TST Gets Brave

Distance:  7 miles

Pace:  8:51

Sleep:  4.5 hours

Drinks at speak easy the night before:  2

Mo Jo has admittedly been keeping this blog afloat for the last few months.  I’ve been running – occasionally – but have not had much time to post.  Since the beginning of September, I’ve been to Ireland, Albuquerque, Denver, San Francisco, and Fresno.  All but Ireland were work trips.  I had some amazing runs in Ireland, but have since forgotten too many details to post.  I also had a great run in  Denver, but it was too uneventful (eventless?) to post.  

(From top left clockwise, Denver, Vegas (with Husband #1 and his toe shoes), and Ireland)

Which brings me to San Francisco.  I spent Tuesday through Sunday of last week in San Francisco.  San Francisco may be my all time favorite city in the world.  I’ve spent a lot of time there and logged a lot of miles running there.  You can cruise up the coast for a (relatively) flat run.  Or you can turn in to the city and chug up one of the city’s many hills.  On prior trips, I’ve even run up the famous Lombard street.  It is supposed to be closed to pedestrian traffic, but what can I say?  I’m a rebel.  

My first run did not disappoint.  I was there for a conference and had a lot of time available on Wednesday morning.  I ran from Soma (where my hotel was) to Embarcadero and up through Fort Mason (the only significant hill along that part of the coast) to the marina.  When I turned around, I back-tracked for a bit, but decided to go inland just before Ghiradelli Square.  I hit both Russian Hill and Nob Hill on the way back to the hotel.  My pace skyrocketed from around a 9:00 mile to a 10:30 average after those hills.  Phew!

(A prior run up Lombard Hill.  Or maybe this was a down run.  In any event, I've run up and down it multiple times.)

For my second run, I had badgered a fellow conference attendee (we’ll call him Timmy) into running with me.  We headed out after a very early business meeting.  This meant I was in full makeup, not my normal running look.  We started out the same way, up the Embarcadero.  We “turned around” at about 2.6 miles.  Rather than turning around, I had the brilliant idea to go hit some hills like I had the day before.  We ran up to the famous part of Lombard street.  The street to get there is very steep and we were mocked by a group of French tourists who were walking up the hill at a pace not much slower than our running pace.  We got to the base of the curvy part of Lombard and admired it while we caught our breath.  Timmy declined the opportunity to run up it.  I then attempted to lead us back to the hotel with minimal additional hills.  This resulted in a series of diagonal intersections with no cross-walks and sidewalks that were closed for construction.  We hit the outskirts of Chinatown, as well.  These are not ideal running conditions.  The last mile of the run went something like this:  run, run, run, stop for red light, run, run, run, shit, the sidewalk’s closed, run, run, run, stop for red light.  Not my finest run-planning moment.  

My third run almost didn’t happen.  Following an evening of networking and a trip to a speak-easy, my friend and I discovered we were starving at 1:00 am.  There is nowhere to eat in Soma a 1:00 am, save Denny’s.  I initially declined and then realized I might die of starvation in my sleep, so then accompanied my friend, who shall henceforth be known as Denny, to Denny’s at 1:00 am.  I inhaled a cheese omelette, hash browns, and toast before Denny was even halfway through her omelette.  This gave me time to look around for our server to signal for the check.  Instead, I accidentally made eye contact with a man who had just come into the restaurant.  He took this as an invitation to saunter up to our table where the following exchange took place:

Man:  I like your hair.

Me:  *polite smile* Thanks.

Man:  So, are you married?

Denny:  *dissolves into giggles right in poor man’s face*

I did not get back to my room until after 1:30 am.  As I apparently cannot sleep past 6:00 am anymore, regardless of my bedtime, I was working off less than 5 hours’ sleep when I began my third San Francisco run (not surprisingly, Timmy had ignored my e-mail asking if he wanted to join me).  I have run right up to the Golden Gate before, but never beyond as it is quite some distance from Soma (where I am usually staying because that’s where all the conferences are).  The coastline is gorgeous and I wanted to see more of it, so I decided to cab to Crissy Field and start my run there.  My original plan was to run around the coast underneath the Golden Gate and see what was there.  I got in the cab and told the driver to take me to Crissy Field.  She replied “where?”  I was baffled and just had  her take me to the marina.  I still had to give her directions.  

On the way there, I started thinking about the Golden Gate.  I cannot count how many people have told me I NEED to run/walk/bike the bridge.  Except, here’s the thing, I’m terrified of heights.  I hate even driving over bridges.  In the few seconds it takes to fly across a bridge going 80 mph, my palms sweat and I can’t look down.  So running across the Golden Gate?  As if!  As we drew closer to the water and the Golden Gate loomed, however, my lack of sleep affected my thinking.  Somewhere near the end of my cab ride, I decided I had to run the Golden Gate while I was still young(ish) and strong enough to run.  Besides, the weather was gorgeous and promised a great toe-shoes pic.  

(Stunning overlook of the Golden Gate.)

So I started at the marina.  The day was sunny and warm.  A little too warm.  But it’s okay because I’d heard the bridge was really windy.  I eased off the pace, knowing I’d want to get off the bridge as quickly as possible.  Soon I began to climb the hill that went right up to the bridge.  And then, all of a sudden (2.5 miles into my run), there it was – spread out in front of me.  It was long and foreboding and PACKED with people.  I took a deep breath, put on some Tech 9 to make myself feel tough, and started to run.  I was afraid the bridge would sway in the wind.  Fortunately, it was sturdy and the wind wasn’t very strong.  Frankly, the biggest danger to me  was bikes.  The bikes speed over the bridge and I had to dart out in front of them to get around the tourists casually strolling three abreast down the narrow(ish) sidewalk.  The risk of grievous bodily injury via bike helped take my mind off the heights.  Until I looked down at the water.  Ho-ly shit!  I was high up!  And I immediately became dizzy and nauseated.  So I tried not to look down any more.  

(From the other side of the bridge!)

(My fingers and toes tingled taking this picture.  Yipe!  So high up!)

The bridge was about 1.5  miles across.  When I reached the other side, I called husband #1 and told him I ran across the bridge.  I expected to be mocked, but he said “wow, that’s a big deal . . . for you.”  Yes.  Yes I am brave.  I conquered my utterly irrational fear of bridges.  I ran back across, victorious, and back down the cliff to sea level.  Then I headed inland and caught an Uber back to my hotel.  Where I napped.