Coldest Winter I Ever...

As the rest of the US cools down, and Virginia rattles and rolls, San Francisco’s just warming up. It hit 80 today. Cold weather used to be my domain, I’d cite my fair complexion and northern European ancestry for why I preferred to play sports in conditions that sent all parents but mine to their car, but today taught me otherwise. I flew up the hill. Nevermind that I was fifth to the top, or that I still don’t have any digital jerseys, I was 36 seconds faster than last week. I expect a midnight visit from the UCI.  

That’s a 7% improvement over last week, but it’s much more when you think that I will never, ever beat 7 minutes up Hawk Hill. So if that’s the ceiling, then it’s a 49% improvement over last week. Then again, not all seconds are created equally, as clipping those seconds near 8 minutes is a whole lot easier than those near 7 minutes so it’s somewhere between 7% and 49%. Which is still a lot.  

To earn those extra seconds, I’ve analyzed the last 24 hours, Bob Bradley style*, and have a few theories for my improved performance, each of which I’ll test with a control group over the next few weeks, to see if it was the plate full of bald pasta last night, the dropped Clif Bar with a few bites left, or, lo and behold, the sunshine. Maybe I’m a lizard after all.

Typical San Francisco dawn in the Presidio...

...not so typical San Francisco morning on top of Hawk Hill.

*Bob Bradley, to Jesse Marsch in the fall of 1995, “You had a better than normal game today, Jesse. Ask yourself, ‘What did I have for breakfast this morning? Did I walk to class or bike? Where did I sleep last night’?”