Ahhhhhhhhhh...San Francisco. One of the most divine cities on earth besides, maybe, Rome. Having grown up in the Bay Area, I never quite appreciated San Francisco until I left. What a friendly, eclectic, beautiful city.
My good friend, Dawn, came out from Virginia to SF with me to run Nike's Run Like a Girl Marathon. We stayed in Union Square (the heart of SF shopping) a block off the starting line. While shopping is always a...er...um...delightful pasttime for me, we really enjoyed the FOOD...or, perhaps, better said, the culture surrounding said food. We ate in North Beach, the Italian part of town, every night that we could. The weather was nice enough that all the restaurants had their doors open and the hosts calling to the pedestrians. This is how we met Angelo and...the other guy. He's the one that had told us about the Philly Eagles...the house special dessert...and the best things to do after a race. Total highlight.
That and seeing friends from high school that I haven't seen in...over 18 years. Um...yeah. I'm old enough to say that. The funniest thing from that night was my friend Stacey saying over and over: "Rachael! I wish you remembered more from high school!" They kept telling me all about stuff we'd done together, and all I could do was stare blankly back and say, "are you sure I was there?!" I think the nicest thing about that evening, though, whether I remembered it or not, was how two of those girls remembered me being the first person to befriend them in a new school and how one of them reminded me that I introduced her to her husband. Sigh. 
And...in spite of my best efforts at avoidance, I got to see my sister, Lisa...and had a really great time with her and her family. They came out, and we enjoyed Fisherman's Wharf and some good ole sour dough bread. And I got a witness to attest that...in my family? I'm the shrinking violet...
Sigh...then there was the race. Please note that I'd run a marathon 2 weeks prior to this, injured my left knee, and didn't take recovery very seriously. The night before the race, I had spent an inordinate amount of time trying to download a playlist that this Nike DJ sent out. (As an aside, it's pretty good, and I will try to link it to the blog.) Stupid, stupid, stupid. 4 hours of sleep. Tops. But that's ok. That's how I do most of my long runs anyway. We're at the start line where I'd put myself in a slower time category so that I'd have something to do mentally during the race...pick people off. Ugh. The arrogance. So, we're cruising the streets of the financial district. Great. Mile 2...my knee starts to feel stiff. But who cares? I feel great and am on track to PR. Mile 6...it starts to hurt. But that's ok because people who run expect to feel some pain and discomfort. It's a natural consequence. Then there was the massive downhill leading to the beach. Mile 12...it's debilitating, and I actually have to stop off at an aid station to wrap up. Well...there's 14.2 miles left to the race. And I had to mentally figure out how in the world I was going to finish. At such a diminished pace...and/or walking. Let me tell you...14 miles is a LONG time to spend with yourself. Especially if you're ticked off...at yourself...
Then you suck it up, buttercup.
At the end of the day...how bad could it be? I was in San Fran-freakin-cisco. AND I got lots of compliments on my new shorts. I finally finished with a time that was a full hour + over the time I'd gotten in Odessa...which is demoralizing...but I could still appreciate the necklace and the tuxedo-ed fireman handing it to me.
Sigh. So...San Francisco got more than my heart...it got bits and pieces of my knee as well.
