And to think I saw it on Mulberry Street


Well, not exactly.  But I was so excited to get my new running tights in the mail (yes, really…), I logged a 10-miler from Union Square to Hopper's Hands tonight. Started out of the Marriott up Powell Street, then Powell Street to North Beach.  Past Bimbos 365 and worked my way to Fisherman's Wharf.  Saw more empty stores than I'd like to report.  Then along the water down the hill from Ghirardelli's and up and through Fort Mason, retracing part of the San Francisco marathon route. Then to Crissy Fields where the sky was purple as the sun set. Wow – even in real life the Golden Gate Bridge looks like a painting. Passed another runner wearing an "Ironman Coeur d'Alene Finisher" shirt. Said hello and told her that I did that race this year.  Stupidly asked – "Did you?" Um, duh.  She was wearing the shirt.  Anyway, along the dirt trail to Hopper's Hands as the sky went dark with four surfers still in the water swimming out under the bridge to find a few last waves.

Turned tail and headed back.  At Crissy Beach, watched about 25 people watching about 10 people calling for their dog that seemed to have drifted out to sea.  Or so I think.  They kept calling out to the water and started to seem pretty desperate.  I've never understand why people let their dogs swim in the Bay…  Then back along the Marina to North Beach where I passed Gary Dankos – a spot where Lena and I enjoyed a $300 dinner once and didn't pay a dime.  Back to the edge of the Wharf and saw Gavin Newsom leaving the Hyatt.  Thought about saying hello but decided against it.

Then past the Holiday Inn where I met with the CIA years ago about working for them in the business intelligence program in Kazakhstan.  Just like in "Blowing My Cover," we talked over a blasting TV to make it all seem very spy-like and exciting.  From there, helped a couple of tourists figure out that Union Square was very far away and that they were heading in the wrong direction. Told them I was headed that way and they were welcome to run with me over there if they liked.  They declined. Hung a right on Powell Street and up a steady hill through Chinatown, back down Powell and to the Marriott.

All the while, I didn't get a single weird look about my tights.  Kind of disappointing.  But then again, I was in San Francisco so I probably appeared normal to everyone.

I saw all of those things listed, except for one.  Can you guess which one is a fib?

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