Super Sunday

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Once in a great while, I find it within myself to run over to the hill near my house that I call the Palm of God's Hand, and then push up that half-mile or so to the top. On a good day it is enough to run it just once, because the way is steep and the sun burns down hard on the unshaded path. If you watched footage of the fires from last autumn you'll know the sort of terrain I'm talking about; a good number of those blazes were a mere hundred yards from that hill.

Saturday afternoon I went out and ran it once. And then I went down and ran it again. And again. And again. It became a form of meditation, and I felt myself getting stronger with each passing interval. Only it wasn't an interval, because the pace was more a contented chug than a sprint. I thought I was alone at first, and feeling quite prideful about my chosen form of meditation. But then I saw a mountain biker coming up as I was going down. Then I saw him again, next time around. Rather than going up and down, he was making a broader loop that utilized a nearby slope. He didn't look winded or in full workout mode, just content to be out there, like me, finding solace and strength in the ascent of a quiet hill. 

It was pretty cool.

That got me thinking (that, and a Father's Day purchase of The Lore of Running; a 900-page doorstop that will keep me up nights learning all I need to know about the technical aspects of running that now elude me) that if you're an endurance athlete, you tend to adopt a certain code. You find contentment in running hills, for instance, a counterintuitive form of finding calm to a high percentage of the planet's inhabitants. You double-knot your shoes without even knowing it -- even dress shoes. You instinctively do the carbs to protein to fat ratio of every meal, or know that cutting your postworkout replacement fluid with water will allow the sugars to absorb more quickly into the bloodstream. You know how many spares you  have for both your road and mountain bike, and have distinct opinions on the form of every runner and rider you see out your car window while driving. The list goes on. Some of it is critical, some of it is spiritual. Some of it is functional. But in the end, it's burned into our DNA. 

That's pretty cool, too. 

Keep pushing... always.

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