For more great escapes, read our sister piece: 12 Amazing Things To Do Outdoors In Western Canada (Including A Bit Of Florida… In The Prairies)
I’m really fortunate to have grown up in Terrace Bay; it’s a little hidden gem in Northern Ontario, situated on the north shore of Lake Superior. I’ve always felt like I have a special connection to water from spending days boating and fishing with my family.
A couple of years ago, I moved back home and really noticed surfing was a growing sport; the idea of surfing on the Great Lakes was something I didn’t know we could do in our corner of the country. But it seemed so male dominated to me, and the frigid cold and the force of the lake were intimidating.
Once the COVID-19 pandemic hit, I was looking for an outlet. I saw a lot more women getting involved with surfing, and that was really my push into it. I was drawn to how powerful they looked on the lake. I was craving a connection to nature, and to the community that was growing in front of me. So I slipped into a wetsuit, got on a surfboard and ventured out to get to know the water and the tides in a whole new way.
The first couple of times, there was a lot of frustration. When you see other people surfing, it kind of looks simple. In reality though, when you first try it yourself, you get barrelled all of the time. We’re talking sand, sometimes snow, in your face and water in your mouth. I did have this “aha moment” a couple months in. That first time you get up on a wave and have the perfect surf line is the most magical experience of your life, and that’s when it becomes an obsession. I definitely wear many hats as a mother and a nurse, but when I get in the water and get surfing, everything else shuts off. It’s where I can find a bit of release and quiet through this complicated time, where it’s just me and the water.
—Ziya Jones, Montreal, Quebec
Just before the first lockdown last March, during a Muay Thai sparring session, I was punched in the face so hard that my orbital floor broke and I suffered double vision and a concussion. That traumatized me. I needed a new hobby. I was seeing a lot of roller skaters on Instagram, so I bought skates.
The first time I drove to the skate park, I sat in my car for a long time. I really had to push myself to get out. An older man was just ripping around the bowl, and I kept thinking, “Is he going to be looking at me and be like, ‘What is she doing?’” I got over that fear. Now when I go to the skate park, I don’t care who’s around.
I was a 100 percent beginner on roller skates, but my experience rollerblading and ice-skating definitely helped. I also went roller skating daily for an hour and a half while my one-year-old son, Jaden, was napping, so I progressed quickly.
My biggest success with a trick has been the backside stall, where you go up to the coping [the] and land a 180-degree turn. It took me two months. There’s something about hurting myself on the coping, especially shin-on-coping, that really scares me. I kept trying it step by step. I watched a lot of videos on YouTube and footage of myself attempting the trick. A big part of it was just committing, but when I got it, oh my gosh, it was liberating. There’s just something about that feeling of getting over a fear. And after landing a trick like that, it opens up so many more doors to tricks I can do.
I’m now pregnant and I’m still skating. I worry about people judging me, especially now that my belly is showing, but I know my body best.
I also know that this time to skate is time I need so I can be 100 percent mentally there for Jaden—and, eventually, for my new baby, too—outside of the skate park.
—Morgan Mullin, Sillikers, New Brunswick
When I was eight, I was hit by a car while riding my bike. I wasn’t hurt—in fact, I just got up and went on to class. But somewhere along the way, I became more fearful on two wheels.
As an adult, I spent nearly a decade living in Toronto but never bought a bicycle. Many horrible bicycle deaths—including those of bike courier Darcy Allan Sheppard and Jenna Morrison, who was five months pregnant at the time—happened while I lived there. I would stick to streetcars and my feet, thanks.
I didn’t consider changing this when I moved to St. John’s. But last year, after two months stuck inside with my bored seven-year-old son, I made an impulsive pandemic purchase: a bike. It would get us outside together, I reasoned, and motivate my son to learn to ride his own without training wheels.
I was right. It took a few days and some tears, but with a little help from a neighbour and patience I didn’t know I had left at that point, he got there. We started riding around the pond across from his school almost daily. I avoided looking at the school building—it was empty, and the parking lot was being used for COVID-19 testing. Instead, we focused on the ducks in the pond, the changing foliage and the dogs we passed on their walks.
Soon, St. John’s opened up more, and we went farther afield. It took a while to get comfortable riding on the road, and I planned my trips to avoid a few of the busiest streets. But my son kept trying when he couldn’t ride his bike, so I kept trying when I felt unsteady on mine.
We brought the bikes out again a few weeks ago and rode around the pond—last year’s ducklings are grown up, and the pussy willows were out. We were shaky at first but regained our balance quickly. It felt good to look forward to summer.
—Sherry Moreau, Kenora, Ontario
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