I read this article about a guy who took a Polaroid picture everyday for 18 years, right up until the day he died. That fascinated me and reminded me of a truth we so often forget – that each and every day is special, unique and has something in it worth capturing or remembering. I think we often just stumble along through our days (and our lives) not seeing, or appreciating the special moments of each day. I don’t have a Polaroid and I’m not a very good photographer, so I’m not going to try to duplicate or outdo this fellow I read about.
I can type though. So, for the rest of the month of August, I’m going to tell you a story a day because every day is full of stories. If you think about it, our days are just a bunch of small stories strung together. We just don’t take the time to notice them for the most part. All the stories I share will have something to do with fitness since this is a fitness blog. So without further ado, let’s get this story started with a tale from yesterday.
Just Keep Running
There’s an annual running event here in Santa Barbara – The Pier to Peak Half Marathon. My friend, Laura, is just nutty enough to want to run this thing. All 13.1 miles of uphill, uphill, and more uphill. Try 3996 feet of elevation gain on for size. Hill running is grueling for me, so while I’ve run a half and full marathon, this one just hasn’t won me over. I have no intention of signing up for this event. Laura, on the other hand, has been training away and “invited” another friend, Dolores, and me to join her on her training run yesterday.
For some reason I thought we were going to tackle the first 5 miles of Gibralter Road – where the real fun (aka “elevation gain”) kicks in. As Carol (our designated driver), Dolores, Laura and I carpooled to the starting point, I found out that the plan was to run 6 miles not 5. So what if I’ve been in Africa for the majority of the last two months! So what if I haven’t run any long hilly courses in . . . . in . . . uhm . . . a really long time. It’s just 6 miles, right? I can do that any day.
The plan was for Carol to drive up to the 6 mile mark and wait for us. Laura allotted 1.5 hours to get the job done. So off we ran, or “shuffled,” as Laura called it. Small steps and a slow pace were the only way we were going to tackle that monster of a mountain in front of us. Each of us found our own pace and we were soon quite far apart from each other.
Somewhere around 48 minutes into the run, I saw a silver BMW heading down the winding mountain road toward me. It was Carol. It seems she needed to head down the mountain to visit the nearest Little Girls Room. I asked how far along the route I was. She said about 4.5 miles approximately. I didn’t know where 6 miles was – the stopping point. She said, “Just keep running. I’ll be back.”
So I ran. My calves ached and I ran. My quads ached and I ran. My watch said 1 hour 12 minutes and I kept running. When it got really tough, I’d encourage myself by looking over the shoulder of the winding, ever-climbing road. I could see Santa Barbara far below, mostly in the fog. I could see the Channel Islands about 14 miles off shore. Seeing how high I’d climbed made me feel strong and powerful. So I just kept running. Then I’d look up ahead and see the ridge of the mountains and how much more climbing awaited me and I’d feel my legs and calves all over again. I was wondering where Carol was and feeling more and more sure I’d past the 6 mile mark.
I decided Carol had decided to play a cruel, yet impressive, joke on Laura, Dolores and I. She probably just went home and was sitting there on her couch laughing to herself. She wasn’t going to come back at all. So I decided I would just keep running until I hit Camino Cielo Road (which runs the ridgeline of the mountains above Santa Barbara) or when my watch said an hour and half, whichever came first. Then I would just turn around and start running down the mountain.
At one hour, 27 minutes I reached Camino Cielo. My legs were aching. Hell, my whole body was feeling like lead. I’m sure I wasn’t moving much faster than a walking pace near the end of my ascent, but I was running. After 3 minutes of running downhill, the most beautiful sight came into view. That gorgeous silver BMW again. Carol! My ride!
Turns out I ran 6.9 miles uphill before turning around. Almost half the Half Marathon. I remember thinking, as I was trudging my way up the steepest sections of Gibralter Road, how absolutely fatigued and spent the racers were going to feel when they got to this point. It was torturous for me and I didn’t even run the 6 miles that will precede this section on race day. So why then did the following come out of my mouth?
Laura looked over her shoulder from the front seat as we drove down the winding road back toward town. “So you want to join me next Tuesday? We’ll add on another mile?” Was she crazy? Do this again? On purpose?
Imagine how shocked I was when I heard these words leave my lips, “Sure thing!”
