I woke up feeling great. At the age of 54, that doesn’t happen too often, at least not to me. Except walking and drinking, I hadn’t done any exercise for a week. I told Frank I was going for a run to Golden Gate Park, just over Seventeenth Street. I regaled him with a vivid description of my favourite San Franciscan run, over the hill, through the park, past the de Young art museum and the Japanese garden, around the Botanical Garden to the polo field, down the to the mighty Pacific and the beach, within view of the famous Cliff House.  “D’ja wanna come with?”

“Sure….” Frank responded, leery. “How far is that?”

“I used to do it in an hour. Or so. Each way.” I chirped.

“Uh-huh.  When, exactly, was the last time you ‘used to do it’?”

“Oh, well, let’s see — probably 1995.” Continue reading 26. Over The Hill →