The Streets of San Francisco

By the time I slipped into my running tights at 6 this morning, I’d been stood up, chewed out and hassled by some homeless guy. I was kinda crabby.

I woke at 4:30 yesterday morning so I could get in my two-hour run before heading to the airport to catch a flight to San Francisco. While waiting on the BART platform, I called my co-worker and discovered she wasn’t expecting me for a few more hours. So I could have slept in, not rushed and taken a later flight. Then, on my way out of a downtown train station, my ticket didn’t work and an agent essentially accused me of turnstile jumping. At my age. And with all my bags. Really.

I had three hours to kill until check-in at the spectacular Harbour Court Hotel along the Embarcadero, and I decided some food might get me out of my funk. Food writer Amy T. over at California Eating had given me several recommendations at the Ferry Building, which I later learned from a street vendor was completely renovated years after the ’89 earthquake destroyed this section of the city. It was colder than I’d expected, and I moved quickly to stay warm inside my Polartec shell, my only shield. Still, I ate my bowl of butternut squash soup outdoors while watching bay action along the pier. And I topped it with excellent blood orange- and pomegranate-flavored gelato at Ciao Bella while strolling through all the food shops.

My mood was improving until I noticed I’d missed a call. This time my co-worker was canceling for the entire day and evening, suffering from jet lag and a pounding headache. So now I’d not only killed half my weekend traveling but would have to do double time to make up the work. On an impulse, I bought some gifts from a vendor at an outdoor arts & crafts fair, but I couldn’t shake this unkempt guy that kept telling me I was being taken by a son of Satan for buying his merchandise. I didn’t help matters by my joking that judging by the prices, I did get robbed.

I tried to do some work once I got back to the hotel, but it was no use. My brain knew it was Sunday. So I fell asleep in my plush king-sized bed watching “The Simpsons.” In addition to leaving the TV on, I’d forgotten to turn down the heat and woke a few hours later to a stopped-up nose from all the forced dry air circulating. I never recovered my sound sleep pattern.

So this morning I worked until it wasn’t quite so dark and headed out to view an incredible sunrise of magenta clouds against a turquoise sky just beyond the Bay Bridge. Lots of runners were heading toward it, but I decided to follow those heading toward the other, more famous bridge. The Embarcadero streets were the perfect footpath for pedestrians, including plenty of runners, at this hour. Little car traffic to break a stride. First, I noticed the famous Coit Tower up on my left, then came Fisherman’s Wharf all decked out for the holidays. The running traffic dropped off as I moved through the strip section of the Wharf into the true fishing area, where men already were moving their hauls. Then came the familiar Ghiradelli Square sign, where the hollow sounds of seagulls were replaced by the gentle shore lapping a maritime park. From there it was up into Fort Mason, which offers wonderful views of the Golden Gate Bridge and sections of the city. I liked it so much I did a few extra loops and then reluctantly headed back.

By the time I hit the Ferry Building, a couple of blocks from my hotel an hour later, the city was humming along to the morning rush. I, however, felt no hurry and though I knew I should stop, I decided to press on for a little longer, taking in all the sidewalk art, the street people, the moms with joggers and the people heading out from the nearby YMCA. And the sunshine. It was going to be warmer today, I could tell. That’s when I knew that no matter what the day brings, it’s gonna be grand.