&W film with it, and I am always impressed by how well the lenses render urban scenes and street shots.

The Olympus name has mostly disappeared—it was absorbed into the “OM System” brand five years ago. Let’s call it a casualty of the cellphone camera trend. Even so, the OM-2 has earned a special place in my collection. I hope it keeps working as long as I do.

Minolta X-700

The Minolta X-700 is another small miracle. This particular one belongs to Deb. She got it from her parents as a Christmas gift. She used it for a few years, then it was relegated to a closet. Dan dusted it off for a school photography course when we lived in England. I remember buying him a 28mm lens to go with the original 50mm lens.

The X-700 was the pinnacle of Minolta’s manual focus SLR line, and it was very popular. It was manufactured between 1981 and 1999, which is a long production run. The features of the X-700 are impressive. In addition to manual mode, it has Aperture Priority mode and a Program mode that integrates with Minolta MD lenses. It’s got a compact shape and it’s very light. The LEDs in the viewfinder are genius (with one downside).

In my research for this piece, I learned that Minolta used plastic for some components of the camera. That goes some way to explaining its weight, and also why the camera feels less substantial than the other two in this piece. It’s also noisy when the shutter is activated. It’s worth remembering that by the mid-1980s, the SLR market was crowded, if not saturated, and autofocus cameras were starting to hit the market. No doubt that would have detracted Minolta’s attention away from their manual focus line.

To this day, the X-700 remains a great camera. I like the feel of it in my hand, and that isn’t a coincidence. Size-wise, it fits in between the Canon and the Olympus.

My main beef comes when using the X-700 in manual mode, where the user gets shutter speed information in the viewfinder. Why is that a problem? Well, the same LEDs I mentioned force the user to look away from the subject to see and adjust the shutter speed. It’s fine for landscapes or other static subjects, and fortunately, one can always switch into Aperture Priority mode and fire away.

By the numbers

For what it’s worth, I did a few measurements… here are the bare facts:

	Canon AT-1	Olympus OM-2	Minolta X-700
Weight, grams (w/28mm lens)	780	715	690
Size, cm (W x D x H)	14.5 x 10.0 x 9.0	13.7 x 8.3 x 8.3	14.0 x 9.5 x 9.0

Wrapping up

So, the obvious question… which of these cameras/systems do I like the best? That’s a tough question. If I had to choose one, it would be the OM-2. I’m a fan of small and light cameras, and this one definitely delivers. That said, I like each of the cameras for different reasons. You can tell I have emotional, physical and intellectual attachments to these marvelous machines. That’s why I make it a point to include all of them in my rotation. For me, there’s no better feeling than loading a manual SLR with a favourite film (or a new one) and heading out for a photo walk. As long as they keep working—and they are so well made, there’s no reason to expect them not to do so for a while yet—I’ll happily reach for one.

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!

Moose Jaw Delivers!

Are there certain places you’ve heard about your whole life? Places you’ve wondered what it might be like to visit? Over the weekend, we made a visit to one such mysterious and notable place: Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. This is a place that everyone seems to have heard about. After all, it’s a name you remember.

For Deborah and me, there have been tenuous connections to Moose Jaw over the years: family, friends, work colleagues who hail from there. More recently, and more directly, our son Daniel has been stationed in Moose Jaw as an RCAF pilot trainee.

As for initial impressions, Moose Jaw seems to have the whole range covered. You see, the city’s former motto was The Friendly City, but that has been changed to Canada’s Most Notorious City. Hmmm. This was clearly another reason to visit. So we did. And we are very glad we did!

First, that name

This city of 33,000—the fourth largest in Saskatchewan—is located at the confluence of the Moose Jaw River and Thunder Creek, about an hour west of Regina.

The name Moose Jaw is said to come from a phrase in the Cree language, which translates to “warm place by the river”. This phrase likely refers to the sheltered valley where the city is located. Alternatively, the name may have come from the resemblance of the river’s shape to a moose’s jawbone. Whatever the origin, the name is anything but ordinary.

