The five-hour bus ride from London Gatwick airport to the Birmingham express terminal was extremely reassuring. Looking out the window and observing mere mortals simply walking across the street left me awestruck. This is no longer Canada, I thought. This is the U Fu*king K. Knowing that made all the difference.

I love traveling. But I loathe airplanes and everything associated with them. That includes being packed in like a can of sardines, forcing your legs to suffocate in the small amount of space underneath the seat in front of you (even worse if you’re taller than six feet), the unpredictable moments of turbulence that make your heart race a mile/minute, and the excruciating sound of a 3-year-old child weeping and kicking the seat behind you. I had a feeling that my flight was going to include all of those things and more.  

The initial lunge over the mammoth-like boulder had distorted my balance, like an amateur tight rope walker. The sturdy wooden stairsteps provided a firm platform for me to cement my footing however, each subsequent step felt meters away from the one preceding it. Each overarching lunge induced flashbacks of my grueling leg workout just days prior. The thought of possibly having to tow my dilapidated body out of bed the next morning began to intimidate me. As I tried to steer clear from these thoughts, I sternly reminded myself, do not let this be your motivation.

“CAUTION: This trail is NOT a walk in the park!” These were the words plastered, in bolded letters, at the very top of the information board, situated at the entrance of a forest embroiled, narrowly composed tunnel like, gravel trail. On the top left-hand corner was a “BC Parks” logo. How amusing, I thought as I broke out a fragmented smirk. As we proceeded through the vastly abandoned campground towards the trailhead, another caution sign, with what appeared to be a silhouette of an awfully rotund and bulky canine, had clutched onto my attention. The words beneath the ominous figure read, “BEAR IN AREA.”

Blink. I found myself sandwiched in the center of bustling oncoming traffic, facing east towards a Petro Canada gas station as my quivering lower extremities aimlessly fought to uphold the entirety of my 170-pound frame. The perpetual supremacy put on display by frigid blasts of arctic air, splattering across my facial skin like invisible paint, transformed my face from a blank white canvas into a valentine-esque combination of flushing and flirtatious pink and red.

Thursday May 16th, 2019. Approximately 9:00am PST. Camera gear, check. Flimsy cellphone, check. Deflated wallet, check. Toronto Raptors affiliated hoodie and core classic black 9TWENTY adjustable hat, check (that one is a no-brainer). All that was left was for my cousin to waltz down into the garage, ignite the engine of his 2015 Honda Civic, and we would be off to the races.

Sunday August 9th, 2015. Approximately 10:15pm. The palpitating sounds of ire raindrops plummeting the grim like surface mixed in with the rambunctious echo of swirling thunder clouds and the menacing melody promulgated by scathing wind currents walloping at the mercy of tyrannical climatic overlords, gave me the impression that the man upstairs was not too happy.