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!

  1. 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!

Milestone Reached—100 Blog Posts!

With a small, self-congratulatory pat on the back, I will advise my readers that this is the 100th post on My Second Running Life. It seems appropriate that I’m writing this as we turn the page to a new year, and also as I approach the third anniversary of this project. These are both events that lend themselves to introspection, so I will do a bit of that before looking forward to 2026.

State of the Blog

With a few exceptions, I write pieces on these topics: running, photography, and/or strokes. Here’s my rationale—running has been a constant presence in my life for fifty years; strokes threatened to end it all, and likely would have, had it not been for the previous point; and photography has increasingly been the medium where I express my thoughts and feelings as I go through life.

And what about this life—My Second Running Life? When I settled on the title for the blog, it was my way of reminding myself that fulfillment can come in different ways. I think the title still serves that purpose. I hope that my readers see it the same way.

I will add a thought for readers who may struggle to balance elements of their own life, especially if that includes trying to maintain a high standard of performance as an amateur athlete. For many years, I was there, too. Let me remind you that there will be no harsher judge of your success than you. Only you can decide what success looks like—don’t let anyone presume to tell you. And only you can give yourself permission to back away when that is the right thing to do, because of family or work commitments. It’s worth remembering that the word amateur refers to someone who participates in an activity for no reason other than the love of doing it.

I describe competitive distance running as a perfect proxy for life itself. There will inevitably be highs and lows. In a race, we may be having a rough stretch, only to find the next mile is better. If today’s effort falls short and the race doesn’t go to plan, we can console ourselves with the thought that there will be another chance soon.

In other words, we must never lose hope or stop believing in ourselves. That’s what this blog has always been about.

The Year in Review

Running

My days of preparing for and executing goal races are over, but I will never tire of being around runners. In 2025, I had plenty of opportunities to catch racing action in Alberta; cheer on friends and teammates; meet some very talented athletes; do some volunteering; and, of course, snap some memorable photographs. We also said goodbye to a dear friend. You can read about the major events on the calendar here, here, and here. Below is a small sample of my favourite running pictures from 2025:

Copyright for all photographs is mine.

Strokes

When I started on the path of self-publishing a book, I knew almost nothing about the process. However, I knew I wanted to share what I had learned about strokes, which are typically the fourth leading cause of death in Canada. And I wanted to give back in whatever ways I could, to support the essential work being done every day at the Foothills Stroke Unit and the University of Calgary.

I was fortunate last year to have had several opportunities to tell my story, as written in Stroke of Luck. It’s extremely gratifying to share my key messages: the importance of an active lifestyle, awareness of the full range of stroke symptoms, and recognition of (and support for) the world-class stroke care and research being done at Foothills.

Naming everyone who made these events possible would be difficult. I appreciate the help of the Calgary Health Foundation to ensure that funds raised go where they should. Let me share a few photographs from events in Canmore, Edmonton, and Calgary:

I close my posts with the acronym BE FAST, but it seems timely to remind my readers just what this small and powerful phrase means:

If you or someone you care about is experiencing any of the symptoms of stroke, don’t hesitate—call 9-1-1 right away! If you want to learn more, do check out some of these other posts on the blog: here, here, and here.

Other Photography

Photography has become my constant companion, on my runs and walks, in good times and bad. Believe me, the last couple of years have brought more than enough bad news. Fortunately, memories of family and friends that we’ve lost are a blessing that will sustain us.

I still prefer to carry a dedicated camera, although I find myself slowly giving in to the convenience of digital. I admit that I shot less film in 2025 than I have in previous years, and that’s a shame. In any case, here are some of my memorable shots from 2025 (all digital, as it happens):

Regardless of the format, my approach to photography is almost completely intuitive. Recently, a guest on my blog wrote that calling myself an observer may not be accurate. But that’s okay. I never know what pictures I’m looking for when I head out the door. What I’ve learned is that I should trust my instincts—if I see something that catches my attention, I should react to it. I plan to keep that going.

Goals for 2026

With a bit of luck and planning, I think 2026 will be a good year. The first good omen was the Sheep River Parkrun on New Year’s Day in lovely Okotoks. It was a perfect start to the year, as I was surrounded by good friends and my son Daniel.

This morning, chinook clouds south of Calgary seemed to be calling to me. I drove in that direction and found myself back in Okotoks, at the “big rock” which gives the town its name. As I admired and photographed this impressive glacial erratic, it occurred to me that the rock is a symbol of my life—it’s not on the path that was expected, and it sits in pieces. I take solace that, like the rock, I have survived. It’s a fitting picture for the top of this post.

