Once stretching was over, it was time. In the weeks building up to this exercise, I mock-boasted to friends that I wasn’t afraid of the Grind, and that I would, in fact, run up the hill. They looked horrified. “Don’t run,” they warned, faces suddenly gravely serious. Pacing yourself is the name of the game, they advised.
So when Tommy took off like a shot up the hill, I was slightly horrified. “C’mon!” he shouted gleefully, as I stumbled up the hill after him. My brain told me this was a mistake, using up precious energy before I’d even begun, but my pride told me to keep pace. I’m a man, damn it, and if Tommy Europe can run the Grind, so can I. Maybe. I hope.
Luckily, Tommy was just messing with me, and after 30 seconds he came to a halt and waited for me to catch up. Thirty seconds, and the sweating and laboured breathing had already begun. Things just got real.
Any hopes of keeping up a sustained conversation with Tommy quickly died, and I soon fell into my own head. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. I focused on the sound of my breathing and footsteps. I was marching to the beat of my own drum. Things were going to be okay.
A First-Timer's Guide to the Grouse Grind
Michael is a graduate from the BCIT Broadcast Journalism program and the former associate editor of BCLiving. When he’s not gaming, he’s watching sports, practicing yoga or enjoying a potent potable.
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