Moose Jaw was a historically important location for the economic development of western Canada, as it was a key railroad hub for the Canadian Pacific Railway. With its wide downtown streets and early 20th-century architecture, it gives the impression of a city that enjoyed some influence.

What we liked

In short, almost everything!

We stayed in the stately Grant Hall Hotel, right on Main Street. In no time, we discovered lovely Crescent Park, a few steps from the hotel. We crossed the street to the bustling Himawari Sushi restaurant, where we enjoyed an excellent dinner. It was delicious, maybe more so because it was so unexpected.

After dinner, we walked a few blocks down Main Street in persistent rain. We noticed the many architectural gems—City Hall, the Capitol Theatre, the CPR train station. This is a city with a rich history. We retired to the hotel and crossed our fingers for a break in the weather, as we had a busy schedule for the next day.

We lucked out in the weather department, although Saturday morning brought a smoky sky due to nearby wildfires. Fortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to put a crimp in our plans. We met with Dan and got a tour of the 15 Wing Air Base. That meant a chance to take in some aviation action up close. We walked through the CT-156 Harvard II hangar and watched a few planes taking off and doing maneuvers. We also peeked in at the simulators and the training rooms. Very cool!

One of the highlights of our visit was an aerobatic display by Canada’s Snowbirds, the famous flight team of the Royal Canadian Air Force. Officially, they’re known as the 431 Air Demonstration Squadron, and Moose Jaw is their home base. We enjoyed 20 minutes of thrilling formation flying from the perfect viewing location that Dan had scouted out for us. It was breathtaking!

There was more—more great meals, more sightseeing, more history. We did touristy things, like the Tunnels of Moose Jaw Chicago Connection guided tour. (The city’s possible connection to the gangster Al Capone is where its “notorious” reputation comes from, by the way.) The tour was good fun.

We did artsy things, like the impressive Moose Jaw Museum and Art Gallery. Then, as the sun was setting, we found a couple of beautiful locations for photos, like these taken under the Thunderbird Viaduct (also known as the 4th Avenue Bridge).

Even a Photo Run!

I came prepared for a short photo run while I was in town. So, with the prospect of a warm day ahead, I got up early and jogged some of the downtown streets. What I found was more pleasant surprises.

I ran by the historic 1932 Natatorium in Crescent Park—today we would call it a pool. I found some murals in the downtown area. And I checked out the imposing Parrish & Heimbecker grain elevator, adjacent to the rail line just off High Street. All before breakfast!

Here are a few more photos, taken in and around downtown Moose Jaw. There was no shortage of photo opportunities!

Wrapping up

We couldn’t help but feel that we should have visited Moose Jaw years before. As we grudgingly headed west for home, it was with a feeling that we had found a real treasure on the prairies. We would welcome the chance for another visit, if we should be so lucky.

Before we left town, we had to visit Mac the Moose, the city’s mascot. Even here, we found a story. You see, in 2019, Mac lost his title of “world’s tallest moose” to Storelgen, a steel moose sculpture in Stor-Elvdal, Norway. Not to be outdone, the citizens of Moose Jaw rallied and constructed a new set of antlers for Mac, to ensure he could once again proudly guard the eastern entrance to the city. (To be fair, Mac’s initial pair was pretty wimpy. And to avoid an international incident, I will keep my comments about the relative merits of each sculpture to myself…) But I will say, congratulations to Mac and the whole city!

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!

Favourite Hikes: Cory Pass/Edith Pass

I’m back with another entry in my series of Favourite Hikes. This time, I’ll describe an incredible hike in Banff National Park that is somewhat of a hidden gem. The Cory Pass/Edith Pass circuit is both challenging and scenic. It offers a full experience, with varied terrain and some unusual geological formations. And maybe best of all, it manages to be both close to the Banff townsite AND not overrun by visitors.

I did this hike in July 2021. It was a long but extremely satisfying day in the mountains with my friends Peter and Tim.

