A Love Letter to Canada: Finding a Lost Love of Two Decades

There’s a moment on the trail—somewhere between the burn in your calves and the rhythm of your breath—when the world goes quiet. Not silent, but still. The kind of stillness that only mountains can offer. That’s where I found myself last week, standing in the shadow of the Three Sisters in Canmore, Alberta, with a heart cracked open by the sheer beauty of it all. Something I hadn’t felt so strongly in decades.

This trip to Canada wasn’t planned as a pilgrimage. It was meant to be a break to visit family. My wife's uncle, aunt, and two cousins have lived in Canada for years. Sadly, we’d never made it out there. The tragic passing of Jen's uncle last year, coupled with the recent loss of her Gran and the birth of her cousin's beautiful baby boy, Jonah, made it time for a visit. What I didn’t expect was how much I’d love the place—and the feelings it would bring back.

Twenty years is a long time to drift from something you once loved. I didn’t realise how far I’d wandered from the outdoors until I was back in it. Surrounded by pine, rock, and sky so wide it made me feel small in the best possible way. Hiking through Banff’s alpine trails and running along the Bow River, I felt something I hadn’t in years: awe and tranquillity.

Diving back to my time as a teenager and young adult, I spent time in the Lake District just outside Penrith, working a few weeks at Derwent Hill Outdoor Activity Centre for a string of summers. I supported instructors taking groups on hikes, climbing, canoeing—whatever was needed. I loved it. I loved being in the hills. I loved the peace it brought. The challenge it provided. But as I got older, I grew away from it. Even to the point of having to force myself outside during cold weather just to get my runs in and I’d avoid certain routes in case they were too wet underfoot or if I thought I’d slip or struggle. To a degree, age took my sense of adventure—and I was happy to let it.

Canada brought that love back. Its breath takingly stunning—the kind of beauty that stops you mid-stride, makes you forget your pace, and reminds you that you’re part of something much bigger than your training plan.

As a coach, I spend a lot of time helping runners chase goals. Whether that’s PBs, race finishes, or comeback stories. But sometimes, remembering why you’re doing something is the most important thing. It’s about connection. It’s about challenge. It's about personal growth.

In Canmore, the altitude sits roughly at the height of Ben Nevis—right there on the main street. Add in temperatures as low as -10°C, and my 10-minute miles felt like six-minute efforts.

Throw in some elevation and you’re very quickly searching for new orifices to breathe out of.

And that helped. The plan went out the window for the week, and I forget paces, times, and just simply enjoyed what I was doing. I ran four times that week and went on several more walks. I can guarantee they were among the slowest I’ve done in years. Don't get me wrong, I worked hard on a couple of them, but I couldn’t tell you an average pace—or even the distance of any of them.

Canada taught me that beauty doesn’t need to be loud. That discomfort can be calming. That sometimes, the best way to move forward is to go back to the things that lit you up before life got busy, before goals got sharp-edged.

To me, this became more than a holiday.

If you’ve lost touch with the outdoors—if your runs feel more like obligations than adventures—then I encourage you to step outside. Not just out your front door, but out of your routine. Find a trail. Leave your watch if you can. Garmin and Strava are having handbags anyway, so there’s a chance your run won’t end up on there and, honestly, you don't really need that external validation!

Canada reminded me that the world is still beautiful. That we are still capable of experiencing wonder. And that sometimes, the best training isn’t about getting faster—it’s about falling back in love with a passion. The only thing that makes it more magical is sharing the experience with the ones you love.