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Some say seamless galoshes, but to me galoshes require sitting to put on and then zipping up. They used to have a more colloquial name; however, another protection product has now secured the monopoly on that term.

I call them overshoes. And they are cool.

When you wear overshoes, people stare. Not in a mean way, more slightly curious. They have questions and comments, which often blur together. ‘Haven’t seen those since my grampa wore a pair? Are those your grampa’s?’  ‘I didn’t even know you could still get those? Where do you get those?’

But I have come to appreciate overshoes for the most practical of reasons: they keep my feet dry and shoes clean. It’s the same reason caps are essential part of wardrobe – to keep thinning hair dry and glasses clear.

Living on the west coast means a fair bit of rain is featured. It has also meant this winter a remarkable number of slushy days in Victoria. So the overshoes (almost  slipped and called them by other name) are often needed. My dress shoes have thus avoided salt stains, general sogginess and accelerated decay thanks to a small investment.

There are alternatives – here on the west coast hiking boots go with everything, including apparently suits. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Back in the day, in community theatre, one of the first lessons taught was footwear helps set your character. You walk differently in tennis shoes than in dress shoes; policemen on the beat have different trot because of the boots they wear; what’s on your feet should match rest of you. I’ve since developed a passion for shoes, some even say obsession.

So sling your arrows, scoff and guffaw at the stuffiness and old-fashionedness of overshoes and caps. I will remain dry, tip to toe.

Some have asked about name change of site and, no, it’s not a political statement. Upon reflection, I Used to Be carried a certain negativity – that somehow life won’t measure up anymore. Instead, The Right Side reflects that being 50 is grand, that life is still open and full of challenges. Whether it’s running or playing rugby or trying out new foods, it feels like 50 is the right side of life.

Originally designed for benevolent purposes, no really.

Balaclava. The word inherently has an edge to it, a dangerous one. To hear the word is to imagine all manner of violence and avarice, sometimes simultaneously. The image bank of robbers in Snatch or British SAS storming the Iranian Embassy in London or a raft of terrorists ingrain the belief of the beleaguered balaclava as a tool for menace.

But no matter, there were times this week when a balaclava I wanted… not for reasons nefarious or random acts of violence, simply as a survival tool. For the first time, in a very long time, I’ve been running in the winter, in the cold, in what the rest of Canada enjoys and those who reside on the south coast of British Columbia rarely get to experience.

Cold is not new, having lived in hot spots like North Bay, Kapuskasing (at the time the cold weather testing capital of North America), Timmins, Quesnel and Prince George. These are places where the art of layering is so vital – is it a three sweater day or a four sweater kinda day?

Years of living in Victoria – which Wikipedia describes as having ‘a mild warm summer Mediterranean climate’ – might have diluted the toughness but definitely not the stubbornness. Mocking those who wear parkas in the City of Gardens, while flowers bloom, never grows tiresome. Trips up north are always welcomed, no matter the season. The difference being it is one thing to walk around the downtown or sprint to start the truck, and then back inside while it warms up; it’s another to be outside and running for a length of time.

Now part of this desire to run in such crisp weather is due to ensuring the Christmas season does not interfere, too much, with training for the next run. It’s called the Hypothermic Half, put on by Running Room across the country.

Here’s the nub: everyone’s been cold, everyone can conjure up a concept of hypothermia and what it means – toes so cold you don’t want to remove shoes in case digits fall off; hands that no longer seem like they have opposable thumbs; teeth that make a noise like Washington’s wooden teeth chattering. Everyone in Canada knows what hypothermia means.

However, I’m racing in Victoria where it’s more of a theory than a practical concern. Where are some of the other races?

• Calgary
• Edmonton
• Ottawa
• Winnipeg
• Halifax
• Regina
• Eden Prairie, Minnesota (Never been; sounds cold)

There’s a good chance the race in Victoria will see people in shorts and singlets, not due to some Polar Bear Dip induced moment of mania, simply as that will be the weather. People will be on the golf course, for sure. So guilt dictates trying to feel a hypothermic moment.

Which brings about the balaclava moment this week, as the first time out the door it’s about -12 in the Interior, then add in the wind chill and it’s like -14. And, yes, it’s a dry cold. It’s the hair in the nose freezes, cheeks feel like knifes can be sharpened and eyes are crying – all before hitting the end of the driveway – sort.

These are my lessons, admittedly unscientific, learned about winter running:

• Layering is vital. Don’t be brave. My running pants alone were not going to do it; so I threw on a pair of track pants to add all important second layer. Up top, couple of shirts with a good running shirt closest to body. Gloves and a good toque.
• Sunglasses can be extremely helpful. For those who have not gotten out into the colder climes, it is often associated with the sun – which is bright – and the reflection causes sun glare so spectacles are good. As well, the glasses act as a protector for your eyes from the cold wind.
• Reduce your stride. The surface will not be uniformly flat, it will be full of edges and you’ll never quite know where there might be a sliver of ice (and it only takes a sliver to send you sailing). So shorter stride will improve your balance and impact when running.
• Chances are per KM time will be down a bit. The unevenness of the route will make that inevitable and slightly slower is far better than wildly injured because the need for speed sent you crashing.

Having spent a week running in the great white outdoors, I can say this and I’m not going to tell any porkies – as an experience, everyone should try it but as an every-day occurrence? I’m happy to live in the place that does not require a balaclava to enjoy a run.

So, the guilt is assuaged and I will carry no shame around the Victoria Hypothermic Half, only respect for those doing it in far tougher conditions.

