The Hills Are Alive

Four weeks ago... Wow! It's been four weeks? How time flies but let me not ponder upon the relativity of time. That is a conversation for another day.


Sooo.... four weeks ago on Friday I boarded a plane headed for San Francisco. I was relaxed and happy - I had given myself enough time to stop at the candy store in the airport that sells Cadbury's chocolate and picked up a couple of bags ot stock for my emergency stash. We sat in our seats and watched the safety video as the plane made its way out onto the runway. Then we sat, and sat, and sat. Then an announcement - apparently there was some technical issue that we had to go back to the terminal for. And then we sat a little more and were informed that the issue could not be solved and we were going to switch planes. I was fine with that - once they tell you your plane has technical issues, how comfortable can you really be with it?


We deplaned and sat in the terminal for a half hour. Then another announcement - apparently our problems had been solved and we were getting back onto the plane; the same plane that, just a few minutes earlier, had a problem the could not be solved. Back onto the plane we went and watched the safety video one more time, for luck, I suppose. Then, as we headed back out onto the runway, the pilot came onto the intercom system. I paraphrase - "ladies and gentlemen, let me explain what has been going on. we had a indication light that was on earlier. the engineers said that they fixed it earlier but, when we went out onto the runway and tested it, we received conflicting information that led to us going back to the terminal. the engineers now say they have fixed the situation so, we'll see what happens."
And with that, we set out on our trip. That was an adventure, but more about that later.


I was in San Francisco to run half of the Nike Women's Marathon. I figured that San Francisco's hills were so legendary that a half marathon would feel like a full. Not that I needed any excuses to run 13.1 miles, but I had them just in case. I was travelling solo - my friends had not signed up to run with me and hi def had to work so it was just me and my t-shirt that declared that I "flatten hills". I spent Saturday walking around the hilly city and taking in breathless views from atop some of these hills. It was a wonderfully warm day and there was barely a cloud in the sky. I prepared my gear on Saturday evening and turned in early.


I rose before the sun on Sunday and went downstairs to join the many other mostly women who were milling around the entrance hall of the hotel. I went over to an overpriced coffee shop, whose name rhymes with Barsucks and had to pay over a dollar for one banana! A DOLLAR!!! Nerves and outrage kept me warm as I stepped out into the cold per-dawn and made my way to the start line. The national anthem was sung, I tied my shoelaces again (after triple checking for a potentially hobbling rock in my sock) and then we were off. I had latched on to a pacing group, so I could keep a pace that would help me beat my previous race time without having to think to much about it. All I had to do was keep my eye on the pacing flag that declared that, if I could keep up, I would finish my race in two hours. Yes, yes, according to my "hard training" schedule, I was supposed to run in 2:09 hours but, isn't two such a great round number?

A couple of miles into the race, we hit a hill. I had perused the blogs and asked random strangers at the race's expo and they told me that there really was one hill in the race and it was a short one where I could see the end from the beginning. I looked up and it seemed there was an end in sight so I soldiered on and was relieved that the hills I had heard so much about before I got to San Francisco were far less intimidating in person. It was soon over and I was still running with my pacer. I refused to think about anything else - to do so would be to find pains in my knees and labour in my breath. I carried on.

We hit mile seven and the land began to slope upwards. Our pacer warned, "take it easy up this hill" and I thought, well, that's an odd warning - this hill seems flatter than the last one. We rounded a corner and I expected a downhill. So much for expectations; more uphill ahead. I gritted my teeth, determined to keep going and not let the thought of climbing up a hill kill my spirit. I should have started repeating the mantra I had practiced in previous training sessions - I love hills, I love hills - but the only two things going through my head were - I can't keep up with the pacing group - and - oh man, why am I moving my legs and arms and getting nowhere?

I rounded yet another corner and still, nothing but hill. Was this even possible? How long can a hill be and what human with a heart would have people try to run up it? Through the foam of my earphones, I could hear the heavy breathing of those around me, yet it didn't make me feel better that I was not alone in my suffering. My lesson of the hill - misery does not always love company. I could barely see the flag of my pacing group any more. I promised myself that I would try to catch up with them if the uphill ever ended but for now, I just had to will myself to keep running, even though the running motion didn't seem to help me cover any ground. I tried to take in the amazing views but my mind kept coming back to - it's so hard, when will it end?

Just as I was about to throw in the towel, I passed the man who shouted out - keep going, you are about to reach the crest!
And he was right. I rounded a corner and I got to run downhill. Hallelujah! I enjoyed the moment and my knees did a little dance and cheer.

But I had been traumatised. I knew now that the declarations I had been given that there was only "one little hill" were nothing but lies. So now I was left to wonder how many other slopes were in my future and how much spirit I had left to face them. By the time I got to slope number 3, I was asking myself who I was trying to impress. I had no idea where my pacing group was - I could not see the flag anywhere. I could just give up and walk the rest of the way. And still, there was a little voice - come on, Pandave. You have come all this way; you worked hard, waking up early and running long. You still have something to give - give it. I was past the 11 mile point and so I told myself - this is shorter than your usual short runs. You can do it.

I passed the mile 12 sign and smiled. Just a little further to go and then it would be all over. I ran on, not even feeling too badly about the slight upward slope I had just hit. I had, maybe, half a mile to go now, I estimated. A young cheering volunteered yelled out to me - looking good. just one mile to go!

What? Not one mile? Hadn't I passed the 12 mile mark a while back? Hadn't I covered more than just 0.1 miles since? My mind had to readjust to the new distance - it's crazy how a half mile can feel like ten when one is tired. As my mind was working on this, I came to a bend and then, in front of me, a huge sign that declared "FINISH". Was that my finish line? Or was this a mirage? No time to think, my knees took charge and picked up the pace.

As I channeled all my remaining energy into the final sprint, the master of ceremonies shouted into the PA system: Come on everyone, give the runners a big cheer! They have just run 13 miles. And look at Pandave! She Flattens Hills!!
That was me he was talking about - I had those words printed on my shirt. I started waving and grinning and running even faster. What a moment. I crossed the line, fists pumping the air, to be greeting by a smiling firefighter in a tuxedo. He gave me a lovely silver necklace - a finisher's medal that I can wear every day - and congratulated me.

What for? Not just for finishing but, for finishing in 2:00:36. And really, what's 36 seconds between friends?