There are a number of reasons that I did not go to boot camp today.
- I woke up at 3 a.m. after dreams of running suicides and doing pushups to exhaustion, and didn't really get back to sleep until I reset my alarm from 5:30 to 7:30.
- I ran many, many hills at the hash last night.
- I drank beer until 11 p.m. last night.
- IT IS TYPHOONING IN SAN FRANCISCO.
I like the idea of working out in the rain (boot camp class is never cancelled, no matter the elements), but the 4 block walk from my house to my shuttle stop just soaked my jeans to the knee. And, in case you were wondering, no, my cowboy boots are not waterproof, it seems.
The hash trail last night started by the Marina Safeway and wound along the coast to Ghirardelli Square. We then pumped up several aspects of Russian Hill, and, on one of the descents, came upon at least a hundred sheep grazing in an empty lot, hidden among apartment buildings. Ok then. We ran through the Cannery (In n Out was calling to me), along Fisherman's Wharf, and then back up Russian Hill. The best part: at the top of Vallejo (the very top - we ran up several flights of very steep stairs) there is a little neighborhood with lawns. LAWNS! And is perched on top of the hill, surrounded by apartment towers. It is so very very precious.
And then we drank beer and sang dirty songs. One dude poured a beer down the back of his pants - I don't know why. Here is a blurry photo that appropriately communicates our relief that we are no longer running, and are in fact drinking cold beer from a keg. The end.