Every time I go running before boxing, I remember midway through class that its a bad idea. Today was no different.
I ran over to Tyler's and we set off for a late afternoon ascent up Twin Peaks. Being the lousy friend that I am, I dragged him over Bernal Hill first, luring him with the concept of a more scenic run than the slog up Mission and along Arlington into Glen Park. Which is all fine and good except that the climb up Folsom isn't much better, and Crescent is a grind.
Up and over San Jose, down Arlington and up Bosworth to O'Shaughnessy. I love climbing up that canyon. The air cools and smells of eucalyptus. I breathe it in, grinding up the wind.
We crested Portola and flipped onto Twin Peaks, sun setting in the west. At the top, Tyler said he liked his way better -- up Clipper, short and sweet. I'll take the long way, ever time.
Coasting down, I felt good. A bit tight as I transitioned from up to down, but overall it felt like when I could run and run and run until my legs couldn't move. The good old days.
It was dark by the time we got to the Mission, weaving our way through the crowds and hopping frogger-style across the street.
The evening was warm, almost muggy in a San Francisco style. I dropped Tyler off at Whole Foods and climbed up Rhode Island home, a quick change and then to boxing. Which was too much.
Strong mind again today, helped by the strong body. I may not be back, but I sure feel that way.