Stay and Be Rooted
Jamin's personal running heat map. Data credit: Strava
This is my personal running heat map. All the places I’ve run in San Francisco over the years.
Hundreds, possibly over a thousand, miles on foot. I’ve left the mark of my sweat on countless sidewalks, footpaths, trails, and streets across this urban forest.
I’ve run past naked people (not nearly as many as you might think), unhoused and drug addicts, through parades (accidentally), protests (again, accidentally)—up, over, and around the many hills of San Francisco.
I’ve stood in the pre-dawn dark on Twin Peaks, waiting for the sun to peep out from behind the Oakland Hills. I’ve watched it set again beyond Ocean Beach.
I’ve run through fog, smoke, wind, and rain.
I’ve watched a hawk ride seemingly motionless on the gusty winds over Twin Peaks.
I’ve passed coyotes jauntily strutting down the sidewalk in Westwood Park.
I’ve gaped at a gang (sorry, a family) of trash pandas (sorry, raccoons) raiding a trash can at Land’s End with the shocking efficiency of a S.W.A.T team and glimpsed a shy gray fox in McLaren Park.
I see the route I ran the night my grandmother died.
And there is the one I ran the day my family moved back to San Francisco.
That one, ha, that particular point on the map is where I strained my calf muscle but kept running another 10 miles because I am a stupid, stubborn S.O.B. sometimes.
My many miles on foot are a window into the dynamic beauty and brokenness that defines San Francisco.
Each run extended my routes across The City.
Each run deepened my roots into The City.
And I can’t help but see roots as I look at this image. Like a top-down view of a redwood’s roots that have spread far and wide for stability — grabbing on and holding tight for survival.
So let’s talk about redwoods. Coastal redwoods are the tallest trees on earth, reaching average heights of 200+ feet (Hyperion, the tallest tree ever recorded, reaches an difficult-to-comprehend 380 feet).
And yet, despite the incredible height, redwoods have a shallow root system, as little as 6 feet deep and no taproot. How then do such massive trees stand up? Well, friend, they hold each other up, with each individual root system extending more than 100 feet outward, intertwining with the nearby trees, each providing stability for the others.
By myself, alone, despite all my many roots spread out across The City, I am relatively small, ephemeral, fairly meaningless, weak—like a single redwood seeking purchase on a steep ravine buffeted by the Santa Ana winds.
Sometimes, in the deep dark places of our life, our vision narrows — we can only see our own routes, our own roots — and we need to step back, sometimes way, way back so that we can see the forest and not just the trees.
When I zoom out, more of the story is revealed. It tells me I am rooted to a place. And not only am I rooted, but my roots are intertwined with countless others that tell the story of this place, its joys and sorrows that are threaded through the many days of San Francisco.
My presence here matters. Your presence here matters. We may not be able to see the roots, but we see their impact. We see the result of their silent support which enable a long endurance in San Francisco.
San Francisco's collective activities heat map. Data credit: Strava