A 12-kilometer ride, 700 meters of climbing, and a race I wasn’t totally sure I was ready for.
I parked, got my gear sorted, tried to settle my nerves. I’ve been training, sure—but that question kept echoing: Did I do enough? You never really know until you’re out there.
Before the climb even started, I had to descend. And honestly? That part freaked me out.
I hadn’t practiced much. Thirty minutes of descending wasn’t something I’d ever done, and I really felt it in my hands—worried that I’d pull the brakes too hard and go over the handlebars, or just lose control and go careening off the road.
I kept coming back to this piece of advice I heard once—that descending is all mental. And if you want to enjoy it, just say it out loud: I love descending!
So I did. Over and over, like a mantra.
Then a deer crossed the road in front of me. And you know, from that point on, I did love descending.
The start line park was beautiful that morning—clear views of the water and UBC. Hard to believe I’d been riding over there just a week ago.
Around me, riders were quietly doing their own prep. I had some cramping from the descent, so I used the time to walk it off and stretch.
Now, all that was left was to wait for the race to begin.
I lined up at the back of the under-one-hour group.
It felt ambitious.
I’ve never done a timed hill climb like this before, but something in me wanted to see what was possible. Worst case, I’d blow up. Best case? I’d surprise myself.
When the race started, I settled into a pace that felt manageable.
Not easy, not hard—just steady.
I reminded myself: it’s a long climb. No need to burn out early.
The first half went by smoother than I expected.
But after that midpoint sign? Everything changed.
My legs started screaming. The road felt longer. The crowd thinned out.
I just kept chipping away. This was the part I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for.
So I stopped thinking about the finish.
I picked a rider ahead of me and just… followed.
Not racing them—just borrowing their rhythm.
It gave my mind something to hold onto while my body kept grinding.
I kept glancing down at my new bike computer.
I’ve got my watch, but this was different.
Just like those Form swim goggles I used in my last swim race—something about seeing numbers helps me get through the pain.
Weirdly, watching the distance barely tick forward made it easier.
I wasn’t moving fast. But I was moving.
And somehow, I made it!
Gun time: 59:59.
I laughed when I saw it. One second to spare.
I have a knack for coming really close to the wire with my finishes—having completed a few run races with just a second over the minute. I don’t really know what this says about me. But I don’t mind it.
Getting to the top felt incredible.
Not just because it was hard. Not just because I hit the time.
But because it reminded me: this is only the beginning.
There’s a whole world of rides, challenges, and climbs ahead.
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This summer is flying by. Honestly, this whole year is. Sometimes it feels like my life is flashing before my eyes. Most days are just the same routine: wake up, work, sit at a computer, eat, sleep. The days tick by, and it’s kind of terrifying.
There’s not much we can do to stop time. We’re all getting older—it’s just something we have to accept. But while that’s inevitable, there is a way to make life feel more alive: do something new. So today, I’m doing exactly that. I’m cycling up Burnaby Mountain to SFU.
SFU’s one of my favorite spots in the Lower Mainland. I’ve always had good memories here. I was never a student, but back in the day, I’d come up just to take advantage of the student bar discounts. Like I said—good memories. And today feels like a mix of nostalgia and preparation for something ahead.
This ride is part of my training for a challenge I’ve set for myself in two weeks: the Cypress Challenge. SFU sits at the top of a mountain, but compared to Cypress, it’s only a quarter of the climb. So while today’s ride is a decent workout, it’s just a warm-up for what’s coming.
Time’s moving fast, and I never seem to have enough of it. Cycling, as a hobby, takes a lot of time—and long four-hour rides have been hard to squeeze in lately. My training’s been compact, and today’s ride is no exception. Still, I wanted to get at least a few climbs in before the big day. And this one counts.
I’m a small guy, which helps on climbs, but that doesn’t make them easy. Still, I love the challenge. I like the suffering. I like how it becomes a mental game. Being on a bike, knowing that if you stop, you lose momentum—it creates this pressure that somehow invigorates me. Climbing a mountain on a bike reminds me that I’m alive.
Time’s rushing past. Relatives are dying. Friends are having babies. Everyone seems too busy to do anything anymore. So the fact that I made it out here today, that I’m climbing this mountain—it feels like a small metaphor for surviving in the modern world. You work, you sweat, you push yourself to reach the top… only to come back down.