Cory Pass/Edith Pass Overview

We have many hiking guides around our house, and the consensus among them is that the Cory Pass/Edith Pass circuit is well worth the considerable effort it requires. Most guides suggest doing the route as a circuit, to introduce some variety on the return leg. Out-and-back options are obviously available depending on weather, skill level, or one’s own preferences.

The other question to ask, if you’re considering this hike, is the direction to do the circuit. We followed the more popular clockwise direction, and this makes sense because it puts the steep ascent up front. It’s usually easier to climb than to descend steeply.

Here’s the Strava record of our hike:

A few things will be clear from this summary. The hike is essentially a circumnavigation of Mount Edith. It’s long and with considerable elevation gain. We did some extra hiking and climbing during the day, so our figures are inflated compared to the basic route. Most descriptions put the circuit at about 14 km and 1,000 m of gain. Timewise, our outing was in the range of most estimates, which are 5-7 hours for the circuit.

Be aware that the north side of Mt. Edith involves some slogging on scree slopes, and the route can be a little hard to find on the return leg where the trail heads back into the forest. It wasn’t an issue when we did the hike, but snow can make the trail impassible until mid-summer. If you plan accordingly, the hike is well worth the effort.

Outbound to Cory Pass

Shortly after departing from the Fireside Day Use area—a quick drive from Banff and a worthy picnic spot—the trail splits to form the Cory Pass/Edith Pass circuit. And the climbing starts immediately after turning left for Cory Pass. There are good views of the Banff townsite and Mount Rundle, but mostly this section is about gaining elevation, and quite relentlessly, for a few kilometres along the south ridge of Mount Edith.

The grade moderates onto a long, dry traverse of the base of the mountain. Mount Cory is on the left. Even though the trail is narrow and exposed in spots, it never creates any significant challenges. For some reason, possibly my aching quads, I have no pictures from this part of the hike. Fortunately, here are a couple of shots taken along the traverse, courtesy of the Hike the Canadian Rockies website.

Finally, after about 6 km of effort, the col at Cory Pass is reached. The elevation is 2,350 metres. Here, the views are spectacular.

Gargoyle Valley

Descending steeply from Cory Pass is a scree trail between Mount Edith and Mount Louis—a jagged, dogtooth peak which looms large on the horizon. This section of the hike was the highlight for me, because of the variations in scenery. Otherworldly geological formations, the “gargoyles”, give the valley its name.

We enjoyed a leisurely lunch and did some exploring in and around the large rock pinnacles. Marmots enjoy sunning themselves on the high flat tops of the formations.

Once past the gargoyles, there is a long slog across a scree slope on the north side of Mount Edith. Finding the trail is never in doubt but the footing can be tricky in spots—poles are a must here. Gaiters too! A large boulder field marks the end of the scree trail. Again, the trail is easily found through the boulders.

Inbound via Edith Pass

Once you’ve picked your way through the boulder field, and enjoyed one last view of Mount Louis—now behind you to the north—it’s important to pay attention to find the return trail. We made one brief false start. The path becomes obvious if you look and hike upwards. There is a sign where bare slopes give way to the treeline.

The last 3 or 4 km of the trail are on a gradual decline through a dense forest. The mosquitoes and the noise of the highway were what I remember most in this section. To be honest, the exit trail is rather anticlimactic after the impressive sights we experienced earlier in the day. As is often the case in the Rockies, the ecosystem on the east side of the mountain is very different from the west side.

Eventually, the Cory/Edith fork is reached, leaving only an easy stroll back to the parking lot.

Summing Up

It was smiles all around (sort of) when we got back to Fireside for a well-deserved snack and beverage. Tim, Peter and I agree that the Cory Pass/Edith Pass hike checks many boxes, having everything we look for in a memorable hike. There’s plenty of challenge, but even more rewards. Highly recommended!

Until next time, happy trails. BE FAST!

It’s Relay Season!

June 20 Update

I wrote this piece to celebrate the relay races we enjoy here in the mountain parks. We’ve had a reminder in the last few days of the awesome power of Mother Nature. Heavy precipitation and strong winds are expected over southern Alberta this weekend, and that has led to the cancellation of the 2025 Kananaskis 100 Mile Relay. A tough call, but the right one by Cheryl and her team at Be There Races. It’s a shame that we’ll be deprived of this classic race this year… see you in 2026!

