A Weekend in Vancouver

I had long thought that my exercise-induced asthma was only relevant to my livelihood when I'd exercise (or more particularly when I'd get into a sprint, whether for track or soccer or what have you). Yet, during a visit with my physician a few years ago, I asked her, "Why am I always short of breath?" I had only noticed such shallow breathing at the start of my undergraduate tenure as a tuba player in the marching band, and again when I'd travel across the world to places with varying qualities of air.

"Oh, that's just your asthma," she replied, in what sounded like it was supposed to be a reassurance. Sure, it's nice to know that it's no serious threat, especially now that my high-intensity exercise days are mostly past me, but hearing that response stamped my condition with a sort of finality. Ever since, I have occasionally tested my asthma with as deep a breath as I could manage. Yep, I still have asthma.

This past weekend was a reminder of all I have to be thankful for, especially in light of my health. On Friday, we ventured out to the Canadian West Coast, where the vegetation is evergreen, and the water a pristine turquoise (at least when the sun is shining, which it was). For 18 weeks, I had been training for the BMO Vancouver Marathon, which would be my first road race since 2018. As I lined up at the start line, I couldn't help but smile at the diversity of runners before me: people from all walks of life and in all (adult) stages of life, each with their unique story of trials and triumphs. Suddenly, the effort I put into training, and any resulting self-pity, washed away in a wave of humility.

Each mile of the run had its own way of inspiring awe, whether it was the regality of the trees that towered over me, the seals floating around the shallows off of Stanley Park, the cadence of sneakers hitting the pavement all around me, or those cheering on the sidelines for people they'd never see again (or, for the lucky-like-me, the eye-spying your loved one in the crowd).

Through each mile, up and down every hill, one thought kept me steady: How lucky am I to be doing this right now? As I crossed the finish line, I was rewarded with most crisp, freshest, deepest breath of air. Very lucky.