That’s endurance sports. That’s creative work. That’s life.
I’m cycling the Cypress Challenge to raise funds for pancreatic cancer research. Thanks to everyone who donated—I really appreciate it. Together, we’ve raised over $1,000. Thank you so much.
Now… let’s ride up SFU and look ahead to Cypress. I’m still here. I’m not on my deathbed yet. How do I know? Because there are still memories left to make. Life hasn’t fully flashed before my eyes—not yet.
Today is one week before the Cypress Challenge—a 700-meter climb up one of Vancouver’s North Shore mountains. It’s a charity ride for pancreatic cancer, and when I signed up, I knew I’d have to start finding some hills to train on.
Last week, I climbed SFU. This week, I went to another university I’m not enrolled in—UBC.
UBC is a bit of a labyrinth. Every time I ride here, I get a little lost. But that’s part of the fun. I’ve found a couple of climbs I really enjoy around this area, and those are what I tackled today.
Honestly, training for this ride has become more than just preparation—it’s been an excuse to get out the door. An invitation to explore places I wouldn’t normally go. I’ve ridden to beaches I would visit otherwise, through neighborhoods I’ve never passed, down roads I didn’t know connected.
Lately, travel’s felt far away—too expensive, too time-consuming, too complicated. But every time I throw a leg over my bike, it feels like a little trip. A brief escape from whatever’s waiting on my laptop or buzzing on my phone.
Training gives my days structure. A shape. And even when I’m tired, even when the hill ahead looks brutal, I’m glad for it—because it means I get to go somewhere.
It’s not just about the Cypress climb next week. It’s about all the quiet victories along the way—the early mornings, the sore legs, the new routes, the accidental detours.
And maybe most of all, it’s about showing up. For myself. For this cause. For the people who are climbing much harder mountains than I ever will on a bike.
So yeah—today was another ride, another climb. But it also felt like a reminder: I’m lucky I get to do this. I’m lucky training pushes me to try, to move, to explore.
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Today, I’m off to get inspired! The T100 Vancouver race is happening at the Spanish Banks-Locarno Beach area, so I’m riding over this morning to check it out and hopefully catch some of the pros at the start.
I’ve been toying with the idea of doing a longer triathlon distance, and the T100 feels like a solid goal for a year or two from now. Honestly, if I had the time to train properly, I could probably attempt it this year—but the bike and run would be brutal.
Still, it’s good to have goals. Good to have something that fuels you. Seeing this event come to Vancouver gives me a jolt of energy—and hey, this city is awesome, so why not soak it in?
So, I decided to go watch and kick off my next training block with some inspiration.
After finishing my first triathlon of the season—a sprint race in the rain—I had a five-week gap before my 12-week Olympic triathlon plan begins. The big question was: what do I do with those five weeks?
The first week was for rest, obviously. But after that, I realized there wouldn’t be much room in my training plan to build run speed. I want to be faster on the run this time around, so I put together a four-week run-focused block to raise my pace. The idea was to build speed now, so when I start triathlon training, I already have a strong run base to work from.
I committed to it—two high-intensity sessions each week, plus a few easy runs. Week one: 22.46 km. Week two: 19.72 km. Week three: 18.49 km. Week four: I backed off for recovery. Those numbers might not seem huge, but it was nearly triple what I ran during my sprint tri prep.
The goal was simple: get my legs run-fit and raise my base fitness. And according to my watch, I went from 49 to 63 points. Solid progress.
I know I’ve got plenty of running ahead, but it feels like I’ve already chipped away at some of the hardest work. Now, when my 12-week triathlon plan kicks off, I can shift focus to the swim and bike—without stressing as much about run training.
Because let’s be honest: running is awful.
Last year, I struggled to find the freshness to push for speed. This year, I want to run longer and harder on tired legs. That means more brick workouts off the bike. I’m also planning to ride longer and harder—to really get the endurance in my legs so I can finish strong on the run.
I still remember how painful the run was during last year’s Olympic tri. I don’t want a repeat of that. That’s the goal this time: finish strong. So here I am—three solid weeks of hard running behind me, and a good foundation to build on.
Next up: a 1000m lake swim on Canada Day. I haven’t done much to build swim fitness yet, and I was nervous, but after a test swim, I clocked 24:21 for 1000m. Not fast, but it gave me confidence.
