On a typical Tuesday evening, I frantically leave work at 5:02, get to my car at 5:11, drive with haste about 8 blocks, dash up the steps at 121 E. Berkeley, change, throw down my yoga mat, practice. At 6:44, I leap up, dash on a coat, stuff my feet haphazardly into boots, jog to the car and dash on 90, walking into the Z residence at 7:16 to babysit for the evening.
What I'm not doing is joining the marathon training team on their weekly hill runs on the Common. This Tuesday with the snow, my play-date with the two sweet peas was canceled. I assume the hill runs were, too.
Knowing that my long run this week will be on mostly flat turf. I wanted to be sure to at least have one intimate experience with the undulating hills. I warmed up by getting lost finding my way back to my hill 3 miles later. How I manage to explore just a left and a right too much in my own neighborhood is not something I care to reconcile.
My hill happens to be that lovely slope from Summer street up to Highland by way of Vinal Ave. It's right by the dog park and where the kickball teams get smashed come spring. If you've seen this hill, you know it's no joke. NO JOKE. It just goes up, up and up. I normally give it a rest at .15 mi and crave recovery not even 1/2 way up the hill. It takes me a bloody minute to do that .15...1:06, 1:04, 1:10, 1:04. Four repeats certainly suffice.
Next week I'm going for 6.