Prelude to a Big Break

I ran free tonight.

When I arrived in Hollywood there were three immediate goals.

1. Sign with an agency.  (Check.)
2. Launch my business.  (Check.)
3. Get my ass in shape.

Being in shape isn’t a visual thing, it’s an emotional thing.  Dare I say, a spiritual thing.  When you exercise there’s a certain point where your body operates on a higher level.  I’m sure there’s a scientific explanation for it (endorphins and the like).  Here’s the non-scientific explanation:

I like eating.  Lots.  I like drinking beer.  I like going to movies and eating popcorn with nibs on top of them.  I like sleeping in the form of a tranquilized Rhinoceros.  Each of these things are preceded by a take-no-prisoners, grunting, spitting, sweaty, fart-filled workout.  If you don’t agree, you’re wrong.

Enter Runyon Canyon.

I went for 4 runs in my first week here.  They were all terrible.  When I haven’t been eating healthy food and I go for a run my body reacts by breaking out in hives.  Seriously.  15 minutes in I look like I’m carrying the same disease as the monkey in Outbreak.  (Anybody who has seen my hives is furiously searching for another visual right now.)

This string of pavement paucity came to a putrid climax this past Saturday when I ended up walking for 20 minutes of a 60 minute run despite the fact that I went to sleep at 10 Friday night.  Great job, loser.

After a physically relaxing 36 hours I manned up again and set forth.  1k takes you to the park entrance.

Here’s the thing about Runyon: In 20 minutes of running uphill, on a ferocious incline, you accomplish more than you would in 50 minutes on flat ground.  By the time you reach the top of the climb your face, neck and chest look like a field of turnips from space.  This is the 2k mark (which is marked on the map up top).

At this point the incline grade shifts from “ludicrous” to “reasonable” which effects you (and your lungs) like a baseball player who swings a heavy bat in the on-deck circle before picking up his actual bat.  You’re quick.  You feel good.  The tough part is done, for a very brief moment.  Once you reach the north end of the park you have to make your way up steep dirt covered switchbacks to reach the peak.  That’s 3k.

Brief interlude: Here’s why I love an “out and back” run.  The further you get away from your starting point, the further you run.  (Sorry for the exercise in redundancy.)  Mentally, I feel like I’m accomplishing something when I’m on the “out” section.  If I’m 30 minutes out, that’s a 60 minute run.  For reasons that I don’t fully understand the “back” section always feels like a walk in the park.  I hope I never understand.  End of interlude.

The next section is the underrated aspect of Runyon: running downhill.  It’s remarkably difficult, and if you’re not careful, you’ll hurt yourself because of the huge pounding that your knees, shins and quads take.  I prefer to take it a little slower, lead with my heels and really fire on my hamstrings and glutes.  (Yes, I realize that I’m starting to sound like an a**hole.)  It’s an opportunity to work a different set of muscles, which, in turn, makes an awesome workout even better.  4k takes you back down to the park entrance.

A funny thing happened at the park entrance.  I felt pretty good.  My hat had a little bit of a drip coming off the brim, my legs were loose and primed, my lungs felt like an AC unit pumping cool air throughout my nervous system.  And… two knobs with huge arms and legs like Nicole Richie were 100 meters ahead of me…  So I went up again.  (Yeah!)

By the time I got to the top (just a little after the 5k marker) my breathing sounded like a bad clarinet player riffing on a Metallica song.  I didn’t care.  The second ascent pushed the suck right out of my system.  The last 1.5k was a nice easy descent and a chance to reflect on a job well done.

Dinner tonight was a huge helping of gnocchi garnished with cherry tomatoes, fresh basil, olive oil, garlic and parmesan.  It should have fed at least three people.  (Still hungry.)

Thank you, Runyon Canyon.  See you Wednesday.

EDIT: I’m not happy about leaving this out of the original post.

20 minutes into the run I saw a guy with a prominent mole just beneath his left nipple.  The mole was pierced. Neither of his nipples were pierced.  I’d go on, but should I really have to?