My goal is simple: finish, stay calm, and hold pace. Last time I raced a swim, I veered off course and swam 200m more than I needed to. This time, I just want to stay on track and finish around the 24-minute mark. But really—just finishing will feel like a win.
There’s a lot to look forward to, especially today: T100 day. Enjoy the ride from Science World down the seawall, and stick around ‘til the end to check out the sights and sounds of the race.
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I’ve learned a lot about cycling over the past three years. One big takeaway? It’s not something I’m naturally good at. Part of that is probably because I’m in my mid-thirties, and before getting into triathlon, I didn’t even own a bike. When I think back to my childhood, I can’t really remember how I learned to ride. My parents never taught me — honestly, I’m not even sure they know how to ride themselves. I think I figured it out staying over at a friend’s place in fifth grade. I remember leaning against a wall, just teaching myself how to balance.
Teaching myself has been my go-to approach with most hobbies. It just made sense — why pay for cycling lessons? That felt frivolous, like taking art class or something. Maybe someday I’ll get a coach and try to really improve, but for now, cycling and sports are about getting in shape, relieving stress, having an event to look forward to, and challenging myself little by little.
One big challenge coming up is climbing Cypress Mountain in Vancouver. I live near plenty of hills, so I’m familiar with climbs, but a 12km climb straight up? That’s new, and honestly, it’s a bit intimidating.
Sure, there’s probably a “right” way to train for something like this. But I’ve got to fit in running and swimming too — I still have two swim races, a triathlon, and a 10K PR attempt this year. If I had a coach, they’d probably guide me, but for now, I’m figuring it out on my own. And honestly? That’s kind of peaceful.
To get started, I decided to do an FTP test. I began using MyWhoosh a couple months ago, and it’s been a lifesaver. Before that, I tried Zwift and Rouvy, but for various reasons, I stopped using them. I’ve done FTP tests with different apps before:
In November 2023, I did an hour-long test and got 146 watts.
That was the last test I did, and since then, a lot has changed. My bike fitness has definitely dropped — I didn’t do many workouts over winter after unsubscribing from Rouvy. I’ve been cycling regularly but mostly just commuting and casual late-night zone 2 rides.
This third year of triathlon has taught me I don’t have a huge appetite to ride outside unless I really have to. There are just too many hazards out there, and self-preservation feels more important this year.
That’s why I got MyWhoosh and went back to indoor riding for this training block. But to get a true baseline, I needed to start fresh with a new FTP test — and that’s what I did today, with a Ramp Test on MyWhoosh.
Having done a few ramp tests before, they always feel deceptive. The start is easy, then suddenly it ramps up and crushes your legs. Right now, I think my peak wattage for about a minute is around 260. Anything more, and I fall apart — at least on a ramp test, where you’re already exhausted by the time you hit the top.
I didn’t feel great during this test. I’m not proud of my performance, but I gave it everything I had. One annoying thing compared to Rouvy was the mercy feature: when you can’t keep up, the test ends. MyWhoosh doesn’t seem to have that — or at least I didn’t find it. So I had to keep going, watching those red numbers and feeling bad for not hitting 300 watts.
In the end, I got a shock — my FTP dropped to 192 watts. That’s 38 watts lower than before, which feels like a lot. But it doesn’t seem unrealistic. FTP tests aren’t perfect, and honestly, this feels closer to what I could hold for an hour right now.
So here we are, at the start of a new chapter. There’s a lot to improve in my cycling — I want to climb that mountain feeling strong, not struggling. I’m not aiming to win, but I want to feel good, to know I can push myself further.
Training starts now. I’ve got a few areas to work on, and not much time, so being realistic matters. Reminding myself this is all new helps. Reminding myself it’s a journey of self-discovery helps too. And that I don’t have anything crazy to prove.
Cycling is just another story I’m telling myself — a story I’m still writing. And this is the beginning.
If you want to support pancreatic cancer care and research, please consider donating to my ride — I’d really appreciate it.
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The day finally arrived: my first triathlon of 2025. In fitting conclusion to a chaotic training block, race day kicked off with a perfectly miserable, rainy morning.
There were plenty of challenges leading up to this moment—months of work, unexpected obstacles, and less-than-ideal conditions. But we don’t sign up for this because it’s easy.
