I found this draft from April 2012. I went running in Central Park with the Professor. We were running the east side of the loop up from Columbus Circle when someone's obnoxious and poorly behaved child ran out in the road and a horse carriage moved to get out of the way and then a cyclist cut into the running lane and another cyclist cut in around him. That cyclist proceeded to ride his bike right up my leg and over my body. He ended up crying, the Professor threatened him, the cyclist's friend tried to say something about peace, love, and happiness, and I was laughing on the ground saying that they all needed to shut the fuck up.
On Saturday I, as many NYC runners before me, was hit by a cyclist while running the Central Park loop. Straight up run over. Before you start crying, I'm fine.
I came home Saturday morning (I slept over the new boyfriend's place and went to bed at a very reasonable 11PM - I am so lame now) and ate a bagel while watching tv. The Professor asked to move our run up by a few hours, which was fine until I realized I hid my Garmin while I was drunkenly cleaning and I still don't know where it is. How I managed to lose something in my studio apartment is beyond me. Then I couldn't find my other Balega sock and was forced to wear regular socks for a long run. Eff.
I told myself that these were not bad omens and to suck it up. I ran to our meeting point and was super excited to see Mrs. Professor ready to run outside.
That boyfriend and I broke up soon after this when he started ignoring me. Then I woke up next to a coworker after the big gala and insisted that the sort of ex-boyfriend come and collect the things he left at my apartment. I found my Garmin in my gym bag. I still use it today.
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