London park hits the mark

The city's Victoria Park truly is a park for all seasons.

During the springtime, the downtown park becomes a hub of activity as Londoners emerge from hibernation to rediscover the great outdoors. Then in the summer people picnic and throw Frisbees in the abundant green space, while the less athletically inclined individuals read books under the shade of the century-old trees. By autumn, the park becomes a great destination to take in the fall foliage, boasting a wide array of oranges, reds and yellows. On Nov. 26, the downtown park transformed into a winter wonderland as thousands of Christmas lights turned on and space was made for the ice rink once the weather realizes it's December.

Established as a social hub in 1874 after years of military use, Victoria Park is the Canadian equivalent of the United State's Central Park, albeit much smaller, spanning only 15 acres compared to the big apple's 770-acre green space.

Londoners make use of the park all year round. During the fall, Remembrance Day is observed at the cenotaph in the park's southeast corner. Revelers pack the park to ring in the New Year in the winter (real Canadians don't party indoors on Dec. 31). In the spring, protesters descend upon the bandshell and make some noise about one issue or another – probably hoping the bandshell's good acoustics will help get their message heard. And I don't even have enough space in this column to list the many festivals happening at the park throughout the summer. From Ribfest and Sunfest to the International Food Festival and LOLA, the City of London estimates that one million visitors pass through the park for numerous special events.

There's no off-season for the downtown park. And although the grass isn't fit to putt on, it looks pretty good for all the trampling it takes.

If James Brown is considered the hardest working man in show business, then Vic Park is the hardest working venue in the … park business?

Sadly, with the onset of winter, the park loses its beloved mascot: the squirrel.

Nowhere in the world are squirrels as friendly – or as fat – as they are in the downtown park, where it's not uncommon for one of the furry rodents to eat directly from people's hands.

I doubt the wildlife at Central Park would eat a peanut out of anyone's hand. But, then again, New Yorkers aren't renowned for their friendliness.

Winter fitness 101

I think I’ve finally discovered why Canadians are slimmer than our neighbours to the south.

According to a 2004 Statistics Canada report, the obesity rate in Canada is 23.1% for males and females over the age of 18, compared to 29.7% in the United States.

While experts like dieticians and scientists place the blame on fast food, video games and other culprits, I’ve found the real reason: winter.

Yes, we’re thinner because of our cold northern winters.

Think about all of the extra physical activity we Canucks get from December to March. First, we shovel hundreds of kilograms of snow. While the white stuff may look soft and fluffy in pictures, it’s much like a woman’s purse – easy on the eyes but hard on the shoulders.

Then there’s the second exercise in the winter workout: pushing stuck automobiles. This lift primarily works the latissimus dorsi (back) and the deltoids (shoulders). And don’t forget clearing the car, an exercise that tones and defines the triceps though repetition.

Canadians get their daily cardio fix by putting on all those extra layers of clothing. With all the bending and squatting to pull on three pairs of socks, the reaching down to lace up boots, and the stretching to get appendages into snow pants and jackets, getting dressed for the outdoors is the equivalent of completing a yoga session.

I find it ironic that gyms typically get a whole lot busier in January as people rush to the treadmill to work off those extra holiday calories and honour New Year’s resolutions. All these well-intentioned individuals have to do is run more errands to shed those unwanted pounds.

Look at it like this: a trip to the grocery story requires you to get bundled up, then you’ll have to shovel the snow from the mouth of your driveway because the plow just finished your street. Next you have to chisel a thick layer of ice from your windshield, then you’ll probably have to stop along the way to help push at least three cars stuck in the ditch (the fifth Canadian commandment is thou shall always help push). Finally, after spending a half hour in the store, you’ll come out to a snow-covered car and have to repeat cycle.

So the next time you complain about the snowy season, just look down at your waistline and remember that winter isn’t so bad.

A whole set of sweet teeth

It's understood that working as a reporter may be a dangerous job at times.
From covering conflicts to exposing corruption to reporting on crime, many journalists have died in the line of duty.
But when I landed a job as a multimedia reporter at the Londoner, I thought I had a pretty safe gig. Since starting my new job a few months ago though, I discovered a grave threat to my health: workplace sweets.
Sugary snacks seem to be everywhere I turn at my office. My co-workers at the Sun Media building on Gainsborough Road bring in leftover cookies, extra Halloween candy, random cinnamon buns and all sorts of other confections. We even have a bi-weekly cake day!
Make no mistake, I don't hate these tasty treats – it would be much easier if I did. My problem is I have an insatiable sweet tooth. And it's my teeth I'm worried about. At 26 years old, I've never had a single cavity, but that streak can't continue with the amount of sweets at my workplace. Sometimes I feel like I work at Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.
It doesn't help that I sit just a few feet from most tempting source of all: the office candy jar.
As if it wasn't hard enough to be within eyesight of this candy mecca, but to make maters worse the container is constantly stocked with amazing treats like Swedish Berries, Aero bars and Jolly Ranchers.
It would be much easier to ignore the jar if it was stocked with black licorice or candy corn.
Since starting in September, I've gone through three stages. First, I indulged in the treats, eating as many as I could, sometimes waking up with a sugar hangover the following day. Next, I felt guilty about all the junk I was eating so I tried to eat in moderation, but ended up binging again. Finally, I decided to quit sugar cold turkey, but soon the cookie cravings became too much, and then cake day hit and I relapsed.
My situation reminds me of the Seinfeld episode where Elaine gets fed up with the atmosphere of excess sugar consumption at her office and swears off sweets, only to realize she's hooked on mid-afternoon cake.
When I'm packing my lunch in the morning I'll throw in an orange or an apple thinking it might substitute for my daily candy fix, but when lunchtime rolls around my fruit doesn't look so appealing compared to a chocolate cupcake.
My name is Dale Carruthers and I'm addicted to sweets.
This addiction is especially embarrassing for a man my age. You never hear of rock stars addicted to licorice, and professional athletes hooked on donuts don't make the headlines. There's nothing glamorous about my addiction. I can only imagine my dentist shaking his head when he reads this.
But I guess the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.