In addition to swim, bike, and run logistics, there was one more wildcard: our dog, Petey. We’ve been training him to handle crowds and noise, and he’s made a lot of progress. Still, we knew race day would test him. That morning, we left him with my wife at the car while I made my way to the start line. I had about an hour to set up before go time.
This was my fifth triathlon, so by now, the usual gear-check panic had faded. No more obsessing over whether I packed everything or anxiety about setting up in transition. Still, right before the start, I always feel it—that churn in the stomach. Pushing yourself to the edge while trying to pace it right? That’s always nerve-wracking.
Speaking of my stomach, I wasn’t feeling 100% physically. Digestively. But maybe it’s all in my mind. I chalked it up to the general discomfort of standing around in the rain. Yes, it was a very messy morning. The trek to the pool was a mudfest.
The swim was supposed to be 444m like last year, but a week out, we got an email that it’d be shortened to 300m. Not ideal for an apples-to-apples comparison, but with the rain, nothing was going to be a perfect match. Still, it was a chance to improve.
Last year, I finished 126th out of 276. This year, my goal was to break into the top 100. Not always the healthiest mindset—comparing yourself to others—but this race uses a staggered start, so standings are kind of a mystery anyway. I decided to treat it like a solo time trial.
To position myself in the most ideal spot, I tested a 300m swim in training and estimated I’d come in around 6:40. Last year, I guessed I could swim 444m in 10 minutes—it ended up taking me about 11, and I had to let a few people pass at the wall. This time, based on my test, I landed pretty close: 6:31 on my watch, and 7 minutes officially after running across the pool to hit the timing checkpoint.
As for the bike—there was no predicting that. I’d done a good chunk of zone two work leading up to the race, but not much hard outdoor riding lately. Still, my legs felt solid. The course was four laps on a rolling route with a 50m climb over 2km. Not brutal, but enough to require steady effort.
I went out a bit aggressively on lap one, eased off by lap two, and by lap three the rain was relentless. I started shivering on a descent and suddenly, my vision blurred. I literally had to shake my head to snap out of it.
I hadn’t trained much in rainy conditions, so from that point on, it was all about survival—just making it to the run.
Needless to say, I was relieved to finally get off the bike at 47 min and 18 seconds, which included both transition times. On my watch, I had 42 min and 42 seconds. A solid time, but I was completely out of it. I started the run with a group pacing around 4:30–4:45/km, which might’ve been fine on a good day—but not after that ride, and not in the state I was in. Once the hills kicked in, I knew I had to ease up.
The run course was no joke—lots of short, punchy climbs, with 128m of elevation packed into just under 5K. I didn’t have huge expectations. Sure, it would’ve been nice to match my 24-minute 5K from last month, but there was no pressure. I just wanted to give it everything I had.
And I think I did.
And just like that, it was over. Another race in the books. And to my surprise, I hit that arbitrary goal I set at the start. I cracked the top 100. Barely. 99th place.
The conditions were rough. The training block was fragmented and inconsistent. But I got through it, and now it’s a race I’ll remember fondly.
As for Petey? He didn’t quite share in my success. While I braved the rain, he opted for safety and comfort. My wife tried a few times to coax him out to spectate, but he preferred to wait it out in the warm car. After a bit of howling, he curled up in the backseat and took a nap.
Still, we all did our best. And I’m proud of the three of us for figuring it out—together.
There will be more attempts. There will be more challenges. Plenty more adventures ahead.
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Triathlon, for me, often feels like a selfish act. I train to get faster. I work out for my mental health. For my physical health. Because it’s my hobby—my escape. I race to beat my last time, to check a box, to prove something to myself. Most of what I do, I do for me. And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.
We’re often told that everything we do should serve a greater good—that if something doesn’t benefit others, it’s not worth doing. But there’s value in doing something simply because it lights you up. Motivation matters. Not everything needs to be for something.
That said, sometimes tying your effort to something larger than yourself is exactly what keeps you going. When you’re exhausted, or stuck, or unmotivated, a deeper purpose can pull you through.
Pain can drive you, too.
A month after my dog Michael passed away, I ran my first half marathon. I was overwhelmed with emotion at the finish. It hurt to keep going—but I kept going, and it meant something.
Michael’s death was sudden.
