Colin and Patrick ready to go!

“I’m game if you are”, read the text message on my mobile phone this morning. Two hours later, with my friends Colin and Lee, I’m at the trailhead of the Grouse Grind. We’re not alone. It’s Thanksgiving Sunday and dozens of hikers of all ages have come to Grouse Mountain on Vancouver’s north shore for a bit of exercise. Known as “Nature’s Stairmaster”, this trail is only 2.9 kilometres long, but rises 853 metres. By way of comparison, the CN Tower is a mere 553m tall.

Like everyone else doing the Grind, we’re dressed for physical effort. Trail shoes, shorts, and lycra. I don’t spot any “tourist-in-high-heels”, the clueless unfortunates ill-prepared for rough terrain. But I am wearing something cumbersome; a vest filled with 40 pounds of lead.

Fatboy took the 2010 challenge by half a wheel.

Sometimes innocent chatter lead far beyond talk. Last year, Colin suggested I wouldn’t easily drop him while cycling uphill if I weighed as much as he did (I’m around 155lbs and he’s, ahem, more than that). So, to test that assertion, we  raced our bikes up Cypress Mountain, with me wearing a 40lb weight vest. Our duel wasn’t blazing fast, but it was close. The “Lonsdale Cannonball” (Colin prefers this nickname to “El Rotundo”) prevailed.

The 2011 rematch is underway with Colin’s better half, Lee, along for the fun. Last year, as official photographer, she rode off ahead chuckling as we laboured against gravity. This time, in matrimonial solidarity, she goes at her husband’s pace. Before long, it is obvious that long work shifts and late nights have taken their toll on Colin’s fitness and I’m ahead on my own with my forty extra pounds.

Not just bad photography. The grind is a sweaty blur.

Doing the Grouse Grind is more about overcoming the environment than appreciating it. There are far easier ways to experience the natural beauty of British Columbia than to flog yourself uphill for an hour or more (the freakishly fast course record is 23 minutes and 48 seconds). Within five minutes of starting, your breath deepens and you start sweating, and soon your body is consumed with the effort. It’s very quiet on the trail, all talk quickly replaced by silence and your gasping. Somewhere in the woods, a stream splashes downhill. There’s not much looking around either. Eyes stay focused on the next step ahead through a jumble of roots and rocks.

The occasional upward glance reveals a blur of trees, trail and sometimes a lycra-covered backside. And it’s not just about legs. You place your hands on cold, damp boulders to steady yourself. You push down on your thighs or grab onto the trailside ropes. Anything to propel yourself forward and upward, one slow metre at a time.

The added weight starts to take its toll on my lower back and I feel myself slowing down. Faster hikers pass but I also work my way past families, dating couples, and individuals plugged into their iPods. Large panels signal the quarter, half and three-quarter way markers. I get to three-quarters and glance at my watch. Without the vest, I’d be done by now. A final push and I get to the mist-shrouded summit, out of the trees and up to Grouse Mountain’s lodge.

Lee emerges sometime later, alone, with dew beading her eyebrows. I go inside to change out of my sopping shirt. When I return, Colin is there. He waves, muttering “No warmup…..head exploded twice…..small, petulant child…” but recovers quickly as we stroll to the nearby wilderness enclosure where the two massive Grizzly bears named Grinder and Coola, are kept. Coola gratifies us by fulsomely answering the question “does a bear shit in the woods?”

We take the cable car back down the mountain and drive to our favourite North Vancouver hangout for brunch, which we wolf down in the noonday sun.  It isn’t a Thanksgiving meal, precisely, but there are worse ways to spend time adding to the lore of friendship.

Grizzly Okens roars in triumph.