A faint hint of bile

Usually my non-lazy moments are too short to taste puke, but I had to get back. I could have turned back earlier but I wanted to get to the river, the same river which I bailed out of crossing on foot (well, on foot on a bridge) yesterday. Once I got back my lab book and reports, a sudden fatigue overwhelmed me so much that I didn't have the energy to look at my marks, much less run. I had my running capris in my bag; I was all set. But I was too tired.

This morning, there were no excuses. I headed out and down down down. I knew that there would be one big hill; I wasn't quite prepared but I could defer consideration while serenely gliding downwards at about 7:00/mile. The second hill took me by surprise. My first hint was the exclusively spandex-clad and extremely fit bicycling population struggling upward. But I had to get to the river! if only to admire the tenacity and sheer destructive force that had clawed and dug its way down 100 meters or so. The road was so overshadowed that there was still snow on the edges, and there was snow on the riverbank too.

I didn't linger at the bottom because a loss of momentum would have necessitated making fire and shelter--I couldn't let myself think about the hills waiting for me, I had to jump on them ASAP.

Even at the lowest point, I was still above 1000 metres above sea level; I'd recognized the higher altitude on the way down merely as elevated effort: I was jogging but also actually breathing in rhythm. Altitude increased its presence exponentially on the way back up. The traffic light stops I scorned on the way down became treasured shrines of recovery on the return trip. After a couple of miles or so, the hills were behind me (strangely I don't remember thinking much during the ascents so in a way the hills went by quickly), and I tasted the hint of bile. aa

Basically, all the hillwork that I've skipped over the past couple of years or so got done today.

I have to figure out a route that will let me see the peaks.