Tales of Slow Brave Athena

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May 22, 2005

The long walk

Well, I did it. Not that it wasn't at points just completely non-sensical, but I did it.

I left the house at about 7 am. The sky looked promising, overcast, but edging towards sun rather than rain. I worked hard to go slow, and I was right on target for miles 2 and 3. After that I hadn't memorized the mile markers, so I was really on my own.

My rule of the day was ease. Go out easy. Stop at every restroom opportunity, whether I feel like I need to or not. Drink lots of water, and take my electrolytes and gu every hour. Enjoy the uphills rather than try to charge up them. And so that's really what I aimed at.

It sprinkled every now and again, but nothing bad. Until I got to Barbur Blvd, one of my big landmarks. It started pouring. I took refuge by a bank, and then it became clear that it would continue pouring indefinitely, I ran into a hardware store.

I love hardware stores, and this was a particularly good one. Which was good because it poured for a long time. It finally occured to me that I could get a garbage bag and wear it, and while the cashiers offered to just give me one, I decided in my own superstitious way that I should buy one. So I did buy a 10 pack, and immediately, the pouring slowed to the drizzle, and I set off. An hour later. Maybe. Maybe more.

I pass south of I-5, then through the neighborhoods, then past the grocery store and coffee shop, and then the sidewalks on my side of the street abruptly stops. There's a sidewalk across the street, but you have to cross the road with heavy, fast traffic and blind curves on both sides, so I stay along my shoulder and hope that not too many massive trailer-trucks whizz by.

I finally get to the 8 mile point, and then the bike trail. While parts of the Terwilliger paths are really beautiful, they have nothing on Tryon Creeks trails which are tremendously lush and gorgeous. At this point, I haven't even hit halfway and I'm flagging. The constant up and down of the rolling hills takes its' toll, and I'm sure shuffling around a hardware store for g-d only knows how long doesn't help either.

But anyways. The trail goes out of the forest, and along the road, next to really expensive housing. A million and a quarter. Man, am I outta place.

And just when I abandon hope that I'll ever come to Hwy 43, there I am, and workers are planting flowers at the junction. I want to celebrate somehow that I've made it halfway, seeming so much longer than 10.5 miles, but there is nothing there but road and municipal gardeners and so I head back up hill. Getting to this point has taken a little less than 5 hours.

The next couple miles are a bit much. The work crew is out in their little four-wheeled truck, wanting to pass me, and then pass me again on the bike trail. I get out of the park and I trudge further up the hill, thinking that suburbia here is so soulless. Then I pass a house, no doubt a student house for the nearby college that has a banner on the side:

Budweiser warmly welcomes you to 9XXX SW Terwilliger Parkway

and I think, maybe this isn't so bad after all. Promptly, less than a mile later, the skies open and thunder crackles. I take shelter under a flower shop's awning, but the ladies inside insist that I come inside too.

They all think I'm clearly insane that I still need to walk back to NE Portland (but dear, the buses will start running again soon—that'll get you downtown). Maybe I am insane. Suddenly I realize that the grocery is 2, maybe 3 blocks away, and I could get lunch there. So I thank the ladies and headoff.

It's still pouring and still thundering and lightning, so I move as fast as possible to the grocery. Once inside, I'm sort of baffled and overcome by options. So I order a half a sandwich and collect three bottles of sm@rt water, and once I start eating, I'm ravenous. I will never be full! I decide, in a moment of clarity, to just eat my sandwich and call it good.

The rain lets up and I head out again. I'm driven at this point -- looking forward to the landmarks: Barbur Blvd.; the picnic tables at Nebraska Street; Capitol Hwy; the Chart House; the Marquam trail; the VA; Casey Eye Institute; and crossing 405 into downtown. Everything aches, but at this point I'm reminded that the game is all mental. I can dwell on the aches and pains, or I can stay a layer above it, focused on the goal.

I think about my dad. Poor guy was in constant pain the last four years of his life, and he ate painkillers like I used to eat ibupr0fen. But, he didn't let the pain get him down, as the commercials say. Painkillers helped, but didn't make it go away. His ability to meet goals and his attitude, were all focused above the pain. When you saw him, and didn't know him, you wouldn't have necessarily known that he was in pain. Hell, even I forgot, and would suggest we do something, and he would very gently remind me that he wasn't feeling that great. Gosh I miss him.

My last pitstop is at the Portland Visitors Association. As I am walking in, I walk by a crazy-eyed street person, teeth gone from meth, with a boombox blasting country music. As I walk inside, I mentally thank g-d that I'm not her, and that hopefully I won't see her again. So, of course, who ends up in the stall next to me but insane-meth-country-boombox-blaster. Her boombox seems earsplittingly loud, and the music feels like a grater on my feet. So I put back on my ipod and turned it up, which just ended up leaving me with a cacophony, but gave me the sense that maybe I had some control.

I finally got home, 10 hours after I started. 10 hours! I did the marathon in 9, and had a major breakdown, for heaven sakes! Oh well. Part of me thinks it was more than 21 miles all told, but I won't find out anytime soon—I won't go out and ride it with the bike and a cyclometer. And, I guess the question is, how much longer does it take for me to do rolling hills than flat?

The results? The tops of my feet are swollen in places. My hands didn't even swell. Otherwise, I'm as good as new. And, I ended up with no crunchy covering of salt at any point—that has to be a first.

Posted at May 22, 2005

Comments

Posted by: Misty P. at May 22, 2005 11:05 AM

Posted by: Lara at May 22, 2005 2:16 PM

Posted by: brent at May 22, 2005 4:54 PM

Posted by: Jon in Michigan at May 22, 2005 5:04 PM

Posted by: Chrissie at May 22, 2005 9:30 PM

Posted by: Rebecca at May 23, 2005 7:22 AM

Posted by: Megan at May 23, 2005 7:32 AM

Posted by: Rose at May 23, 2005 1:01 PM

Posted by: Chris Brogan... at May 23, 2005 2:25 PM