As I quietly walked around the famous rock, I thought about topics for future articles. One idea I have is a series of photo runs in my favourite Southern Alberta towns, including more shots on film. I think it will be a wonderful way to explore the history and culture of our province, while (more or less) staying in shape. So look for that, as well as more of my favourite photographs from life, and of course, news on stroke research and prevention.

I hope you’ll check in often. As ever, be well and BE FAST!

Return to Prairie Mountain!

Just as Santa can be counted on for a visit in late December, we look to my friend Tim to reveal the details of the annual Prairie Mountain Winter Sunrise Hike. True to form, Tim set the date for the 2025 hike on December 29. Sunrise on that day would be, within a few seconds, the latest of the year.

Working back from a target of 8:39:33 a.m., our convoy of eight hikers met up at the Tsuut’ina Subway on Buffalo Run Boulevard at 6:10 a.m. With practiced efficiency, we were geared up and on the trail by 7:00 a.m. We expected to have ample time to reach the summit.

I’ve posted on our previous PM hikes, and I’m pleased to say these pieces have been popular. In 2023, I shared photos of a beautiful sunrise in Part 1: The Hike and delved into the mysteries of the celestial world for Part 2: The Science. We were not deterred by last year’s cloudy conditions—you can read about that hike here. This year’s forecast suggested that the star attraction would likely make a return appearance.

For readers who are unfamiliar with Prairie Mountain, it is the most accessible mountain for Calgary hikers. Accessible doesn’t mean easy, though—this is a good workout at any time. Last year, I noted that the hike seemed to be tougher than what I remembered. This time out, I had the same feeling. I’m not sure I like that trend! One foot, then the other. Repeat.

The Hiking Bit

Given the snow-packed conditions on the trail, I was (again) very thankful for the new stone steps on the toughest sections. Even so, I welcomed a short pause at the first lookout, where we switched off our headlamps. I couldn’t help but notice the vibrant orange light to the east, which was already impressive as we approached the summit ridge. Were we too late?

Because any PM summit is an impressive achievement, here’s my Strava activity summary.

A few words on equipment. I decided to bring my “good camera”, the totally manual Leica M10. It’s a wonderful camera, but when you are bringing up the rear in the dark, as I was, adjustments are challenging. That meant I came home with blurry shots of my hiking partners’ backsides and severely underexposed images. Overall, I think the Ricoh GR III is better suited to this task. As always, my Kahtoola Microspikes and ancient red Komperdell poles were a necessity.

As usual, our group set a steady pace. (I hang around with some very healthy folks.) It’s hard to blame my comparatively slow pace on my photographic duties unless I present a few photos. So here’s the evidence!

Note: Copyright for all pictures is mine

We enjoyed the relatively mild temperature (-5C) and the shelter of the treeline for most of the hike. However, as soon as we reached the summit ridge, we were immersed in a strong westerly wind. We slogged the rest of the way up the ridge. The small Canadian flag on the summit cairn was no match for the stiff breeze. We headed for the shelter of a few scraggly trees below the summit to wait for the rest of our group. With fingers losing feeling, operating cameras and zippers became almost impossible. There was no loitering at the top on this day!

The Technical Bit

Given the challenges I mentioned with manual camera settings, I thought it might be interesting to present a comparison of my pre- and post-editing for one of this year’s key PM shots. I suppose this is called making lemonade out of lemons.

Of course, everyone hopes for a good group picture at the summit. This year, we imposed on a solo hiker who reached the summit just ahead of us to do the honours. Now, my comment that “the settings should be fine” must be tempered with the reality that I didn’t actually look at these before handing over the camera. Yes, I was freezing, the wind was howling, and for all I know, he had never touched a manual camera before. I’m fully to blame for any technical shortcomings. That said, my heart sank when I saw the images straight out of the camera. However, with some comprehensive (and slightly desperate) work in Lightroom Classic, I managed to extract a passable image. You can compare the before and after image here:

A hardy group celebrates another Prairie summit!

At the risk of losing some readers, I’ll summarize the edits I made to this image in my attempt to rescue it. First, I increased the overall exposure significantly—a whopping 3.5 stops. I think the meter was fooled by the sun in the centre of the image. Then I dropped the sky by a stop, and raised the foreground by almost another stop. I raised the white balance to warm the image up slightly. I dropped the highlights, mostly around the sun, and raised the shadows. Then I increased the saturation, clarity and dehaze. That left me with a noisy image, which I tried to fix using the latest AI tools in Lightroom. In the end, I gave up, as all this did was create artifacts that were, to my eye, worse than the noise.

So, as long as no one looks too closely, this is a fair reminder of what it felt like to stand on the summit that morning. My homework for next year is to be better prepared.

