Running in Washington, DC is a very different experience than running in Yorba Linda. It's not simply the humidity--though the feeling of having to jog through a swimming pool does count as a black mark against DC.
For one thing, each city takes a different attitude toward pedestrians, though neither one is terribly friendly. Southern California doesn't try to disguise its anti-pedestrian hostility. You are an intruder in the realm of the SUV and therefore must be destroyed.
Thus, running in Yorba Linda felt a little like being a deer during open season. Every car was actively trying to destroy you. Paranoid? Perhaps. But running in a place with very few sidewalks, busy six-lane highways, and "Walk" signs that abruptly switch to "Don't Walk" with no warning, you inevitably get a little paranoid.
Compare this with Washington, DC. The district is supposed to be pedestrian-friendly, and I guess it is. Kind of. There are many, many crosswalks, plenty of open green spaces, and lots of spectacular marble monuments to take your mind off the lactic acid burning deep in your muscles.
Still, I can't escape the feeling that all this is simply for show. Washington belongs to the drivers, and one day--not too far from now--they will reclaim it. Whenever I pass in front of four lanes of stopped traffic while crossing the street, I wonder what might happen if one driver, just one, decided "To hell with the lights!" and gunned his motor. Would the rest follow his lead? Would they go tearing through the crosswalks in a frenzy of anti-pedestrian gore?
That's my cheerful thought for today. Tomorrow: kittens!
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