I've been having difficulty in recent weeks keeping up with any kind of regular exercise routine. Smog, rain, a lack of clean socks or just plain laziness have made it to my list of excuses for "running tomorrow", but I finally decided I needed to get back on the ol' exercise train. Our upstairs neighbor Debbi had been telling me about a great 5k run up to the top of the Cerro San Cristobal. At the top of the hill the Virgin Mary gracefully invites her visitors to take in the views and embrace a peaceful moment, and hence, we've coined it The Virgin Run. I'd been to the top of the hill several times before but never on foot, only via the funicular. However after a couple of short jogs earlier in the week, I felt motivated to attempt the run pre-described as "a decent incline, multiple switchbacks with beautiful views". Having run the hills of Seattle, I decided it couldn't be too bad and if nothing else, I could always turn back when my lungs had reached their limit.
Which happened at about the 1k mark. Sad I know, but the run started out steep, at least for my out of shape lungs. I pushed on and by the 2k mark my breathing had settled down and I decided to see how far I could actually go. At 3k the views of the sun setting over the Andes were so beautiful that the 4k mark came without me realizing it and I knew Mary was just up and around that one last, long corner. And she was. I had a glorious finish to the top; I even managed to give directions to some tourists in Spanish as I reached the vista. However, I was so distracted by the striking views and focused on making it to Mary that I neglected to consider the sun which at this point had dropped completely behind the mountains. After patting myself on the back for about 5 minutes, I realized that I now had to make it back down the winding road in the dark and I had my first "Oh ****" moment since arriving in South America. I was all by myself, the road was winding, steep at parts, and consisted of more than an occasional ankle busting pothole. But when you're faced with no options, you just gotta do what you gotta do. So I started the run down the hill.
My mind started playing tricks on me. Long shadows turned into hidden bad guys and small noises became pumas. My heart was beating just about as fast as when I chugged up the hill and I knew I was learning a valuable lesson; always bring some money for the funicular ride down. It was also at this point that I knew the noises in my head were not imagined and that something was actually chasing me. Not wanting to look back, because of course what you don't see can't hurt you, I picked up my pace. It was as I neared a full sprint that I finally caught a glimpse of my pursuer; a big, yellow, tail wagging labrador. I was so relieved that I offered the perro my arm for a sniff. And he took it in his mouth and chomped down. So much for my "all stray dogs in Chile are friendly" theory. It didn't take much of an "HASTA!" from me for the dog to ease up and we quickly sorted out our differences. The big guy turned friendly again and stayed with me as I regained my pace. Actually, old yeller ended up leading me down the mountain, trotting around all the hidden potholes and I'm pretty sure scaring the pumas back into the shadows. As we neared the last bend, I had visions of treating the dog to a fresh loaf of bread and a nice scratch on the head to thank him for his help. I think I must of actually closed my eyes for a second because the next thing I knew I saw the glowing lights of the Cerro San Cristobal entrance, and no sign of the dog. I know, this seems fabricated, but no joke, the dog was all of sudden nowhere to be found. Add to this the fact that here in Santiago, when a dog thinks he's found a friend, particularly a gringo friend, he sticks close for as long as he can knowing that a payout is sure to come, and his disappearance is even more unlikely. But my yellow guide had disappeared into the night, no thank you necessary.
Time for a poignant conclusion. Truth is, I probably would have made it down the hill one way or another without my little yellow guardian perro. But the coincidences are worth noting. I complete my first 10k run that I am completely unprepared for, cresting at the sacred Virgin Mary. Then I make it down the hill nearly in complete darkness with the help of a yellow dog strikingly similar to my first doggy love who passed away not long ago. Add to that the disappearing act and you be the judge. Maybe all that is is truly meant to be. Or, maybe I'm over the top. Either way, I'll be looking for my buddy next week on the hill, only this time under the bright light of the mid afternoon sun.
