5 reasons why running in san francisco ain’t easy

The hills // Let’s just state the obvious and get it out of the way. Running in San Francisco is the equivalent of what I like to call “urban alpinism.” A lot of people have designated hill workouts for the specific purpose of conditioning. However, if you run in the City by the Bay, you very quickly learn that every workout is an inadvertent high-intensity session. There’s simply no way to exit your front door and not be going uphill, regardless of direction. Say hello to some buns, hun, because your ass is guaranteed to start looking like Kim K. on the cover of Paper mag. In fact, running on flat land actually feels like you’re going downhill, you’re so accustomed to ascending to high, ear-popping elevations on a nightly basis. Suffice it to say, SF runners wear a badge of honor that very few cities offer: nonstop hills that make you wonder if you’re, in fact, an endurance athlete or actually just a mountaineer.

The vistas // I must clarify: I’m not complaining that SF is a drop-dead gorgeous city full of spectacular views around every corner. That’s the bone it throws us for all those hills she makes us climb. However, all these beautiful vistas make it very difficult to concentrate on runs. You’re trying to set a pace and really get in the zone, yet you’re constantly tempted by endless photo opportunities of the bay, the fog, the ocean, the mountains, the street art, and the list goes on. You find yourself asking, “Should I keep going or should I snap ~6 photos of Ocean Beach till I get the right one to Instagram?” I know, I know. San Francisco is an embarrassment of ridiculously good-looking riches, but it just ain’t easy livin’ in such a photogenic city when you’re trying to get those miles in.

The wildlife // Running at night in Boston, it wasn’t totally unusual to accidentally trip over the occasional mouse and/or rat. Now, I don’t know if it’s San Francisco’s location perched on a wobbly peninsula in the Wild West or what, but the amount of woodland creatures I see on any given night is kinda hard to explain. Coyotes, raccoons, skunks.. am I in a major American metropolis or guest-starring on a rustic Animal Planet series? Of course, I’m basically begging to run into these animals given the late-night hours during which I run, but I can’t say I love coming face-to-face with Wile. E. Coyote down by the deserted beach where, if he bites me, there’s not another soul on the planet to hear my screams. Let’s be real: if I wanted to see all these furry faces, I would’ve bought a zoo with Matt Damon.

The happy hours // San Francisco is a vibrant city full of successful, single people. And successful, single San Franciscans love to mingle at happy hour (or as we love to call it, “HH”). Suffice it to say, it’s never easy to lace up and sweat through grueling mile after grueling mile knowing your friends are perched on a patio, libating in the sun at the same rate you’re sucking down those God-awful GU Energy Gels. When the weather’s always nice and the drinks are always flowing and the city’s young professionals are always looking to get weird with each other, SF’s social temptations make commitment to running all the more challenging. (Editor’s Note: This conundrum may or may not have contributed to more than one “buzzed” run that immediately left the writer contemplating whether or not she had a “problem.”)

The weather // Look, I’m a Boston girl and I’ve trained for a race in the dead of winter back East. Therefore, I’m very reluctant to complain about San Francisco’s weather. Boston runners, I’ll say it now and I’ll say it proud: YOU HAVE IT WAY WORSE. I know this. I’ve lived it. But while you’re dealing with the Polar Vortex, here in San Francisco, we’ve got to worry about microclimates. These unpredictable pockets of weather, assorted by neighborhood thanks to SF’s hilly topography, make it very difficult to plan a long-distance workouts. As runners, we like to go in prepared. We dress for the weather, protect our gear if we know there’ll be rain, and generally equip ourselves for the very literal long haul. However, when your temperature’s guaranteed to fluctuate 20 degrees from neighborhood to neighborhood, this becomes a pretty big hassle. Not to mention the fog – especially that pea-soup-kinda-fog that makes visibility so poor, you’re just asking to get hit by a car. While I may not be dying from hypothermia when I lace up in SF, I’m sure as hell underdressed, overdressed, or just generally floundering in so many rapid-fire climate changes, I look like I’m being swallowed by a fancy iPhone “hyper lapse.” Or maybe just wandering around inside a Kanye West music video.

i am not a runner

I am not a runner. Well, I mean, I run. A lot. But there exists a certain athlete stereotype and this breed of person just looks like a runner. I know you know who I’m talking about. She’s lean. She’s strong. She eats raw almonds. The tell-tale callouses on the bottom of her feet could write novels about all the effortless miles they’ve seen. She probably grew up competing in cross-country. The physical activity is stitched into her DNA. When she pounds pavement, it’s reflexive and natural. Her form is perfect. She’s graceful in her Asics.

In comparison, I’d be hard-pressed to call myself a runner. I’m clumsy. My ankles pronate. I’m always nursing shin splints, tendonitis, or some other pain-in-the-ass inflammation that has me wearing sneakers to work every day like a 50-year-old woman. I have to wear 2 sports bras. I love to eat pizza and drink tequila. I loathe stretching. I didn’t grow up doing this. I played field hockey in high school, but 1-mile practice runs felt like dying fiery depths of hell. To sum it up, nothing about this comes naturally to me.

Yet, what I love about running is that anyone can be a runner with enough commitment. You don’t need a big budget, fancy equipment, or trendy activewear. You don’t have to pay $100/month for some exclusive gym. All you need is a pair of sneakers, a sidewalk, and a titanium resolve (which is essential on those cold mornings in the dark). If you stick with it long enough, running simply becomes your “normal.”

That’s how I became a runner and I’ve never looked back.

It wasn’t until college that a particularly brutal breakup had me beelining it for the treadmill, if for no other reason than to take my mind off my heartache with the actual ache of running. I could only bang out 2 miles at a time (which felt like a marathon to me back then), but those late nights at my university’s 24-hour gym became the highlight of each day. My release. My therapy. This ritual nursed me back from the brink.

And suffice it to say, it’s been a part of my sanity ever since. Whether running loops around the Chestnut Hill Reservoir back in Boston or going for “exploratory” jogs in my new San Francisco neighborhood, over time this hobby stitched itself into the fabric of.. ME. I may not always like it, but I love it and I need it. (I promise my relationship with pounding pavement is healthy and consensual despite what that torrid metaphor probably implies.) Those daily short runs eventually evolved into half marathons and very few things made me feel more alive than gradually upping my mileage, banking distances I never would’ve thought myself capable of beforehand.

Now I’m running the Boston Marathon. Privileged enough to grow up on the Marathon route, I’ve watched this race every year since I was a little girl. I always fantasized about what it would be like to be one of those runners, high-waving the strangers calling your name and running for such an exhaustingly long time, it didn’t even seem possible. And yet here I am. I’m finally doing it. Because whether I like it or not, I did become a runner somewhere along the line.

Training is well underway and I’m inundated with mileage plans, meal preparation, and constant hydration (seriously, I pee so many times a day, my colleagues must think I have a medical issue). I’m even battling a couple of foot injuries. But I’m from Boston, impossibly bull-headed, and will stop at nothing to accomplish this goal.

It’s definitely been awhile since I breathed life back into Alexander Supervamp, but I hope to chronicle some of my Marathon journey here. If you’re a runner too, I’d love to hear from you! I’d also like to use it as a platform for my cause:

I’m running the 2015 Boston Marathon for FamilyAid Boston, a charity that serves the city’s homeless population. I’m honored to represent such an essential organization and if you’d like to donate to my campaign, click here. Every last bit counts and trust me, your contributions will put wings on my sneakers!