Saturday, I base at Hugh Birch State Park with high hopes of doing the Big Loop in Ft. Lauderdale, the one that goes across the 17th St. Causeway, up into downtown and back east into the park. And it was a beautiful day. What I forgot was spring-breakers and vacationers in general jamming up A1A, streets, sidewalks, beaches; So as I took off south, I was anxious to get out of the crowds. And heat. Low energy, low gear, but I persevere in a kind of hypnotic gait, taking the causeway slowly, stopping on the other side at a Walgreens for some sort of super high-energy drink. Full of niacin and other B's among other things. It really seems to work, though, so off I head towards Federal and my right turn north. One block shy, I look to see if the side streets go through and decide to ditch the main drag. The route takes me past modest condos, a lovely cemetery, and starts to wind into a neighborhood of houses as I pass block by block aiming for Broward, Las Olas, something. I hit a stretch of water and decide to take a right. This will be a critical error, since there is, apparently no way for me to regain the other side of that stretch of intracoastal; for the next many miles I loop, skip and redo too many streets to mention, all lovely, all without fail no where near where I'm trying to get.
Ft. Lauderdale, in its heart, is a city of water. Like Venice. I love this aspect of it; I imagine myself living in one of those old nouveau houses right on the edge of water, of canals winding in and around lone streets, curving under arched bridges. Somehow, even in modest waters, high class yachts berth. It's a strange sight to see. A city of boats. I tried another short cut parallel to 17th trying for the beach, and get stuck at a marina. I take a bathroom break and have to hike it all the way back to the stoplight to make the turn to 17th. The exhaustion must have been getting to me by then, because I tripped and sprawled on the sidewalk. Scraped a knee and my pride as I picked myself up and began the slow jog to the causeway. I made it to the top in time for the bridge to open, and got to watch as the sailboats and little cruisers made their way through, waving to the boaters, stretching and catching the stiff breezes at the top of the rise. It takes a long time for slow little boats to come through....and when I finally take off down the other side, I am ready to be done with this run.
There are miles to go, up and up to the south beach area, cutting over for water, and grinding in for the stretch to Sunrise, a seemingly never ending stretch of a few miles I remembered running for the finish at the half-marathon, running like my life depended on it. This time, I was over-heated and over-tired. The beachies were swarming around me and all I could think about was my car, my water, my food.
Finally I come into the park from the beach side, and take the mile down the park road in a nice, steady, quiet jog. I'm amazed to still be running. Each time I'd stop I felt like I'd never run another step. But sometimes it's more comfortable to run than walk. Hugh Birch is a lovely little oasis of wilderness. I watch the sky through the canopy of trees and take the last curve before hitting the parking lot and, mercifully, the car.
For a while, I take my blanket and provisions and camp by the banks of the intracoastal to watch the boats blow by. I eat everything I have. I use the picnic table as a kind of stretch table and work out as many kinks as I can. Finally I lay with fatigue like a cocoon over me, and wrap myself into blissful silence and stillness. I can hear the rustle of palm fronds, the engines of boats and the slapping of the wake against the concrete wall. The sun, which had baked me dry, was peeking through the trees, and there was no thought, no person to please, no problem to solve, no action to do.
It may have been an hour or so by the water. It was easily 2-3 hours out on the run. I estimate, all together somewhere between 10-15 miles, at least. That's time well-spent to get back my head, claiming it from the crush of cries and demands. There is a sweet serenity to my solitude. And I am happy to protect it, enjoin it, run with it for as long as I can.
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