I’d gone out for a swim that rainy evening, and by the time I got changed and rushed home, he was already gone. We learned he had an undetected tumor near his heart. It burst, and within hours, he was gone. There was nothing we could have done.
I still think about how I was off training—doing something for myself—when he left.
We only have so much time to do the things we want to do. Life is fragile—and it’s not just death that can take things from us. Injury, burnout, financial hardship, obligations—they can all pull us away from the life we imagined.
In stoicism, there’s a phrase for this: memento mori. Remember, you must die. When you carry that awareness with you, it creates urgency. You want to make the most of each day.
This summer, I signed up for a few races leading up to my second Olympic-distance triathlon. I’ve got two open water swims and my first-ever bike race: the Cypress Challenge, a climb up Cypress Mountain. It’s not just any ride—it’s an event that raises money for BC Cancer and brings attention to pancreatic cancer.
Any contribution is deeply appreciated. Donate here!
Now, please enjoy a couple of hill repeats with me up Queen Elizabeth Park, on this beautiful cherry blossom day.
Enjoy the ride.
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Twenty months ago, I didn’t swim, bike, or run. I was just a sedentary writer and marketer, feeling frail and pretty down—basically, an all-around sad boy.
Since then, I’ve gradually built up my skills in each discipline and improved my fitness along the way. And honestly, it’s done wonders for my mental well-being. They say if exercise were an antidepressant, it’d be the most effective one out there—and I totally believe it. I might even be a bit addicted now, but I think I’ve got it under control!
Looking back at how far I’ve come is a bit surreal. If you’re interested, check out this video of my first sprint triathlon from last year after you finish watching this one. The improvement is huge!
Now, I’m gearing up for my first Olympic-distance triathlon: a 1,500-meter swim, a 40-kilometer bike ride, and a 10-kilometer run. What once felt impossible now seems totally doable.
While a lot of things went right, I definitely learned some lessons tackling this longer distance. Today, I’ll share what worked for me and where I stumbled in each of the three disciplines. Let’s go!
Swim : What Went Right
Started at the Right Pace
Last year, during my first sprint triathlon, I charged into the swim as fast as I could, thinking I could power through the 750 meters and keep up with the pack. Spoiler alert: that didn’t go as planned. I got completely knocked around after just 200 meters!
This year, though, I played it safe. Knowing the distance was double, I wanted to make sure I had enough energy to get through it.
So, I let the front runners take off ahead of me and eased my way in at the back. I even took a moment to wave goodbye to my wife before diving in.
What I loved about this was that I found myself swimming the first 50 meters next to a guy doing breaststroke! That was a game changer for me because I definitely felt a few jolts of panic throughout the course. But all I had to do was slow down my stroke rate and focus on my breathing. In about 10 to 20 seconds, I was able to chill out, enjoy the splash of the salt water, and just steadily make my way through it.
Swim: What Went Wrong
The Sun Got In My Eyes
Here’s the bad news about the swim, which definitely made me glad I was taking it slow. During the first lap, as I was swimming back to the beach, I was headed east just as the sun was rising above the park. That meant I was basically swimming into the sun for the whole 300 meters back in. You can probably guess how that turned out.
I completely lost sight of the buoy, the beach, and everyone ahead of me. I was pretty much swimming blind! My tinted goggles didn’t help much either. In the end, I ended up taking a super wide line, just guessing where to go, hoping I’d get close enough to hear the commotion on the beach or spot some splashing feet in front of me.
I finished my swim about 4-5 minutes slower than I expected, and when I looked at my data after the race, it all made sense—I swam an extra 200 meters! While it was nice to go at my own pace, that also left me swimming solo, which created a whole new problem in terms of navigation.
This is definitely something I need to work on for future open water swims, especially on sunny mornings!
Bike: What Went Right
Staying Focus
A 40 km bike ride is something I usually chill out and do over 2-3 hours around the city with music blasting in my ear. I’m not really used to doing four laps around a course, but man, the Stanley Park route is absolutely stunning. I had to take a moment a few times just to soak it all in, but a part of me just wanted to power through as quickly as possible.
There were definitely a lot of thoughts running through my head during the ride. How fast should I go? What gear should I be in? Should I try to keep pace with the person in front of me? Should I pass them? Should I save my energy for the climb, or push harder? How reckless should I be on the descent?
