Countless miles in the making

A note from the editor/author/general boss of this blog: I actually wrote this post in advance (on my flight to NYC). WHAT?! I did something in advance? Didn’t save it for the last minute hoping to get the sweet sweet adrenaline rush of a just-in-time delivery? Who am I, right? I’m telling you this because I’ve scheduled this post to publish at the moment they fire the starter’s gun for the 115^th running of the Boston Marathon. And technically speaking I’m in the seventh corral in the second wave of runners, so it’s likely that I won’t actually cross the start line for minutes from now… but you get the intent.

As I reflect back on the past seven years I’ve spent running toward today, I can’t help but think about all the things I love, hate, and tolerate about running in Seattle. And in honor of her, I offer you this, my love letter of sorts to running in the Emerald City.

Dear Seattle,

You have a lot of hills. Just when I think I’ve found a route that is flat—BAM! You throw me one steep mutha’ of a block or two. Oh, and as it turns out, all of that supposed flatness was really just a long gradual climb, thank you very much. It’s like you are the crazy smart dog owner and me the lovable but stupidly eager puppy. You hide the medicine in the food bowl, because you know it’s good for me and if I don’t know what’s coming I’ll just mindlessly devour that whole bowl, medicine and all. I fall for it every time, you saucy minx, you. I will give you this, the hills offer me the kind of challenge that I love. That’s right, I do love them. They are torture, but I always end up grabbing those hills by their reproductive parts and showing it just who is boss. Me. Duh.

In addition to the hills, I also love running around you for a few more obscure reasons. First, the views. Sure, you’re a beautiful and scenic place. Who wouldn’t be in awe of the landscape, mossy rain forests, two different mountain ranges, waterfront trails, Mount Rainier, the Space Needle? Those are all lovely, and I do love them, but what I’ve really valued the most in our time together over the years are some of the hidden gems, if you will. Were it not for the runs I went on with the intent of checking out different house colors in the many neighborhoods, I may not have ever settled on the colors I picked for my house, and my place would be looking faded and down-trodden. Phew! Crisis averted, thanks to you, Seattle. Also, I’ve made some pretty serious landscaping decisions based upon what I’ve seen that works and doesn’t work so well in our climate. Palm trees? Really, people? Really? On a recent run, I also saw a purple PT Cruiser with flames custom painted on it. Oh, that made my day. In my imagination ZZ Top was cruising around town, on their way to Whole Foods. You know, just a typical ZZ Top kind of Saturday. And a couple of months ago, I was running through one of the most swank neighborhoods and I came across a man with really bushy white hair, hat pulled down low as if he were incognito, large Starbucks cup in hand and little dog in-tow. And he was incognito. Guess who he was? That’s right, THE Tom Skerritt. As I was approaching him, I had a fleeting thought that it might be him, but the shock of bushy white hair threw me for a loop--and made me think that maybe it was Hal Holbrook rocking his Mark Twain look. But the Skerritt made more sense, given that he actually lives in that neighborhood and Hal Holbrook does not. And it was further confirmed by Monster--who, by the way, has a thing for the Skerritt—that he likes Starbucks. There you go. Celebrity star sighting. Thanks, Seattle!

Finally, I would be doing you an injustice, Seattle, if I didn’t mention the pheromones. That’s right, I love you (and sometimes despise you, but mostly love) for how you smell. My old neighborhood was blocks away from the Sound. The salty smell of low-tide will always make me nostalgic for the early days of our courtship. In my new hood, where gangstas rock out to the laptops they carry, the signature smell is the nearby Franz Bread Factory. I can always tell the days when they are making mass quantities of Wonder Break versus any other assorted pastry making day. The most welcome smell of all has to be springtime—it pulls me out of the dour mood that is a product of months and months of the damp and dark winter. The past few weeks the laurel and cherry blossoms have just made everything look, smell and feel better.

Seattle, you’ve been with me my entire running life (my victory in the mile run at my elementary school’s 6^th-grade Hexathlon notwithstanding). I haven’t loved every run (or every hill, sight, or smell), but through it all I’ve grown more and more attached to you. Thanks to the running, I love you more. You've seen me through it all and have played a big part in getting me to the start line in Hopkinton today. I will do you proud. And I cross my heart and hope to die that when I get to the famed Heartbreak Hill at mile 21, I will close my eyes and only be thinking of you. It will mean nothing to me. I'll only be doing it because everyone else is doing it, but it's you that I really love. Honestly. I swear.

Love,

Little Ms. Notetaker