Base run with Wendy.

 Oh, Wendy. The puppeteer of my early morning demise. It was a brisk October morning, the 4th to be exact, when she sold me the dream: "Come on! The first Wednesday of the month is the best day to start." Her words dripped with honey, painting pictures of a gentle introduction to the 'base run' class. What harm could there be in a 6am run, right? How naive I was.

As dawn broke, reality did too. Hills. Endless, unforgiving hills. With every incline, I could hear Wendy's treacherous promises echoing mockingly. 'Best day to start,' she'd said. But what it felt like was a cruel initiation into the world of run clubs. Wendy, with her innocent suggestions, had bamboozled me into a morning of panting, sweat, and questioning my life choices. Base run? More like "based on a lie". Wendy might've thought it was a harmless nudge into the world of running, but for me, it felt like being thrown into the deep end, and the water was uphill.

Amid the seemingly never-ending expanse of the hill, every step felt like a reluctant trudge, as though the universe itself was pulling me back, teasing, "Are you sure you want to do this?" But, as often is the case with such endeavours, I wasn't alone. There were others—fellow sojourners—including a potentially-named-Susie. Names? Muddled in memory, but conversations? Ah, those lingered. We chatted about the evolution of language models in literature. You’d think the uphill journey would’ve distracted us, but no, technology has its alluring siren song. 

Now, about Wendy. Wendy, Wendy, Wendy. Her words about planks should've been my first clue. The audacity to claim planks as the sit-ups of core work? Oh, come on! I could almost hear my abs rolling their eyes. Sit-ups have been and will always remain the reigning monarch of core exercises. Wendy, with her unconventional wisdom, was just another twist in this uphill saga, where every revelation felt as shocking as my realization that I was willingly climbing this hill.

Ah, the silver linings of a trickster's morning. Despite the unexpected uphill battle, quite literally, the rewards were unexpectedly sweet. As I finished, my legs felt like they had morphed into quivering jello. And while the feeling of jelly wasn't a part of today's breakfast plan, it came with a certain sense of accomplishment. 

The numbers on Strava, that almighty app that I endlessly chase for validation, showcased a relative effort that would make any fitness enthusiast beam with pride. I had pushed through over five miles at a pace of twelve miles an hour, which in itself might not sound Herculean, but factoring in the whopping 500 feet of elevation change, it was no small feat. Trudging up and down that hill, aptly named Christmas hill, for its festive adornments during the holiday season, made for an endurance challenge that few would willingly take on.

In reflection, despite the sarcasm dripping from my recount, I have to tip my hat to Wendy. Her deceptive nudge pushed me into an experience that turned out to be more rewarding than I'd ever anticipated. So, here's to unexpected mornings, relentless hills, and finding joy in the journey, however steep it may be.

All the best,

Fred