Wrapping Up

With the start of a new year, one is often moved to contemplate things that truly have value and be thankful for people who are important in life. I’m very fortunate to be surrounded by like-minded people who value fitness and friendship. And we are all blessed to have special places like Kananaskis just a short drive from home. Thanks, Tim, for getting us out there and up there again.

The annual winter solstice hike was a great experience and a perfect end to the year. Oh yes, the post-hike coffee and baked goods at the Handle-bar Cafe in Bragg Creek were delicious. And well earned.

Until next time, be well, BE FAST—and Happy New Year to all!

Meet “The Flâneur”

Introduction

I’ve been writing this blog for nearly three years. Over that time, I’ve thought about whether the site is achieving what I intended when I wrote the first pieces. Indeed, it’s worth asking whether my initial objectives have changed—and if so, how.

My soul-searching is timely because my friend Phil Davies recently approached me with some thoughts on the blog and my other social media content. Phil has a keen eye and a strong artistic sensibility. He volunteered his opinion that my Instagram profile may not be totally accurate:

Runner. Observer. Stroke survivor.

Phil questioned my use of the word observer. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant, because he had always been complimentary about my photo runs. For those unfamiliar, photo runs are a cornerstone of My Second Running Life—they make this blog what it is. As an example, here’s a piece I wrote about my run in Longview a few weeks ago.

For me, there’s nothing better than going out for an easy run with no worries about time and pace, seeking only a memorable photograph. I look for different things—colour, pattern, contrast, human interaction, irony—and observer was the word I settled on to describe what I do on these runs.

Phil went on to explain that there might be more to this process than observation. He even jotted down some thoughts, which I present here as my first guest submission on the blog. The photographs are mine, but Phil selected the pictures he wanted to accompany his writing.

In nineteenth-century Paris, the flâneur was a stroller who transformed the act of walking into an art form; moving leisurely through the city, observing its ebb and flow with an artist’s eye and a philosopher’s curiosity. Armed with nothing more than time and attention, he understood the city itself to be a living canvas, constantly repainting itself.

Steve’s approach to running and photography is a modern embodiment of this classic figure—using movement through the city as a form of creative engagement rather than mere exercise or transit. His curiosity and his keen eye allow him to see the extraordinary within the ordinary.

The flâneur’s genius lies not in destination but in observation—he reads the city like a complex novel, deciphering the social codes written in architecture, fashion, and gesture. In the Parisian context, this meant lingering in the arcades, studying the interplay of commerce and desire, watching how different classes of people navigated the same spaces with entirely different purposes. The flâneur sees what others miss because he moves at human speed rather than the hurried pace of those bent on efficiency. 

Transported to Calgary among the gleaming downtown towers and the sprawling neighbourhoods stretching toward the Rockies, the flâneur’s eye discovers different rhythms and revelations. He might capture the interplay between the city’s frontier heritage and its contemporary energy—perhaps pausing to photograph how the morning light catches the glass of a modern office building while casting shadows on a historic sandstone church. My friend Steve embodies this Parisian tradition, combining the flâneur’s contemplative wandering with the practical purpose of his runs. His camera serves the same function as the flâneur’s notebook—a tool for capturing the moments that define urban life; transforming the ordinary act of moving through space into a form of creative observation.  In calling Steve a flâneur, I celebrate something valuable but increasingly rare in our hurried world—the importance of moving through our environment with alertness, engagement and appreciation.

– Phil Davies, December 2025

These boots were made for walkin’…! (Calgary, December 2022)

Concluding thoughts

Until my discussion with Phil, I would have said that I wasn’t doing anything different from any other street photographer, except that I’m moving faster than most of them. When I’m cruising the streets, I do so with thoughts of my photography idols in mind; people like Fred Herzog, Elliott Erwitt, and Saul Leiter. I wish I could be one-tenth the photographer that they were.

I also move through the streets with a clear purpose. I welcome the creative tension that comes with choosing a location and then watching for promising scenes to develop in front of me as I’m running. Many times and for many reasons, I’ve missed a shot that I wish I’d captured. But that’s alright, because sometimes I come home with a treasure. I can’t ever be too hard on myself about this, given the parameters I’ve set for myself.

In the end, it may not matter what label I use—flâneur, observer, or something else. Phil, you’ve helped me see that this process of roving exploration is well worth the effort.

On Running Streaks

A running streak is pretty much what it sounds like—run every day until you can’t. And while it’s up to each runner to set their own parameters, the Streak Runners International, Inc. and the United States Running Streak Association, Inc. (yes, there is a governing body for this activity) have set out some helpful guidelines. Here’s a quote from the SRI/USRSA website:

The official definition of a running streak, as adopted by the Streak Runners International, Inc., and United States Running Streak Association, Inc., is to run at least one mile (1.61 kilometers) within each calendar day. Running may occur on either the roads, a track, over hill and dale, or on a treadmill.