Time is short to get your copy of Stroke of Luck for a discounted price. Order on Amazon and save! Sale ends on June 30.

Help me raise funds for the essential work of the doctors and staff at Foothills Stroke Unit!

While we tend to think of running as a solitary activity, some of my fondest memories are from races where I competed as part of a relay team. I’m not referring to just any relays though. We are fortunate to have some world-class multi-stage relay races in Canada. And some of the best races take place in the Rocky Mountains—perhaps not surprising given the majestic scenery available here.

With our variable weather, June is the unofficial start of road relay season. Here’s a short personal history of my connection to the best mountain relays. I’ve also mentioned a couple of other major road relays in Canada and the US.

History of Multi-stage Relay Races

The Japanese have a long tradition of races based on the ekiden, which is an age-old method of staged courier transmission across long distances. “Eki” translates to “station” and “den” means “to communicate, to convey”. For more than 100 years, ekiden has been a popular sport in Japan, and this may have been the origin of similar races in Canada. The popularity of multistage road races has grown, and there are now events around the world. Of course, relays can be on roads or trails, although my focus is on road races.

Jasper Banff (later Banff Jasper) Relay

I’m not a historian, just an amateur athlete with a long resume and a keen interest in the sport. I think of the Jasper Banff Relay (JBR) as the grand-daddy of Canadian distance relays. Much of the race course follows the Icefields Parkway (Highway 93), so it certainly offers the most magnificent scenery.

The original race (contested from 1980 to 2000) started at noon in Jasper on the first Saturday in June. It ran continuously towards Banff, over 258 km and 17 stages of varying length and difficulty. Needless to say, there were some tough stages, like the climbs up to the Columbia Icefields and the high point at Bow Summit (2,088 m).

My research suggests that this is the oldest multistage race in Canada. I might be wrong—I don’t know of any others with such longevity. The race had a hiatus from 2000 to 2005 before it was relaunched in a new format.

My first experience of multistage relay races goes back nearly 40 years, to the 1988 JBR. I wrote about this specific race in Stroke of Luck, because that weekend in the national parks made an indelible impression on me. The JBR was a huge event in its heyday—just the sight of 120 teams of 17 runners converging on the small mountain town of Jasper was awesome.

I ran stage 13 in 1988. Bad luck? Well, yes. I coped with a bear warning and a drenching nighttime thunderstorm while running 20 km in pitch darkness. It was daunting, but also one of the most memorable running experiences of my life. Our team of 12 men and 5 women battled hard for 19 hours and 10 minutes to a 2nd-place finish in the mixed category and 15th overall.

I went on to run the JBR twice more, in 1990 and 1991. Then, in 2008, I was asked to run in Stage N14 of the revamped Banff Jasper Relay. (The race now consists of simultaneous South (S1-S6) and North (N7-N15) races to avoid overnight running.) We placed well that year, but I was NOT in race fitness. While these were all thrilling and exhausting races, none could match the 1988 race for sheer excitement.

Kananaskis 100 Mile Relay

The success of the JBR spawned competitors, and the most prominent of these is the Kananaskis 100 Mile Relay (known to all as the “K-100”). The K-100 has run annually since 1987. It starts in the foothills, in the small town of Longview, Alberta early on a Saturday in late June, and follows Highway 40 to the Nakiska ski lodge. The race covers (surprise!) 100 miles in 10 stages, including one trail stage. There was an individual 50-mile ultra on the same route for a few years.

My records are a little sketchy when it comes to the K-100. I think I’ve participated eight times. I’ve run on club teams and corporate teams, going back to the late 1980s: first the Fort Saskatchewan Kilomilers, then a couple of Shell Canada teams, and more recently for Adrenaline Rush Athletics. I last raced in 2017, a couple of weeks before my hospitalization for strokes (and that is definitely a story for another time!)

