Who knew commuting could be such a workout?
Today I took BART to work for the first time, avoiding rush hour traffic back and forth across the Bay Bridge.
Here’s where it gets interesting: The BART station is 1.7 miles away.
Going there this morning wasn’t too bad. Though the morning was chilly-and-a-half, and fog-borne vapor was thick in the air, it was a nice walk. Oh, and it was all downhill.
…which means, of course, that I had to 1.7 miles home from the station this evening.
All.
Up.
Hill.
Once upon a time, Scott and I found ourselves playing around with an altimeter (I think it was his dad’s, but I might be wrong), watching the display drift up and down ever so slightly as we drove around the modest, rolling, perfectly manicured hills of Mission Viejo.
As I trudged up, up, forever up this evening, I was more than a little curious what that altimeter would’ve told me.
Probably best, though, that I don’t know for sure. That way, I can just know, maaaan, that it was the equivalent of a quarter mile straight up.
Though that might just be the oxygen depletion talking.
When I saw my name, I thought for a moment you were going to recall that time my truck died on us while driving and we had to push it up that 30% incline (at least that’s what it felt like) to get it off the road.
Now it just needs to snow, and you’ll have a tale to tell your grandkids when you get old and crochety (“I used to have to walk home from the BART station, uphill, in the snow!”).
Heh. I must’ve blocked that event from my mind.
Snow. Yikes. Just thinking about the [slim] possibility has me all young and crotchety.