Another long Saturday run on tap.  Started with the group at Peets, and ran the first four miles of the Dipsea (now six weeks away), regrouping at the top of Cardiac.  Our fearless leader complaining about being slow, but he’s a few minutes ahead of me as we reach the water fountain with a few of Stinson ahead.  He’s got nothin’ to complain about IMHO!  The rest head east back on Troop 80, but I head south on Coast View — going long today — my second run on this great stretch of trail.  

Running alone, the song “Seven Years” by young Denmark pop singer/rapper Lukas Graham is stuck in my head.  Not a bad thing.

  Once I was seven years old, my mama told me,
 “Go make yourself some friends or you’ll be lonely.”
  Once I was seven years old

  It was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger
  Pushing each other to the limits, we were learning    quicker
  By eleven smoking herb and drinking burning liquor
  Never rich so we were out to make that steady figure

Once I was eleven years old, my daddy told me,
“Go get yourself a wife or you’ll be lonely.”
Once I was eleven years old

I always had that dream, like my daddy before me
So I started writing songs, I started writing stories
Something about that glory just always seemed to bore me
‘Cause only those I really love will ever really know me

Once I was twenty years old, my story got told
Before the morning sun, when life was lonely
Once I was twenty years old

I only see my goals, I don’t believe in failure
‘Cause I know the smallest voices, they can make it major
I got my boys with me, at least those in favor
And if we don’t meet before I leave, I hope I’ll see you later

Once I was twenty years old, my story got told
I was writing about everything I saw before me
Once I was twenty years old

Soon we’ll be thirty years old, our songs have been sold
We’ve traveled around the world and we’re still roaming
Soon we’ll be thirty years old

I’m still learning about life
My woman brought children for me
So I can sing them all my songs
And I can tell them stories
Most of my boys are with me
Some are still out seeking glory
And some I had to leave behind
My brother, I’m still sorry

Soon I’ll be sixty years old, my daddy got sixty-one
Remember life, and then your life becomes a better one
I made a man so happy when I wrote a letter once
I hope my children come and visit once or twice a month

Soon I’ll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold
Or will I have a lot of children who can warm me?
Soon I’ll be sixty years old

Once I was seven years old, my mama told me,
“Go make yourself some friends or you’ll be lonely.”

Romping down Coast View, the crystal blue waters of the Pacific to my right, the valley leading to Muir Woods on my left.  Funny how Lukas, in singing his life story, jumps in one verse from 30 to 60 years old, with no stop in between.  Maybe that’s how life looks to a 27 year old who can’t imagine having much fun beyond 30.  But then again, 30 to 60 does go by way too fast, as if someone at the controls accidentally presses the warp speed button.  Thirty, courting Heather and living the life of a young attorney in DC, and now not that far from 60, twenty five year anniversary approaching and one kid about to head off to college.   Seems wrong; definitely waaaay too fast.  

At the valley floor, I join the redwood trail, but soon start climbing again, up the long, hard Miwok Trail toward DIaz Ridge.  This is going to be an epic three hour run!   Lukas Graham’s pop/soul/rap lyrics still in my head and I sing them out when my breath allows it.  “Soon I’ll be sixty years old, will I think the world is cold?”  I think about my dad at 60.  Takes me back to 1973, where, around the family dinner table, the Vietnam War and Watergate were fought locally every night.  My mom, a McGovern Democrat, anti-war zealot, and my dad, a Goldwater, Nixon loving Republican.  What did they see in each other?  They had nothing in common besides us kids as best I could tell.  The fighting (yelling was the norm) was bitter and often personal, and left me scarred.  I love talking politics, but will not be drawn into a fight over it.  

I continue up Miwok’s switchbacks.   My Dad’s generation simply didn’t exercise.   He was a high school football star from Iowa who turned down a scholarship at North Carolina State because he’d never heard of it and it was too far away.  I don’t think he exercised a day in his life after that.  In 1973, he weighed about 250 pounds, some of those gained after he and my mom quit smoking.   What would he think of my running obsession?   Hard to know, it would be truly foreign to him.  In odd ways, the next generation is a throwback.  My kids, like most of their peers, don’t run, and from what I’ve read, this is typical.  Running is becoming the realm of people my age.
After the 700 foot climb up Miwok to DIaz Ridge, I have a rolling four miles home, finishing on the Cypress.  I arrive back home after logging just under 15 miles and 2800 feet of gain in just over 3 hours.   In terms of time, I think this is the second longest run in my life, behind only my marathon 18 years ago.  The last two miles, even though downhill, were a challenge, with the body feeling the effects of the pounding.   An ice bath follows, which helps, though my right foot (particularly the arch), which had been bugging me a bit of late, is thoroughly pissed at me.  To be expected, of course.  This training is going to take some casualties along the way.  I try, but fail, to remember what it was like to be an ache and pain free kid….”Once I was seven years old…”