Do you even believe it?

Since the readers of this blog are all friends and family... I mean, who else would read it?... I think it's okay for me to make this confession: I am the one who got Twila involved in sadomasochism.

It happened about 35 years ago. Twila was a grad student working at the Lawrence Hall of Science at UC Berkeley. I was, at the time, the best friend of her S.O., Jack. The three of us spent a lot of time together playing bridge and cashing in 2fer coupons in Reno. Then LHS announced that they were going to sponsor a run from Berkeley City Hall to the LHS building. It would be the first annual Strawberry Canyon Run, and Twila wanted a T-shirt. She wanted the shirt and I wanted her, so I told her I'd run and give her the shirt.

At the time I was, to say the least, soft. The only exercise I'd had since leaving college was lifting beer bottles, and I'd lifted quite a few. But I put on some tennis shoes, and with our friend Arthur I ran 8 miles on the Strawberry Canyon Trail. That afternoon I spent two hours soaking in a hot bath - I was in serious discomfort

Eventually I bought running shoes and got myself into a low level of shape. I managed to run the race and win a T-shirt, a significant accomplishment. Then, to my surprise, I made running part of my life. Since I'd run competitively in high school and at Hamilton, I only knew one way to train - try to set a personal record every time out. It was difficult, but the beta-endorphins flowed.

Most of the time I ran in Strawberry Canyon, which is beautiful. I wanted Twila to see it, so one day I invited her to jog along with me. We ran at a slow pace and she huffed and puffed and made it out about a mile. It was fun. But we know Twila. She didn't like huffing. She didn't like puffing. She decided to get in shape, and she became a runner... a very good runner.

So I am, I suppose, responsible for creating this monster for whom pain is pleasure. It's a concept I don't understand. I mean, pleasure is pleasure, isn't it? Pain is pain. What goes wrong in a brain that gets them confused? The more miles I ran and the older I got, the more I thought, "Okay, done this." But Twila just kept running. And she wanted me to run with her.

I haven't run in a couple of years now, but Twila is on the road every other day. We still bike and hike together, but that's where it gets confusing to me. Whatever happened to a nice ride down to the malt shop or a stroll through a wildflowered meadow? Those are throwaways for Twila - she wants to bike and hike in the Rockies, and going downhill is the part she doesn't enjoy.

She does get beta-endorphins, which helps. The anti-depressants I have to take inhibit endorphin production while exercising, so the pain keeps increasing until I stop. That doesn't help.

Yesterday we climbed Round Mountain, all the way to the top. It was a 9.5 mile Hell Hike, but Twila loved it. I was glad I was able to do it without dying, but that was the extent of my pleasure. Now Twila is bubbling with happiness that in three weeks we're going to climb Pikes Peak, which is approximately Round Mountain times three. In one day. At altitude.

Geez, I don't even like thinking about it. I guess I'll stop writing now and lift a few beers.