Are we there yet? No, really.

I thought it would be a good idea to join a running club in Auckland. You know--a good way to meet people, stay in shape, etc. I went online and discovered a YMCA about a mile on the other side of downtown that has a marathon prep club, and they run every Sunday morning at 8 a.m. According to the web site, they run for no more than 1 1/2 hours, so even though I've hardly run at all in the past two months, I figured it would be fine.

I showed up, was assigned to a group in about a 10-minute mile pace, and just as we were starting out, I asked my pack leader where we were heading. I was then informed that this was the beginning of their marathon buildup, and the plan for the day was to run a 22 km route up the four biggest hills in Auckland. I was still optimistic, for three reasons:

1. I didn't know exactly what my pack leader meant by "hills," so I was thinking positively.

(It turns out that by "hills," he actually meant "small mountains" (see picture of the view from Mount Eden above)

2. I still can't remember the difference in the conversions for pounds/kilos vs km/miles, so I actually had no idea how far 22 km is. (Those of you who remember your conversions know that 22 km is actually 14 miles. 14 long, long, painful miles.)

3. I am an idiot. 

We started running, and by the time I got to the top of Mount Eden, I realized that this could really suck. By the time we got to the top of One Tree Hill, I was pretty sure I was going to die. I started contemplating my escape, which was foiled for the following reasons:

1. I had no clue where I was and how to get home

2. There was a 75 year-old hunched-over man in my group named Alister, and I'd be damned if I was going to let someone named Alister finish if I didn't finish too. 

3. I am an idiot.

Anyway, since I had no idea where I was, I had to keep running or I might have died at the top of One Tree Hill and been eaten by the sheep. That's right, there really are sheep grazing all over One Tree Hill (see pictures above).

Next stop, St. John's Hill, which is populated not by sheep, but by cows. This particular bit of terrain is reminiscent of an Irish hillside, and it would have been really beautiful if I hadn't been so very disgruntled. About a hundred yards from the top of the hill, I approached a narrow point in the dirt path. There were giant mud pits on either side of it, and blocking the path was a placid and corpulent cow. He just stood there in my way, looking willfully out from under his long cow eyelashes. I pondered momentarily what one does in this situation, and then, realizing that by pondering I was putting of running, I pondered some more. I tried poking him and he mooed, but didn't move. I tried poking him again, which lead to more mooing, but still no moving. Then I jumped up and down and yelled "move you stupid cow!" At that point he moved his hind hoofs onto the path too, and then he mooed. I ran through the mud pit.

We had one more hill left, and by the time I finished it, I felt rather comatose. There were only 6 km more to the YMCA, and though Alister beat me, I did make it back, having learned the following lessons:

1. I need to learn my conversions.

2. Cows are willful, difficult beasts and I resolve to eat more beef.

3. I am an idiot.