Report from the Southland

A pair of 1946-vintage feet pause on a sidewalk laid in 1947.

This will not be a post about the beauty of trees, the loveliness of birdsong, or the charming quirkiness often found in residential landscaping. And it definitely will not be a post about how I killed a workout, how great I felt, or how strong I'm running.

Fine, you say. We know what it's not about--so what is it about? Well, it's about pain and suffering in the gritty streets of the San Fernando Valley. Let me explain.

A week and a half ago I participated for the first time in the Golden Gate Relay. It was challenging and fun at the same time, and I was lucky to spend the weekend in a van with five other runners all of whom performed at the highest standard of excellence. I would say I at least did okay. But I was really wiped out last week--even coming down with a cold--and so barely ran at all. 

Question: What's a No-ped and
why should it cross the train tracks
when the lights flash?

This week I am visiting my children in SoCal, so I figured I would have the time to do some catch-up running. I am scheduled to pace a half marathon in less than four weeks, so I thought this would be the time to pile up some miles to make up for my recent hiatus. Tuesday I took to the streets of North Hollywood for five miles. Hmmmm, I thought. I'm a bit tired but that wasn't a bad run. 

Fast forward to this morning. I had mapped out a 10-mile run--heck, why not ramp it up a bit? I am staying in Burbank, so about 6:30 a.m. I headed out from home base. I wanted to run a straightforward course in order to minimize my chances of getting lost. (Have I ever mentioned my propensity for getting lost on runs of any length? Please don't tell my kids; they worry. Thank heavens for Google maps!) I made my way over to the Chandler Bike Trail and headed west. Just FYI, the Chandler trail runs by some wonderful murals. Sadly, I was too focused on running to stop and take pictures. Next time!

I had calculated that it was 4.1 miles along Chandler to Coldwater Canyon Blvd., where I knew there was a nice dirt trail. Somehow it was more like 5.1 miles, and let me tell you that, even though I was running for four minutes and walking for one (the idea being just to spend extended time on my feet, not to set a land-speed record), by the time I turned right on Coldwater, my heart rate was way up and I was drenched in sweat. I had stopped along the way at the North Hollywood Community Center--I think that was its name, but I was delirious, so who knows--and refilled my water bottle and had a Clif Shot gel. The stop failed to pick me up. I was near a high school at that point and was so wobbly that I mostly walked my way around the school-bound kiddos rather than risk running them down in my rather unstable state. 

Tujunga wash was awash more in sunshine than in water.

I made it from Coldwater to Victory Blvd., which set me on a straight course back to Burbank. I had to stay on the sidewalk most of the way as there was still plenty of commute traffic whizzing by. Compared to my course up to this point, Victory was pretty shadeless. I won't dwell on my return journey except at one point I thought I'd answered the ancient question "Where, oh Death, is thy Victory?" Seemed obvious that I'd found the place where Death and Victory might co-reside.

When I made it back to Burbank, I had run 12 miles, not 10. I knew I needed some carbs and protein so I fixed myself a bowl of cereal with some soy milk and yogurt, topping it off with fresh strawberries and blueberries and a sprinkling of walnut pieces. And I had coffee, which, when at its best, feels like the antidote to the post-run threat of imminent demise. After I ate, I fell on the bed and groaned for a while before getting up to take a shower. Whew. 

I'm happy I'm here to tell this tale, but feel I need to get busy and set up a plan for the next two weeks that will get me in good shape to toe the start line of the upcoming half marathon. No problem, right?