I meant to go for a slow short run last night. Just something to make me forget about pausing the tv to run out for a smoke. I went over to the river and headed north. In the distance I saw the green bridge to Randall's Island and decided to go see it for the first time. The first ten minutes were pretty. Then it got weird.
|View of the Triboro from Randall's Island|
I ran back over the bridge and headed north. I had guzzled a lot of water by then and my bladder was displeased, but I knew I needed to keep moving. My lungs felt clear and I wasn't tired. My pace had slowed to 7'45" miles, but my legs felt fine.
It was getting dark by the time I reached 125th Street and some older men were smoking and chatting. I used to work in an unsavory neighborhood in the Bronx and I admit this has affected my gauge of dangerous situations. Although I wasn't scared I figured I should turn back before it got completely dark.
|Running back towards the apartment.|