Diablo will have to wait. Today, I tackle Twin Peaks.
What a phenomenal approach from the south, my old familiar route with an extra mile of warm-up to start. I tickled Bernal on the way, taking care to take it light. The goal of this run was easy: break a sweat, finish strong with no limp. I want to be able to run tomorrow, even if I don't.
It was touch and go when I caught some guy right at the base of the mountain on Portola. He started strong, and the smarter part of me said just let him go. It's OK, you don't have to pass him. Today is about running long and smart -- don't be a hero. But I don't have that gear in me, so I pushed it into a smooth rhythm, rocking my hips back and forth letting my core do the work. I felt strong, despite (or thanks to?) a truly brutal leg workout at boxing on Thursday.
Midway up, I caught him and never looked back. Why do I feel compelled to race every other casual jogger I find out in the world?
As crisper day you won't find in this city. Views forever, Diablo shrouded in haze. I stopped momentarily to marvel at Potrero, and new of an accepted offer on a truly unique piece of real estate right in its heart. Downtown to the north, just past blooming Mission Bay. DogPatch to the east, Bayview and eventually Hunters Point to the south. The Mission to the West, SoMa to the northwest. Bernal to the southwest. A better bet on the new Pacific Heights you won't find.
I looped past buses and tourists, soaking in the windy vistas. I've been up here on days when you can barely stand up straight from the wind, the skyline buried in fog. But this morning a gentle breeze whispered my good fortunate as I gently descended, the only slight pain of the day. Back to the flats and a Mission stoplight run back home.
Flat. It kills me not to end the loop on Dolores, or charge Kansas or De Haro to finish off the run. But I remind myself of Todd's wisdom, that in order to get through it, you have to get through it.