A jolting jog

I have two things in common with my best friend from college (well actually a lot more than that but let's just pretend it's two for the purposes of this post):

1. We both love to run.
2. We are both terrified of earthquakes.


But her zeal and phobia are far more intense than mine.  And mine are pretty darn intense - I've run 3 half marathons and 1 full marathon in the past 10 months, I chose my neighborhood and apartment building solely for their earthquake resistance standards (gotta love that San Francisco bedrock), and I have designed a full earthquake escape plan for my current apartment and office. 

But while I love to run, I used to be even more anal about my running routine than I am now.  Hard to believe, I know. 

KK's Running Commandments:
1. Thou shalt have no other runners running with one's self for fear of being seen as the slow trotter that thou are.
2. Thou shalt drink thy americano ceremoniously before each run to benefit from thy coffee's caffeine.
3. Thou shalt not ever stop during a run for thou will not ever get going again.

So when my best friend came to visit me about a year and a half ago, I decided to abandon rule #1 and show her my favorite run in the city.  After picking up my coffee from La Boulange, we parked at Chrissy Field and began our run along the water towards the Golden Gate.

We then climbed the stairs under the bridge - she taking them two at a time while rattling off stories about her fabulous family (their growing garden, her youngest sister's budding athletic prowess, her brother's adorable finance, her other sister's extreme brilliance, her parents' general wonderfulness, etc) and me sucking air and waddling at a pace slower than the guy who was carrying his mountain bike up alongside me.

Then we headed under the bridge and to a little path tucked away to the right which reveals this gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean:

As we watched the sun rise above the ocean and she continued to fill me in on her fabulous high-powered life (she is a sexy investment banker in NYC), I tried to moderate my breathing so I could attempt to spit out more than an "Uh huh" "Yeah" or "Right".

We headed down the sand stairs to Baker's Beach...

...and then through the sand along the water (yes, this is one of many nude beaches in San Francisco - if you look close enough you may be able to see the naked dude skipping through the waves)...

...then back up some stairs...

 ...and then back towards the Golden Gate.

At this point she decided she needed to stop and snap some pics of these unreal views.  Since I had already abandoned commandment #1 for this run, I most certainly could not abandon commandment #3.  I kept my pace and explained to her how she would make it to the bridge and across - I would wait for her on the other side.

 

 

I trotted along clicking on my ipod to get a little pick-me-up for my final few miles.

 

 

Meanwhile, she stopped to take her pictures, sending a few to her fabulous boyfriend, and then scooted on her merry way.  At this point we were a solid mile apart.  And it was 11:58am on a Tuesday.

For those of you who live in San Francisco, you know exactly how this story is about to unfold since every Tuesday at noon we have our earthquake alarm emergency system testing.  The sirens sound, the lights flash, and all are alerted as though the ground were about to shake. 

Charlotte happened to be in the exact middle of the Golden Gate when the clock struck noon.  She heard the sirens and felt the road beneath her begin to tremble (never mind she was on bridge with semis zooming by at 60 mph - one might have expected a little quiver).  She saw me in the distance and attempted a yelp for help but I was happily listening to my music focused on my final few meters.  Panicked, she looked around but the bridge sidewalk was empty (it was a Tuesday and most sensible people were working). 

Then, she did what any other earthquake-phobic, running zealot would do - she sprinted at full speed the remaining distance of the bridge (0.85 miles) in less than five minutes.  Exhausted, she interrogated me as to why I wasn't in utter panic over the impending demise of my city. 

When I explained San Francisco's Tuesday ritual, she was relieved but also annoyed at my nonchalance over her hysteria.  I tried to be sympathetic and apologetic, but secretly I was excited that her frenzy had wiped her energy back down closer to my level.  At least I'd be able to keep up with her for another mile or two.

For those of you San Franciscans or vistors who wish to journey on this joyous jog - see the full map here: KK's Favorite San Francisco Run.  Once done, you can either head back along the bridge and to where you started, or jog down into Sausalito and take the Ferry back to the city.  Just steer clear of the run mid-day on Tuesday - unless of course, you want to give your running buddy a bit of a scare.  Enjoy!

xoxo

KK