Ryan’s resting blank face (above), my resting blank face (below)

Ryan Reynolds and me has been a thing for a bit of time, especially when he’s filming in Vancouver. The kind: you look like his slightly older, slightly less fit brother. The less kind: his dad. The ugly: oh, you’re the stunt double after he’s horribly disfigured in Deadpool. To those people, I say… whatever.

We have so much in common: an undeniable love for British Columbia; the derring –do to wear dangerously tight tights; he looks great with his shirt off, I look so much better when I’m covered up. The list goes on.

But there is one attribute, above all, that unites us: it’s our resting face.

I’ve known for a long time that I don’t have a friendly visage, no one looks and goes he looks nice. On an airplane,  I’m the guy the person next doesn’t speak to except for ‘Can I get out, please?’ and ‘Sorry, can I get back in?’ It’s the reason I don’t like going door-to-door, who wants to see this blank face when you dinner is being interrupted.

And Ryan has the same problem. There’s the now-famous pic of him and wife Blake Lively celebrating a holiday with Taylor Swift’s crew, where everyone looks so ‘happy’ and Ryan looks like thunder. Many thought it was a commentary from the Canadian on the absurdity of celebrity; turns out that’s what his face looks like when relaxed and unaware of the camera.

What does this have to do with running? Well, it’s about the wave or the nod. It’s about runners acknowledging each other as they’re out getting a run in.

At first, I wondered, was it me. Was it this resting face that doesn’t exactly invite contact as I lumber along? But then no, some runners will acknowledge.

The acknowledgment can take a variety of forms: a slight nod, a raise of the hand or, for some, the full wave wear they appear to be signaling a right-hand turn. But they do it.

So, I’ve been trying to understand why it’s not more prevalent. Is it an age thing? I’d say no, young and old seem to do it equally. Is it about fairweather runners? I’ve noticed the more inclement the weather the greater likelihood of getting the nod. Is it an old protocol that newer runners don’t know? Could be, if you don’t read Runners World or take a clinic at Running Room (it’s a Canadian thing, Ryan gets it), that this act of generosity is overlooked.

But does it really matter? Did my long run today and as I’m slow, I had plenty of time to contemplate that question. And I say it does.

Each time you come across someone on a path all you know is what you see – super fit, just blew past me, looks like me, just starting out. But what we don’t know is what they’re dealing with. Is the super fit trying to recover from injury and get back the form they once had? Is someone blowing past as they work towards a PB in race two weeks from now? Is the person just starting thinking about quitting because it’s too hard. Most runners have experienced all of these scenarios, no matter you’re fitness level or experience.

That’s why the nod, wave, peace sign from the waist is so important – it’s simply a good luck, keep running and you’re not alone salute of support.  And no matter where you are on your run – spring in your step at the start or staggering along to the finish – it’s nice to know you’re part of the community.

So, if someone in Victoria (occasionally Vancouver) who looks slightly like Ryan Reynolds with blank face gives you a nod, it’s probably me.

Me in my younger days…

The first time it happened was about 14 years. Playing softball, a young fella – who I had at least a decade on, if not more – looked at me and said (fully meaning it as a compliment): you must have been really good when you were young.

Now, I can’t say I blame him for his comment. There were years of living etched on my face, the fact that on sunny days the shadow of my belly crossed first base well before me and the ever-present cigarette dangling from my mouth during the game: all gave any reasonable person cause to pause and wonder what once might have been. As new players joined, I learned to say: I’m quicker than I look.

As I’ve started running again, I’ve seen the same look: you ran how far and how fast? The underlying look being: ‘how does your poor body do that?’ Many, for sure, have experienced the same as attempts to get back into shape are made.

Lately, though, as people see the effect this newest healthy addiction has had the question has morphed into why? What possible motivation could there be for putting down the pint and hitting the pavement?

First, some history is needed.  Many years ago, I was showing my friend Cindy E. some pictures I’d come across while on holidays. She politely humoured me for a moment or two, then proceeded to wonder why she cared about these two long-haired, Motley-Crue t-shirt wearing, skinny guys with patchy facial hair. Cause the one with an ear-ring is yours truly, was the answer. Eyes back forth between pic and visage now in front of her, holding the picture border to cheek. Yep, she couldn’t see it.

But that skinny guy is how I always remember, nay, see myself. When it comes to running, it’s a memory of a 140 pounder finishing in the top 10 at GBSSA (an Ontario thing) in a pair of purple Nikes borrowed from Mr. Huddleston. When I went out to play a few matches last year with the Castaway Thirds, I guarantee no one else saw me as a winger – except me – when I hit the rugby pitch.

So that’s the frame. When Paralympian Michelle Stilwell says run the TC 10K it’s difficult to come up with a good excuse – especially as I still see the skinny guy and figure there will be a breakout and not to worry. Problem is it was getting harder and harder to make it happen.

Now, as they say, to the ‘moment’ of truth. Had managed to run the TC 10K again (albeit with slight knee injury), recovered enough from knee injury to go on rugby trip and play in Kelowna. So, was feeling pretty good about my athletic recuperative powers. But when I tried to put on suits that languished in the closest for months, small problem – either my drycleaner had shrunk them or I had, as my Nan always graciously said, filled out.

Worried about whether a button would come flying off my vest and take someone’s eye out was the motivation. Lose weight. Fit into clothes. Reacquaint with cheekbones. Set some targets, meet them but don’t stop if you’re not perfect.

So this will be my place to talk about being a fiftysomething who is trying to rediscover his inner-skinny and keep it around. It could be pet peeves, it could be how difficult ‘cold’ running is in Victoria. The trials of motivation or the frustration of plateaus may feature. Or why Voltaren is my friend, along with Advil, or what to eat. But I promise, this will be a Trump-free zone.