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Daily Run #2 - London
For the second straight morning, I woke up just before the alarm. Like Christmas morning, the anticipation of a morning run is enough to get me to hop out of bed. Of all the runners, my feet hit the floor first. All night the wind had rattled the bedroom windows even though it fronts on a protected alleyway. The lane below was wet and the weather looked as terrible as reports had predicted. I crossed the hall and looked to the southeast. No sun. Just those dark clouds – very ominous. There were large puddles and a series of six flags in the distance were so straight out that they appeared starched into position. This, I thought, was going to be an ugly run.
Just as quickly as the weather has turned bad the last two afternoons, it improved dramatically this morning. By the time we hit the street at 7:30 AM the sky was clear blue, slightly muted because the sun was still behind the low hanging clouds on the horizon. Being in the city, I wouldn't have known this except that our flat looks over the rooftops of smaller buildings to the south.

The view of flags out the flat window on a

less windy day.

Above and left are views of the lower roofs of

neighboring houses. It allows a broader look at

the weather.

 

The soft carpeting of the hallway provided a friendly spot to lace up the shoes. Emily, Arlene and I started to walk down the three flights of stairs to the street while Matt stepped onto the elevator, just to be humorous. I got a kick out of rushing down ahead to press the button at each floor. Matt's only comment when he finally reached the street was, “There'll be payback.”

Matt was doing a longer run, so he headed off toward Kensington Park. The rest of us stretched a little longer before heading in the opposite direction toward Holland Park. Holland is much smaller and isolated by blocks of residential buildings from the royal necklace of Kensington, Hyde, Green and St. James.

 

I had chosen the destination, the one day I was allowed to assume the lead role. My goal was to do a circumnavigation of the park and return, trying to hit the thirty-minute mark. We had walked to the park the day we arrived so I knew both the direction and relative distance.

Holland Park is laced with paths, many of them dirt, enclosed by thick woods. Other paced areas loop around gardens, lawns and buildings. I expected to cover some areas I'd missed on the walk. But first we had to get there. Rather than head down a main thoroughfare, I wound my way through neighborhoods, staying in the general direction. Each turn brought a new type of architecture; most long row houses that may have once fallen into despair, but have now been revitalized. Brick or stucco buildings, the latter sporting new paint, were in the majority. Within minutes we were in the Nottinghill Gate area, upscale and prestigious.

Holland Park is home to formal gardens and small nitche areas. Also shown on nicer days than our run.

 

On my heels the whole way were Emily and Arlene, deferring to my lead. We met the park at a path that Matt and Emily use for hill repeats. The incline is more than gradual but less than steep; approximately 600M from start to crest with a short steep downhill at the end. When running it you get the sense of privacy, woods and walls penning you within the 6' of asphalt width. Sometimes the privacy is disrupted by bicycles, this path doing double-duty as a bikeway.

We intersected the path about 200M into the climb, turned right and followed it to the end, dropping onto the sidewalk of a busy street. At this point Emily had imagined we would go right, up to toward the Nottinghill tube station but I decided to venture left, hoping to find a gate back into the park.

 

We continued on a steady downhill, the type that you regret ahead of time, knowing that the return path will be much harder. The sidewalk was covered with leaves as we sped by the occasional walker, headed for work. At the bottom of this street we went left and quickly another, going parallel to the road we'd just been on, but uphill and in the other direction. For over 200 yards (or meters since we were in London) the buildings on each side of the street were all clones, two-story interconnected houses all painted a brilliant white. It reminded me of the pages of a new coloring book, just waiting for a creative soul to splash a rainbow of hues. Nearby Portobello Road is a perfect example of what could be done here, but probably isn't allowed. It was at the end of this street that we bore right and finally found a back entrance into the park.

Portobella Road

Despite the hard rain during the night, the dirt paths were still passable, although the mud was slick in spots. I stayed to the remotest areas, winding from trail to trail, never quite sure of where I was, having left my Boy Scout compass at home. Suddenly we were back at the workout path, this time almost at the top of the hill. Keeping a careful lookout for bikes (I saw one bike-pedestrian accident during the week-ouch) we crossed back onto a city street and headed back toward the flat by a new route. After a series of lefts and rights, mostly on less-trafficked neighborhood streets, we were almost back at the start.

Since we hadn't run long enough, we doubled back toward the park, took a left down toward busy Kensington Road and took the last left turn just before reaching the main street. I knew where I wanted to go; I just wasn't sure how to get there. In looking, I found the strangest street. For a minute it looked like I was headed into a dead end alley, but a sharp left at the end revealed a cobblestone road. I use the term alley a lot, but I think I should clarify. These are narrow walkways, or streets that will only allow traffic in one direction. But these aren't dirty or filled with trashcans. The alleys in this area of the city sport high-end residences and are preferred locations.

Both sides of this cobblestone road, perhaps 75 yards long (?M), were lined with garage doors. The doors were open and in each bay were sports cars, all Jaguars. At the top of the street was a windowed showroom, again filled with Jaguars. Although we didn't stop, my pace slowed considerably, and not for fear of tripping on the uneven cobblestones. The effect was fairly dramatic. The most backstreet of areas with some of the finest automobiles that could be found – most sitting within reach as I trotted by.

 

 

 

 

 

And just like that we were out onto streets we'd traveled before. Within minutes we were back at the flat, roughly 30 long minutes later. Not long because they were tiring, long because the pace had allowed us to condense what was surely over an hour of sightseeing into half that time.

 

Although most of the mud was already off our shoes, we took them off at the entry door. This building has a doorman and I didn't want to offend him. I'm only a resident for a week, no need to make him clean up after us. We took the elevator up; the only time we ended a run without climbing the three floors on foot. Ten minutes later there was a ring, and Matt's face appeared on the security screen. We buzzed him in, had a spot of tea and headed out for another day in the city.