A Tale of Two Bridges

I just spent the last week sweating it out in nature’s sauna, otherwise known as Florida in July.  I’ve had the good fortune of being regularly invited to join my college roommate’s family in a beautiful compound during their yearly bacchanal.  It’s always a rollicking good time, but since this is a running blog and not a drunken debauchery blog, I shall stick to the subject matter at hand.

I have done many a hot run here.  I once foolishly went out sans hat or sunscreen and burnt my face so badly I developed a scaly crust, akin to alligator skin, that didn’t heal for weeks.

The place where we stay is located on a peninsula, and as such, is accessed by two bridges, one on either side.  Our host K told us that the area is so flat that the overwater passageways are the only option for masochistic Floridian runners in search of a little elevation gain.  In the many times I have visited, I have only ever run over the westbound bridge because, in the ungodly heat and humidity, it looked to be the least daunting of the two.

This year, with A by my side, lots of hill work under my belt, and a trail race to train for, I felt we were ready to face the challenge of the dreaded eastbound bridge.

We got up nice and early, which really means around nine o’clock vacation time.  It was already starting to swelter, but A’s determination outweighed my laziness.   

It's a two mile run just to get to the bridge, and by the time we got there I was already tired, hot, and drenched.  As we started our ascent, the wind whipped up over the river and started cooling me down and drying the humidity around us.  I kept waiting for the incline to start burning my legs, as it has so often on the easier westbound bridge, but I felt nothing.  And then all too soon, we were on the other side.

In hindsight, by avoiding the scary-looking eastbound bridge, turns out I had been running the harder bridge all along.  Both bridges have the same elevation gain, but the eastbound bridge is almost twice as long, making the westbound bridge the far steeper of the two.  So while the roundtrip run over the eastbound bridge was further, it still was much easier.

It’s funny that I was intimidated for so long by something that ended up being far more benign.  I know this is an allegory for something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.  A and I contemplated this conundrum as we sipped pina coladas by the pool, but for some reason the answer still eludes.