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Journey to the Source of the Nile

May 15, 2020 (Afternoon)

Exercise Type: Run

Comments:
Julia Smith and I set out on a quest to discover the elusive Source of the Nile. After fording our way through a treacherous swamp and a crossing a vast savanna beneath a blazing equatorial sun, we at last discovered the aim of our travails--- a small pond with tiny tadpoles tucked away in the Chevy Chase Country Club. Using our middle school science knowledge (neither of us is doing our PhD in hydrology) we determined that we therefore were straddling the continental divide between two watersheds---the Chevy Chase Divide to be exact. Gazing North across those majestic rolling hills and lurking sand traps and water hazards that few non-millionaires have ever lain eyes on, we were struck by the awe-inspiriting truth that every drop of sweat that fell from the right side of our bodies would someday make its way down to Rock Creek while every drop emanating from one's left arm or leg would find its way to Little Falls Branch. And yes, the appropriateness of a country club being the Chevy Chase divide was not lost on us. One of us is, after all, a social scientist.

We set off downstream leaping across gullies and arroyos, past the occasional dried up watering hole where hippopotomi and crocs were surely burrowed beneath the mud, following the Nile's serpentine course toward the mighty falls. As is often the case on safaris these days, the human-made hazards proved more hazardous than the natural ones. I nearly impaled and imprisoned myself on the wrong side of a fence in dog park across the street from Zeke's house. The tunnel I had planned for us to take out of the golf course and under Wisconsin Avenue had some new wrought iron bars to keep further interlopers from loping in. We were questioned by some one-percenters whom we passed twice along the running path after we carelessly doubled back to inspect an artificial body of water which I suspect to be Lake Nasser, formed in the 1900s by the Aswan Dam:

Fat Cat Rich Golfer Man: Hey are you members?
Me: [awkwardly long pause] Yes [said with 75% confidence]
Uncle Moneybags: Really?

We retreated pretty fast before I had to start making up puritan-sounding names for the two of us and trying to imagine to talk like a member of an exclusive 130-year-old country club founded by a racist southern senator with a $80,000 entry fee and an 11-year waiting list. Had I done this googling ahead of time, I might have known that they had the following dress code:

- Men: collared shirts; (Short sleeve mock T's are not permitted.) Women: ladies' equivalent. (No jeans or short shorts.)
- Hats must be worn "visor forward" in all areas of the Club.
- Attire should be tasteful and reflective of the Club's conservative traditions.

Seeing we were violating approximately 2/3 of these rules, we probably stuck out like a sore thumb as non-members, but not knowing that at the time, we just silently accused them of antisemitism and called it a day.

After fleeing the country club grounds, we wandered onward to the Land of Linni, where the Nile again emerges next to Dorset Ave and winds its way through Somerset. However, we were interrupted by the sounds of a familiar jingle coming from the street. "Ice cream truck!!!!!!" We shouted. and immediately dashed through someone's back, side, and front yards in order to get out to the street. Sure enough, there he was, the ice cream man, though not Tony from my neighborhood but someone other guy selling soft serve and milkshakes. Julia wanted that venerable work of Mexican fine dining, the choco taco, but was forced to settle for a fudgicle-like creation, a less novel novelty. I went with a vanilla shake (Julia: Why not chocolate? Me: Hot day, we eating while running, best to take it easy) but as soon as I saw him pouring whole milk from a gallon container into a cup I instantly regretted it. I'm basically going to be carrying around a glass of milk in 84-degree heat, I told myself. Gross. What I really wanted was to just have a milkshake-sized quantity of straight ice cream in the tall cup a milkshake normally goes in, but I didn't think of that until the shake was in my hand. Well, I thought, at least Abby Murphy will feature me in her milkshakes-of-DC instagram if I get a photo of this. Shake_Your_Maracas does not deign to showcase bucketloads of soft-serve masquerading as milkshakes. Julia jumped into the second photo I took, but I couldn't use that one because it violates the 6-foot-rule and no one on instagram can tell if we were holding our breath.

We returned to our quest, running and sipping or running and licking as our accessories required, and soon we were deep in the jungles of Willard Avenue Park. We considered hopping the fence into the pool, but figured that was taking things a step too far, despite our certainty that any pool chlorinated enough to handle snotty-nosed little tots must also capable of handling SARS-CoV-2. We dodged some people on the way (though on the way back were unsuccessful at dodging an irresistibly cute 4-month-old golden retriever) and finally popped out on River Road right where the team does drill before workouts on the CCT. From there we cut through another lawn and followed the dystopian concrete culvert the Nile gets squeezed into in an attempt to tame it from its sensational seasonal floods. I supposed this is a good thing since Ana-Sophia's elementary school lies within the flood plain. Then again, I think playground equipment might be even more fun if it's suspended over a foot of water. Not enough that you'd need to swim, but enough to cushion your fall if you tumbled off the monkey bars. Besides, instead of pretending the ground's a boiling pit of lava leap from swing set in swings et and run backwards up slides in a precarious game of tag, you could imagine you're in a climate-changed-induced deluge of downtown Manhattan circle 2030. So much more more educational! Plus if it floods in the winter, then it might freeze and you and could classmates could play tag while ice skating. You all know that water expands when it freezes, right? Julia said she'd had to teach this fact to her undergrads last semester, and I said this was the sort of science trivia that any kid who had any appreciation for science was likely to have learned in middle school. So if you didn't know that and happen to be going to University of Wisconsin next year and taking intro to chemistry, now you know and you'll have one less exam question to worry about. Hope that Julia is your TA though---the others might be tougher and pose questions about the liquid-to-solid phase transition behavior of hydrogen dioxide.

Finally, at long last, we made it to the mouth of the Nile under Little Falls Parkway where it empties into that mightiest of waterways, the Little Falls Branch. We thought about jumping in it to cool off. Well, Julia thought and I jumped. It smelled...alarming. I got out fast, and we ran back up Little Falls Parkway in the blazing sun, hoping the intense UV rays would break down and sterilize whatever industrial-grade toxins and flesh-eating bacteria were clinging to my lower legs. Despite the brutal heat, we made it the rest of the way back to the Smith homestead without incident (aside from the aforementioned canine). I lay sprawled out on her driveway while she brought me a glass of water. We talked about Unorthodox. I trudged home.

All in all, a rather funcomfortable run, full of self-induced cramps, a near-milk-puke which fortunately did not quite rise to the surface, a possible sunburn, near misses with tetanus-inducing fence spikes, probable poison ivy later washed off with toxic sludge, and a cute dog belonging to an old lady which hopefully did not give us Coronavirus. That's all till next week! I wonder what we'll discover next?

https://www.lfwa.org/explore