At its peak in the early 2000s, the race was limited to 180 teams. Now, the race is capped at 80 teams. There were 40 finishers in 2024. I remember the corporate and open divisions being intensely competitive. I will venture a guess that the decline in race numbers is due to the fortunes of the Calgary business community, and limitations imposed by Alberta Parks.

Over the years, I’ve run stages 2, 4, 8 and 9 of the K-100. I like stage 8 best. It’s kind of a Goldilocks stage—not too long or too short, not too flat or hilly. I’ve had many good memories and a good track record at the K-100, coming home with a podium placing several times. I like the race a lot, not least because it wraps up in one long day. There’s lots of variety and challenge over the 100 miles, including a summit of the Highwood Pass. Here are a few pictures:

Other Road Relays

There are other multi-stage road relays. Some have come and gone, and new ones are popping up. The following races have endured:

Cabot Trail Relay, Baddeck, NS: 276 km, 17 stages, late May
Klondike Trail of ’98 International Road Relay, Skagway, AK to Whitehorse, YT: 175 km, 10 stages, early September
Rum Runners Relay, Halifax to Lunenburg, NS: 100 km, 10 stages, late September
Wintergreen Ekiden Relay, Bragg Creek, AB: 42 km, 5 stages, late October
Hood to Coast/Portland to Coast, Portland, OR: 315/206 km, 36/24 stages, late August

Concluding Thoughts

I’ve had many great adventures and some success as part of road relay teams. If you haven’t tried one, I would highly recommend that you do. There is something special about sharing a race experience with a group of friends, adding a team dynamic and plenty of unknowns to your ordinary running. Long, unbelievably beautiful and sometimes lonely stages (think time trials), and daunting course profiles intensify the experience. You can feel the anticipation (and exhaustion) build as the race carries on. It can be especially exciting if you are locked in a tight competitive battle. In short, it’s a lot of fun!

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!

Calgary Marathon Action!

Did you know that June is Stroke Awareness Month in Canada?

To raise awareness of the prevalence of stroke, I’m once again offering my memoir—Stroke of Luck: My Life in Amateur Athletics—for a special price in June. Order your copy on Amazon and save 20%.

Help me raise funds for the essential work of the doctors and staff at Foothills Stroke Unit!

Calgary Marathon Weekend

It was a great weekend for racing, and this year a record number of runners laced up for the 61st edition of the Calgary Marathon. Across several races, more than 17,000 runners turned out. Race distances were from 1k (toddlers only I’m told) right up to the marathon.

The Calgary Marathon is the oldest in Canada. It’s only a few years younger than me. Speaking of being younger, I dug into my archives to share with readers my own history with this storied race. Then, I’ll share some highlights from the 2025 races, where I was strictly a spectator!

1987 – A milestone is reached!

It’s hard to believe, but I first ran the Calgary Marathon in 1987—I had to check my math to verify that it was 38 years ago. At the time, Deborah and I were living in Edmonton, which means we made the trek to Calgary in an underpowered Honda Civic.

The race route is shown below, copied from my well-preserved race entry.

The race entry fee, for those who are used to paying over $100 now, was $12. And that included a cotton singlet, which has curiously not survived—I don’t even remember it. The NB 990 shoes I wore are also long gone. However, I was a proud member of the Edmonton Roadrunners in those days, and my club singlet is still around, buried in a drawer somewhere.

The 1987 Calgary race was my fourth marathon, and it turns out that race bib 13 was not unlucky. In fact, it was a notable race, because I managed to go under 3 hours for the first time—2:58:30 to be precise.

You can see my relief in this finish-line picture. I finished 42nd overall, and 7th in the (yikes!) 18-29 age group. And yes, that last bit makes me feel old!

1992 – Another milestone

I’ve had a long love-hate relationship with the marathon. As evidence, it was five years before I would tackle the distance again. In July 1992, I came into the race—called the Calgary Miracle Marathon that year—in what may have been the best shape of my life. We had moved to Calgary in 1991, so I felt I had a home-field advantage. What’s more, in the two months before the race, I had set PB’s in the half marathon and 10k, so I was full of confidence.

