Nature Calling
With the coronavirus and the shelter-in-place mandate, I’ve been running more. It’s something to take the pain away from the news, the unsettling unknown, and the zoom fatigue that has taken over my life. It’s a solace, one of the few “normal” things (minus the bandana/buff breathing inconveniences, my amplified phobia for public water fountains, and my annoyance at people who don’t social distance) I can continue to do as this public health crisis evolves.
I’ve been using running as a means to explore different parts of San Francisco, too. Great Highway, aka The Great Walkway. The Presidio. Tank Hill and Twin Peaks. Planning my runs on google maps became a hobby, a mix of comfort and excitement as I searched for my next adventure.
Marin Headlands was one place I always thought was too far until I actually calculated the distance on google maps. Turns out, it’s not as far as I originally thought, so over Memorial Day weekend, I finally made my way over for the first time in months. It was my weekend long run, 10 miles of shockingly minimal pain, hills and trails galore, and many breathtaking and surreal moments.
Moments that would’ve never happened unless a supernatural force forced basically the entire world to stay home.
You may have seen places such as Vista Point and Battery Spencer on the internet. Both places are heavily visited, for good reason. They offer the most breathtaking views of the Golden Gate Bridge, the city, and the bay, unless our resident fog decides to mark his territory that day. On a normal holiday weekend, you would probably be packed in like a sardine if you visited, and there would probably be an outright war for your parking spot.
And yesterday, both places were eerily quiet.
No loud screaming, no people jostling for the best view, no random strangers asking you to get their best angles for social media. Just me, and three other folks who also biked or ran up to the vista. It was a surreal moment; the birds chirping, the wind wooshing, the sound of the cars driving across the bridge…almost like time had stopped. It was indescribably magical.
We’re so accustomed to having busy, scheduled days — whether it’s commuting, working, meeting up with friends and family, traveling, or vacationing. There’s always so much to see and so much to do. But in this moment, we’re all living through this weird and dare I say, unprecedented time, where it feels like our lives are somehow at a standstill but in a constant state of flux at the same time.
It’s kind of like distance running. The first couple miles are usually god awful, with my body needing to warm up and get used to things. Afterward, it usually depends on how hydrated and fueled I am. I have had my fair share of runs that stay pretty terrible all the way through, but I’ve also had ones where I caught the runners’ high. Sometimes, it’s a steady-state runners’ high that lasts for the rest of run, and other times, I’ve bonked pretty hard and was just happy to finish.
At the beginning of the quarantine, there was so much fear and uncertainty. No one knew what to do and everyone I talked to was stressed. After the initial panic subsided, it feels like everyone’s going through similar situations; we all have our days where we feel great, and we all have our days when we’re all so sick of quarantine and wonder how on earth we can continue like this. We’re in the “middle phase,” and with summer coming around, it feels like we’re so close. If we continue to social distance and wear masks, hopefully, we’ll ride out the virus sooner rather than later (the steady-state), but if we don’t, we’re still at risk for a second spike (the bonk).
And probably, that’s why my little adventure to the Headlands was so profound. A moment of magic in this marathon of a quarantine. We may not know when the finish is, but there is a finish line, where shelter-in-place mandates are lifted and we can venture out again. Life as we know it may never be the same, but the birds will keep chirping, the wildflowers will keep blooming, and coyote pupping season will continue. Life goes on, and while we’re all adjusting, if you’re reading this — we’re still living.
And hopefully when we look back at this time, whether it be through photos, written ramblings like this blog, or in the history books — we’ll remember the good times instead of the bad. The times you made sourdough bread, read that book you put off for months (guilty as charged @ me), went on a socially distanced hike/walk, facetimed with your friends and family, supported your local businesses, or thanked your local essential worker. The good times that changed our perspectives, made us appreciate the things we have, and helped you, me, and the lucky ones through a global pandemic.
To whoever’s made it down here — thank you for reading my thoughts and ramblings that were supercharged by one magical escape in nature. To the healthcare professionals and our essential workers, thank you so much for everything you’ve done. This crazy time too, will pass.
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings, Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like autumn leaves. As age comes on, one source of enjoyment after another is closed, but nature’s sources never fail.” -John Muir
