Going Long in LA
Had a successful "long" run this morning, an experience I wasn't sure I could count on given the state of my left calf. A couple of nights ago I was awakened by a major-league cramp in that calf, a cramp knotted so hard that all I could do was gasp in pain and let it take its own sweet time to ease up. It did, but since then the area has been painful to the touch and the soreness has slowed down my usually energetic daily walks.
But faint heart never won fair lady, er, I mean faint heart never propelled a fair lady out the door to run, so this morning I suited up and headed out an hour before dawn to begin what was scheduled to be a 10-miler.
Picture me: It's dark. It's pitch dark. The falling rain is light but steady. There are puddles, puddles that reflect the red, green, and yellow of stoplights--and also the soles of my Sauconys as I every now and then go airborne in a vain attempt to keep my feet dry.
I'm at mile 6 or so, and slightly lost--I think I'm somewhere east of Barrington but west of Sepulveda. I need to find a couple more miles before I head home, so I turn what I think is south, toward Pico Boulevard, even though I have a vague sense that it's a rather seedy thoroughfare. I realize I'm feeling a bit out of it--from the hour, from the rain, from some rather lovely endorphins that are starting to bubble through my system. (Did you know that "endorphin" is short for "endogenous morphine"? That is, morphine produced by the body? I only recently learned that. Beware of grandmas on drugs!)
Before I get to Pico, I try to get my bearings. I 'm on a dark, narrow, unassuming street that is obviously a minor tributary that empties into the big river of Pico. I look for a street sign. What do you know--I'm on Stoner Street. No, I'm not kidding.
Eventually the sky lightens (it's too cloudy to see anything like a sunrise), my head clears a bit, and I head for the house. I realize that for the first time in more than a month, no body part has bothered me on this run. After going 10, I actually feel like I could go a few more. I accept it as it's taken place, that is, a here and now event to be savored in the happening. It seems to augur well for future long runs and races, but they're not my concern just now. I rev up to almost a sprint at the end, just hoping to maintain that Stoner Street feeling a tiny bit longer.
But faint heart never won fair lady, er, I mean faint heart never propelled a fair lady out the door to run, so this morning I suited up and headed out an hour before dawn to begin what was scheduled to be a 10-miler.
Picture me: It's dark. It's pitch dark. The falling rain is light but steady. There are puddles, puddles that reflect the red, green, and yellow of stoplights--and also the soles of my Sauconys as I every now and then go airborne in a vain attempt to keep my feet dry.
Before I get to Pico, I try to get my bearings. I 'm on a dark, narrow, unassuming street that is obviously a minor tributary that empties into the big river of Pico. I look for a street sign. What do you know--I'm on Stoner Street. No, I'm not kidding.
 |
| My eyes roll back in my head and I find I'm smiling. All is groovy. |
Eventually the sky lightens (it's too cloudy to see anything like a sunrise), my head clears a bit, and I head for the house. I realize that for the first time in more than a month, no body part has bothered me on this run. After going 10, I actually feel like I could go a few more. I accept it as it's taken place, that is, a here and now event to be savored in the happening. It seems to augur well for future long runs and races, but they're not my concern just now. I rev up to almost a sprint at the end, just hoping to maintain that Stoner Street feeling a tiny bit longer.
Comments