Ron vs. Nob Hill. The Hill 1, Ron 0

630 AM local time. Had I been back home I’d have already traveled over 100km using two modes of transportation to arrive at the office.  This balmy morning I’m standing atop Nob Hill, across from the historic Fairmont hotel, staring down a daunting task.  In every direction the steepest grades I’ve ever seen (in a city).  Having logged my last runs in South Beach over 3 months ago there’s no question my legs and lungs aren’t ready for downhill/uphill battle.  We all know going down is worse than up.  Downhill your legs and quads buckle, muscular defeat.  Uphill your lungs quit.  It’s an easier decision to stop when you can’t breathe than when you’re legs are simply shaking.

Off I go, heading towards what appears to be the Golden Gate bridge.  I’m going down, seriously downhill, 457m over the first 1000m (thank you sketchy Garmin Forerunner), I  continue along California St. until I reach the bay and the Embarcadero.  Running through markets being setup and what appears to be endless Yoga-persons I glance over to see what appears to be the Golden Gate standing majestically in front of the raising sun and some low lying fog.  The sleepy city from where I begun atop Nob Hill is now bustling with the runners, café goers and hundreds of street vendors setting up.  As I near the most picturesque bridge I’ve ever seen backed by the perfect setting I realize… this bridge isn’t red.  It’s certainly a suspension bridge and I would greatly wake up to this sight any day – but it’s the Oakland Bay Bridge. Ah well.  It’s been 15 mins and my heart is already regretting following me on this trek. As I work my way back towards the daunting California St. hill I run through some markets looking for some food.  Who am I kidding, I’m already dizzying so I exit stage left and proceed to the ascent of death.  I know I can’t run the entire hill but I’m willing to give a slow and steady attempt.  The first section is bearable, but the section kills me.  I’m running stairs, my knees are in my chest, I cross to the third and my BPM is flirting with 190.  Better judgement kicks-in and I hit the brakes.  The walk isn’t much better but as I reach the hotel my vision seems to be leveling.

I enter the room to now realize my foolishness.  With some daylight the Golden Gate bridge is in clear sight and clearly in the opposite direction I headed.  Lesson learned – don’t stay atop a hill if you’re interested in running.

Golden Gate Bridge from  hotel room (at 300mm)

A Hurried Start to San Fran

Things got a bit sketchy trying to reach the airport on Friday.  Leaving from downtown I got hung-up in meetings and trying to hand-off work as I won’t I’ll be moving on to another engagement when I return.  I finally decided that I had to be out at 315pm. I hit the bank which had longer lines than expected and hailed a cab to take me Sherway Gardens where Julie would be waiting.  As I watch the meter tick upward and the odometer remain unchanged I start to worry.  I message Julie and ask her to run into Sherway and pickup some shirts that are waiting for me.  The cabbie curses in some foreign language.  A cop is hanging out on the on-ramp to the Gardner taking up a lane.  Perfect.  We finally make it to the Sherway after some tactical driving and Julie is ready with the engine running.  We hit the 427 N at full tilt while I reach out to friends who maintain similar schedules. “What’s the minimum cut-off time to check-in”.. “What’s the best parking”… I fire off questions. Responses come back that are a bit daunting, 60 mins for customs.  We’re pushing it.  Marty insists, “use the valet at T1, send me parking bill”.  We don’t hesitate. He also adds, as many have recently, "I'm very God-fatherly."  We’re in the airport in no time.  Through to customs, which reminds why we don’t fly from YYZ to the US.  You go through customs at the airport.  A massive line snakes through the velvet ropes that clearly don’t mean VIP. We pass through customs with 45 minutes to spare -- and by spare I mean the plane is now pre-boarding.  Julie is flagged for the full body scan (can I watch?).  She opts for the pat-down.  Off we go to the gate, skipping the much anticipated airport lounge with its endless food and free booze. No problem.  Plane is only priority boarding and we in queue for the cheap seat boarding.  A few notes.  We opted for the extra leg space seats which allowed me to stretch out more than on the GO. Some strange lady looked at me every 90 seconds.  Eerie.  BOSE QC15 headphones are a Godsend on Air Canada’s deafening jets.  Honestly, the dual prop I took from LaGuardia to Albany wasn’t that loud.  After an uninteresting flight we arrive at the Intercontinental Mark Hopkins atop Nob Hill across from the Fairmont. We get the customary upgrade to a Golden Gate bridge view room.  It’s too dark to tell if the guy was hosing us but at least we’re on the top floor.  One thing is for certain, it’s no suite like in Chicago or Cannes.  Boo. We order up some room service, settle in and in minutes I'm asleep with my glasses on.