In Stroke of Luck, I wrote about how my careful race preparations were almost upset by unplanned events on race morning. Here’s an excerpt:

“I went through my final planning for race day. Then everything just about fell apart. Our son Daniel, who was by then nearly a year old, had been a sound sleeper most of the time. However, on this night, he had some unknown issue that kept him up until the early hours. I was reduced to lying in bed with my eyes open, thinking about what this would do to my marathon in a few hours. … Finally, Daniel quieted down, and I fell asleep. Too soundly, as it turned out. In addition to my other troubles, I had set my alarm incorrectly and it didn’t wake me up when I had planned. The only thing that saved me was my decision to take a cab to the race. The sound of the driver honking his horn was my alarm. At first, the sound was part of a dream, but as the cobwebs slowly cleared it dawned on me what had happened. I leapt out of bed, totally skipped my normal race day breakfast, and jumped into the car for the short ride downtown. Still half asleep, I stowed my bag and headed to the start line, believing that my day was ruined.”

It turns out I need not have worried. While I did run well, setting a PB by 7 minutes, I remember being disappointed at the finish. Over time, that disappointment has softened, to the point where I’m now quite content with my 2:51:39 result. I finished 20th overall, and fourth in the 30-39 age group.

Unfortunately, no photographic evidence or T-shirts have survived from that momentous 1992 race, and there were no finisher’s medals. But that’s okay, as I’ll never forget that day. I can still relive the entire race in my mind.

One thing I did keep is the scrap of paper where I scribbled all my race splits. Like me, my friend John has a few more gray hairs now than he did in 1992.

And yes, my last mile (7:53) was extremely slow!

To show how much things have changed in the last 30+ years, here’s a scan from the Calgary Herald article on the 1992 race. My friends and training partners—Dave Purcell (4th) and Rick Webb (6th)—had a very good race.

2001/2010 – Nothing to see here

I ran the 2001 and 2010 marathons. Neither was my best outing. We can move on…

2025 – Strictly spectating

As has become my custom, I like to find a convenient spot on the race route to watch the action and take pictures of the runners. This year was no different, other than the fact that the races are now split between Saturday (5k and 10k) and Sunday (half and full marathon). So, yes, it means getting up early both days on the weekend, but I wouldn’t want to miss the fun.

I was watching for teammates and friends and I had to be alert. I find it particularly hard to spot familiar faces AND take their picture, which is too bad, as that is the whole point!

Anyway, here is a collage of photos from the races. I ended up with a lot of good pictures, so it looks like I’ll be sifting through them for a while. Starting with the 10k, where I set up at the 7k mark, just as the runners came off the Centre Street Bridge:

And here’s an album from the half/full marathon. For this route, I set up on 14th Street, just around the 14k mark. This year, the morning light was amazing, even though it meant the conditions were a bit warm for the runners:

I have to make special mention of John Bird, who ran the half marathon in his pilot uniform while pulling a roller suitcase. John set a Guinness World Record for the fastest half marathon in this outfit, and he is raising money for Dreams Take Flight, a very worthy cause. Congratulations John!

Finally, there were some cool non-running scenes, for example at the 11th Avenue water station. It was a bit chaotic, but that’s what makes it fun.

As always, if you want to use/distribute any of these photos, please give me a photo credit.

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!

Book Review: “Today We Die A Little”

Today We Die a Little: Emil Zatopek, Olympic Legend to Cold War Hero, by British journalist and author Richard Askwith, tells the fascinating story of the great Czech runner, Emil Zatopek.

Zatopek was an enigma. His life paralleled his country’s history and is intertwined with the Second World War and the rise and fall of the Soviet Union. Askwith did a thorough job of researching his subject.

The Czech Locomotive

Today, if people know anything about Zatopek, it’s likely because of his ungainly running style. Videos of his great performances are easily found, and worth a look. But his rolling head, flailing arms and gnashing teeth may be the least interesting part of his story.