I was having this constant dialogue with myself for the hour and twenty minutes I was on the bike, always checking in on how I was feeling. That constant check helped me stay focused. The worst thing that could happen was getting bored and either gunning it or blowing up. Or just crashing. I realized how important it was to keep a gauge on my energy levels and pull back if I was pushing too hard because my goal for the bike was to stay steady and feel good for the run. That’s where I could make up for any lost time!
Bike: What Went Wrong
A Bad T2… Again!
While I didn’t have a stellar bike ride by any means, I made it through in one piece with no mechanical issues. It was just a steady, consistent effort, and overall, I’m proud of that. But what I wasn’t proud of was everything that happened once I got off the bike and hit T2.
Transition 2 was a total mess. I got super disoriented, caught in some congested traffic on the way in, and I ended up fiddling with my watch for way too long while trying to keep moving. Oh man, it was definitely amateur hour!
To make matters worse, once I got into transition, I completely lost track of where I was supposed to rack my bike. I stood in another aisle for like 10-15 seconds just searching for my towel. It turned out to be in another row down, and it was pretty embarrassing. Thank goodness my wife was still walking over, so there’s no footage of me looking like John Travolta in Pulp Fiction.
The thing is, I got so used to seeing the racks from the opposite side—the side I exited to the bike course—that I never familiarized myself with the other side, the side I came in from after the bike. That was honestly just a huge oversight, and it really rattled me. Instead of feeling good about heading into my run, I was all discombobulated and had to take a moment to refocus.
T2 has always been tough for me. I don’t know what it is…
Run: What Went Wrong
Nutrition and Cramping
My goal was to run a 5-minute kilometer for the 10K. I started out strong, but within the first 100 meters, I realized I wouldn’t be able to keep it up. Almost immediately, I felt like my quads were about to cramp up. Usually, when I run off the bike, the first kilometer is the painful part, but it passes.
This time, though, it didn’t pass. I was on the verge of cramping the whole time, which meant that if I even tried to speed up, I’d really feel it, so I rode that fine line for the entire run. Instead of feeling like I’m conquering the run, I had to stick to a much slower pace—about 30 seconds slower than I wanted. It was super frustrating and honestly the most disappointing part of the whole race. My strategy was to feel good during the run, and I definitely didn’t.
My marathoner wife, who’s been through every running experience you can think of, suggested that my crampy legs were likely due to not having enough nutrition and not enough calories to fuel my run. I had one Gu at the start of the swim, another at the start of the bike, a full bottle of Gatorade on the ride, and two more Gu’s during the run, but that didn’t seem like enough. It’s definitely something I need to experiment with in the future.
Run: What Went Right
Enough to Finish Strong
Nevertheless, what went right was that I finished strong. I remember having enough energy to pass two more runners on my way to the finish line, which was exactly what I needed. There was an uphill stretch right before the end that felt like the most torturous part of the whole course. I really picked up the pace there because I didn’t want to hold back. In the last kilometer, I hit the pace I had been aiming for, and it absolutely finished me off. I left it all out there and crossed the line with a time of:
Official Time: 3:08:18 Overall: 162/243 Gender: 126/237 Division: 24/46
Taking everything into account, I think that’s a pretty respectable time for me. It reflects where I am in terms of fitness, skill, and experience. I can’t do another triathlon without feeling accomplished for having completed this one, especially since I didn’t think I could do it 20 months ago.
While I finished this race strong, it’s definitely not the end. Reflecting on this experience, I’ve come up with a ton of ideas for tweaks I can make to improve, and it goes beyond just training and getting fitter.
Conclusion:
This Olympic-distance triathlon was harder than all three sprint triathlons I did combined. But having the base fitness in each discipline gave me the confidence to know that anything is possible now. I have proof that I can do this—and maybe even more.
This wraps up a fun season of sports, and I’m already looking ahead to my next race. I’ve got a couple in mind for 2025. Right now, my goal is to use triathlons as a way to get outside, stay in shape, and explore new towns and cities—starting in my province and then going further. Which race will I sign up for next? We’ll have to wait a bit, but I’m sure I’ll figure it out soon! Hit subscribe so you can follow along.
This is the final part of my Project: Be Consistent — if you are interested in seeing the first two parts, which chronicles my 8 week training plan and carb-loading week in Italy, you can click on the link in the description or the playlist here.
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Elliot Chan 