In a cab the other day, I saw a bunch of runners wearing sweet running clothes looking svelte and hot running along the east river. It was so sunny and pleasant and looked like this handy picture I found.
And so, self, I says, we will do this one day. Although there are a whole host of scary things to be encountered including but not limited to:
1. It’s the East River. Ever watched any episode of Law and Order? Yeah. Me too.
2. I’m a woman. I hate that this has to be even considered when I think about doing things I want to do, but what if what if what if?
3. How the hell do I even enter said path? Do people just naturally know these facts, or do they wander around like me, trying to look like I’m running into every tiny park I see hoping for an opening and pretending I just wanted to add some extra mileage?
4. Why are the fences so short?
5. What if the driver of a car flips his lid and decides he wants to drive over those dinky fences into the river and tomato-faced me is caught in his rage-filled crosshairs?
However, the heart-palpitatingly boring (it’s possible) prospect of running on a treadmill for another minute trumped all fears. Also, I have one pair of fancy running leggings I save for occasions like this to trick the other runners into mistaking me for one of them. I donned them, and finally found an entrance. It’s at the end of my street.
I will say this: you do not run on this when it is remotely nighttime. That being said, it was mostly lovely, albeit a bit confusing and I had to wander around midtown with a where’d-my-river-go? sad face on for a little bit before giving up and returning home. I had to check a prominently displayed map to do so. This also meant I got to confront my permanent and un-reversable repulsion to EVER looking like a tourist. Even when I am a tourist. BUT IN THIS CASE I AM NOT and there was so much sweat and shame.
Also, I like the way the East River smells which I think signals I have a olfactory disorder.