Emil was a true sportsman. His nickname comes from a front-running style that left his competitors strung out behind him. He befriended those same runners and maintained contact with them well into old age. His training techniques were unorthodox. For instance, he was known to train in army boots, or in deep snow. Any of us who have done interval workouts can thank Zatopek—he may have invented 400m repeats. The difference? He did 60, 80, even 100 of them—every day.

Emil Zatopek, giving it his all (Photo: Roger Rössing, Deutsche Fotothek)

There are so many anecdotes about Zatopek that it’s nearly impossible to separate fact from fiction. I give Askwith credit for trying. Some things are undisputed. Emil taught himself 8 or 9 languages by reading dictionaries. He and his wife, Dana, won four gold medals at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics—a count that was second only to the US. Emil won the 5000m, 10000m and marathon, a record likely never to be repeated. Dana won the women’s javelin competition.

Socialist icon or misunderstood hero?

Zatopek may have been the most famous athlete in the world in the late 1940s and early 1950s. Few could match his talent and charisma—he was the Muhammad Ali of his generation. Even after his competitors copied his tactics and started surpassing him, he remained a national hero. It seemed everyone wanted to meet him and feel the warmth of his personality.

The story that best demonstrates Zatopek’s generosity has him handing a small package to Australian runner Ron Clarke after Clarke visited Emil in Prague in 1966. Clarke competed at a high level internationally but had always come up empty-handed. Zatopek was the perfect host, readily sharing his training advice. Clarke assumed Zatopek had given him something he wanted smuggled out of the Iron Curtain. In fact, it was one of Zatopek’s 1952 Olympic gold medals. “Because you deserve it,” read the inscription.

Despite the constraints imposed by the Czech regime, Zatopek travelled the world. In fact, he became a sort of role model for socialist ideals. And it’s here where his story gets a bit hazy. Depending on who one believes, Zatopek was either a naive pawn of the regime or a committed agent. He was an officer in the Czech army, so it’s hard to totally accept the former view. However, he had managed to tread a fine line for a long time, apparently avoiding any suspicion of his commitment just by being his gregarious self. Or perhaps by mouthing the words that were expected of him.

Some things may never be known about Zatopek, but it is clear he believed in the concept of socialism. After all, it was how he had tried to live. When Soviet tanks moved in to crush the Prague Spring in 1968, he spoke up for compromise, possibly hoping his celebrity would save him from retribution. Soon after, he was expelled from the army, stripped of his status as a sporting hero, and exiled to years of manual labour in remote work camps. Through it all, he maintained a positive attitude. He was a broken man when he was finally allowed to return to his modest home. Then he suffered several strokes and was all but forgotten when he died in 2000.

Lessons far beyond the track

Askwith is sympathetic to Zatopek, and I found that his enthusiasm for the man sometimes clouds his judgment. If Askwith is to be faulted, it is for trying too hard. I came to accept Askwith’s case—that there is reason to doubt the worst accusations against Zatopek—but I found it unnecessary that he keep making it.

As for Zatopek, there is no reason to fault him for his eccentricities. He was an intelligent, independent and humble man. I found myself wondering how any of us would have managed in his situation; if our homeland had been first taken by the Nazis, then by the Communists. Zatopek lived and competed bravely, and left us lessons that apply beyond the realm of amateur competition.

The “Czech Locomotive” was a complex figure, a great athlete, and a gentleman. Askwith’s book is an homage to Zatopek, and there is much to commend it, not least so the reader can decide for themselves how they view the man. I started the book and put it aside for a while. When I persevered, I was rewarded with a complete picture of an astonishing athlete. It’s a worthwhile read.

By the way, the title of the book comes from the comment Zatopek made to his fellow competitors on the start line of the 1956 Olympic Marathon in Melbourne. By then, Zatopek was well past his best form. The day was brutally hot, and he made his remark just as the runners set off for what they all knew would be an extreme physical test. It was a noble gesture. Anyone who has set a challenging goal for themselves and worked hard to achieve it will relate to the sentiment.

Until next time, be well and BE FAST!