Its pretty embarrassing that I've never actually run at Sawyer Camp before. I've ridden my bike here once, but its only 20 minutes away, beautiful and a great track for a weekend run. Or weekday for that matter.
Maura, Luchi and I woke up early looking for a change of scenery. Luchi has been getting back in shape, Maura's training schedule said 13 and I have been feeling better of late and wanted to get in some mellow mileage.
The sky was ominous as we left home, but its mid-September in San Francisco so the chance of actual rain is nill. Until its not. It was raining, hard, and cold when we left the car and headed out onto the winding path. Maura had forgotten her hat -- something I doubt she'll do again any time soon. I mean, I'm a great husband and all, but I wasn't about to lend her mine.
You know your wife is a keeper when a mile into a wet, cold run that's going to last for two hours, she says, "hey, this is kind of fun." The rain let up as we went, down down into the valley along the reservoir. The first rain of the season and only the real runners were out. You have to be pretty committed to this masochistic act to drag yourself out into that weather when waiting until the afternoon would reward you with blue skies and a dry head.
My leg felt great. No pain, minimal tightness, and charging up the hill at the end I felt strong. Spry even, which I feel like I can call myself now approaching my mid-30s.
The run reminded me of those epic winter days at Mt. Montara, sheets of rain steamrolling in from the Pacific, like runaway trucks careening into the hillside. You can't help but feel alive.