Saturday I went for a nice little run. I say "little" because for most people it would be a little run. For me, however, it was a nice LONG run. Nearly 3.5 miles.
I went with my neighbor who just ran a marathon. I thought she would be bored out of her mind. But she apparently wasn't. She said I had some speed in me.
I am quite sure she was actually looking at someone else when she said that. Go figure.
It was a nice pace, a 3 minute run, 45 second walk. And I looked forward to that 45 second walk dontcha know. It was all fun and games until we got to.......Hell's Hill.
When I was in high school, my parents had a Volvo 240 station wagon. I'll never forget it. Red with vinyl seats.
And a stick shift.
Anyone who has ever learned to drive a stick remembers their first incline. The one where you stop, the rear of the car pointing down at a whatever-degree-angle behind you and pray to God that you don't stall. Then you slowly take your foot off the brake, press on the clutch and start bucking like a bronco having seizures.
For my brother Brendan and me, it was the slight incline at the end of my parents street. We called it Hell's Hill. In reality it was probably no more than 10 degrees upward. But it felt like we were on a 90 degree angle. We would come to a stop, say a little prayer and send that Volvo into convulsions, giving ourselves a massive headache in the process.
This hill on our run was probably like that. To me it seemed ginormous. In reality it wasn't all that bad. I am pretty sure I stopped talking 1/3 of the way up. I think I almost stopped talking because I am pretty sure I nearly stopped breathing. But then we were at the top, Hell's Hill was conquered and we were running on our merry way.
Truth be told, it was actually kind of fun :)