-SRI/USRSA website

So that’s it. Sounds simple enough, right? The longest active run streak, as reported recently in Canadian Running, belongs to Jim Pearson of Marysville, WA. As of September 24, 2025, he has run for 20,310 consecutive days. Over that time—more than 55 years—Pearson has run 305,000 kilometres. Now that’s impressive!

Is a running streak a good idea?

As I wrote in my memoir, Stroke of Luck, I’ve never bought into the idea that runners, even highly competitive runners, need to run every day. Of course, regular exercise is hugely beneficial, and running streaks are as consistent as you can get. So, the routine of getting out the door every day will pay dividends in overall health and cardiovascular fitness. From my own experience, regular running seems to increase resistance to seasonal bugs. It may reduce susceptibility to injuries (or it may not). And perhaps most important—streaking instills a feeling of mental toughness, given all the challenges that must be overcome to keep one going.

But there are downsides. The most obvious is that sometimes, when we are injured or feeling under the weather, the best thing we should do is rest. Forcing ourselves out the door, just to check a box and continue a streak, may be making a bad situation worse.

Although streaks aren’t really my thing, I will admit to a certain fascination with runners who can and do carry on long streaks. My brother Paul completed a decades-long streak, as did my old running partner in Calgary, Rick Webb. Rick used to regale me with stories about how he kept his streak alive. One of my heroes is the late Ron Hill, a fascinating man, a legendary runner, and a running streaker. I wrote this in Stroke of Luck:

“… I appreciate what it takes to carry on a running streak. I have known a number of streakers through the years. This evolutionary branch of the running population is an eccentric lot. Most serious runners of the last few decades would have heard of Ron Hill, the great British marathoner and Olympian, whose 52-year streak—which ended in 2017—is legendary. To running streakers, Ron Hill is a patron saint, a person who is universally admired and spoken of with great reverence. He died in 2021.”

Strides Run Streak, 2025 edition

With that background, there should be no surprise that I’ve once again taken on the challenge of the annual Strides Run Streak (SRS). The challenge is simple: run at least one mile every day in December. Kudos to Jeremy and his team at Strides for giving us a manageable goal, one that will help keep us motivated over the holidays.

I’ve been a regular participant in the SRS. In fact, there is a connection between the SRS and my stroke story, which goes all the way back to 2012. I explained in Stroke of Luck how I extended the 2012 streak from a month-long event into one that lasted more than four years. This became my longest personal running streak, even though it paled in comparison to Hill or Pearson. I joked in the book that I might be able to make a case to the RSI/USRSA for the most interesting END to a running streak.

I’ll leave my story there, but if you’d like to know how things turned out, why not get a copy of my book? In doing so, you’ll be supporting a great cause—the stroke unit at the Foothills Medical Centre in Calgary. The book would be a great gift for the runner on your Christmas list!

Now, as some of my followers on Strava will know, I give myself the added challenge of finding a worthy photo while I’m completing my daily run. Sometimes that is a bigger test than the running part, particularly with the days getting shorter and winter setting in. There aren’t many great photos taken on a treadmill!

So far in 2025, my commitment is strong, and the weather has been agreeable. There are a few hurdles, mostly a nagging soreness in my right Achilles tendon. Fortunately, that seems to loosen up after a couple of kilometres. Worse for me is that my training partner is still sidelined with a sore hip. That means my running is mostly solo.

Enough words. Here are some images from the 2025 SRS, which started while we were in Toronto. It’s obviously a work in progress, and I hope to send out another batch of pictures by month-end:

Copyright for all images is mine.

While it’s always nice to capture the festive spirit, I don’t consider it essential. As I’ve said before, my goal is to find images that transport me back to that time and place. I like visiting different neighbourhoods during the month. For me, a good photo run is thrilling; a way of adding meaning to my runs. It doesn’t replace the excitement of competition in a road race, but it’s sure better than nothing. And while there are no governing bodies for photo runs, I can recommend the Ricoh GR III—portable, capable, and durable. It’s been a constant companion on my outings.

Merry, Merry!

Wrapping Up

I hope you’re finding your own source of motivation at this time of year. While it’s easy to avoid going outside, especially when the temperature is -18c, as it is in Calgary today, I always feel better for having made the effort. So, whether it’s a month-long run streak, a walk with your dog, or a jog on a treadmill, I highly recommend a daily dose of activity. Having a camera with me is a reminder to keep things informal, and if I’m lucky, I’ll come home with a memento of the day.

Happy Holidays! And until next time, be well and BE FAST…