On running in Auckland

By my nature I'm a pretty lazy sort of person, like water I always try to choose the path of least resistance. My running habits are fairly well aligned with this trait, as I run purely to combat the damage I do to my body with fat and alcohol, and try to make it as easy as possible in the process.

Auckland has challenged this somewhat. A typical run might go a bit like this:

Decide to run a bit further today, so plot a 10k route that avoids all known hills. Turn left out of the flat and immediately encounter a hill, tell myself that it's only a short one and charge up it into a headwind. Canter another kilometer or so, turn a corner and am faced with what can only be described as a wall with cars going up it. I can just about see the top, so set a determined pace and chug up it, trying to keep a decent cadence. Get to the top, decide to reward myself with 50m of walking (it's either this or a seizure).

Spotted by someone running on the other side of the road, so start running again out of shame, into a headwind. Get to the end of this bit of road and see the sea (the eastern end of the harbour), start feeling all worthy and windswept. Head along the coast a little to a quaint little Cornish-style bay, the pleasure of seeing which is diminished slightly by the hill rising vertically in front of me. Can't see the top of this one, so adopt a slightly cautious pace and pant up it into a headwind. Woman pushing baby buggy passes me halfway up. At least it wasn't twins, I suppose.

Feel a tiny spot of rain, followed instantaneously by torrential, vertical, drenching downpour. Soaked through in seconds, at which point it stops, sun comes out, pavement and clothes bone dry again. Time elapsed, 20-30 seconds. Reach a turn-off point which thankfully isn't quite the summit, but it'll do. Turn off into a park, get lost. Find a road, predictably (by now) a hill leading upwards. Run up it, starting to lose sense of humour somewhat.

Begin looking for necessary turning off this road. Find to my dismay that few of the roads are actually signposted. A few minutes of searching at each one eventually turns up the right one, which is amazingly a hill leading downwards! Surely homeward bound?

Scramble down hill, avoiding cars parked on the pavement, half out of driveways, half on the road, in the road, across the road. Notice that the road appears to turn upwards relatively soon, note also that it doesn't seem that much of an incline. Sprint up small incline into a headwind, realise too late that behind this tiny lump lurks a chasm, a volcanic valley leading straight down, and straight back up again. Limp down the hill like a lamb to the slaughter.

Halfway up the other side, receive a tiny respite as I cross a road, which is mercifully flat. Unfortunately, this means the next 10m is considerably steeper to compensate. Three-quarters of the way up, I'm whispering encouragement under my breath. Seven-eights of the way up I'm murmuring abuse at myself. At the top I look back down and almost believe it was worth it, the view to the city on one side and the suburbs punctuated by the volcanic cones of Mount Eden, Mount Albert, One Tree Hill spread out on the other. Realise with horror that I'm still one valley away from the home straight.

Another downwards stumble, across the motorway into a headwind that leaves ripple effects across my face. Haul myself up the other side, turn 90 degrees into a headwind and note with a sinking feeling that the home straight is in fact a deceptive incline. Attempt to pass cafes, bars and restaurants on this stretch looking like it's all a bit of a breeze and secretly cursing these people for spending all day in cafes and bars and restaurants and still looking in reasonable shape.

Arrive home, wondering how a circular running route can contain more up than down, and how it can be all into a headwind. What a bizarre place.