I learned a lot about the Professor during our sixteen mile long run last night. I learned that he is quite talented at devising multiple mile runs starting from his office and ending near our apartments. I learned that he is (rightfully) frightened of raccoons foraging in Central Park garbage cans (no really - they're vicious.) I learned that he is actually a better run than I... and while I am willing to admit this once, I certainly shall not stand for it.
After an idyllic day of watching swans, I drove into Manhattan to make sure my apartment was still standing. In another news, there is now a MUNI METER on my block, and I don't like it.
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Natalie (think Susie from Curb Your Enthusiasm) would not
shut up about how the swans left Roosevelt Beach in favor
of Centre Island. She annoyed everyone, especially her husband. |
After dropping off a month's long supply of dresses in my apartment (I am very much into dresses at the moment because they limit color clashing AND I can coat my body with
Body Glide all over. I love Body Glide. It changed my life.) and struggling to find parking in the God forsaken area known as the Upper Eastside post Second Avenue Subway construction, I returned to my apartment and put my sneakers on. Then I caught the M79 over to Broadway to the take the 1 down to Houston and Varick. Yes, I do all of this to go running, even though I live less than a mile from the park and RIGHT NEXT to the East River Esplanade. What can I say? I like my running partner.
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I grabbed a plastic bag to store my water bottles
and a NYRR magazine for my journey. Obviously
I grab a plastic bag from a liquor store. |
I greeted the Professor and we took off up the Riverside Highway. We fought our way through bikers, hipsters, and speed work running groups. We discussed the future of the Dylan Murphy's Running Club, our next three races, the length of a marathon, and our excitement over winter running gear. We saw two men giving each other hand jobs. (Actually, I think one man was receiving a hand job and the other man was going for gold, but the Professor and I disagree about that, and since he is taller, I believe he had a better initial view.)
We did agree that the Frying Pan looks like an
awesome entirely different place when you are 1. sober and 2. not actually going there. I actually have no recollection of ever being there, but many people have assured me that I have. This is either a case of mistaken attendance, such as, "Since I normally do horrible things when I am with you, and I am certain that I did horrible things, I therefore conclude that you must have been there with me," or I blackout far more often than I think I do.
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photo courtesy of citysip.com |
The Professor claimed to have found a secret park within a park. He did, but I realized that I too had discovered this park within a park when I ran the
Lousy T-Shirt Race in June. It's called Riverside Park and the highway forces it to split into two levels. If anyone is interested in taking me on a date, I would love to go to the
West 79th Street Boat Basin Café. Conveniently located near the
76th Street and Amsterdam Equinox, we could run there after work and then shower and
then go to the Boat Basin Café.
Our run didn't end at Riverside Park. At 97th Street, we went through the tunnel and then ran east until we got to Central Park. We then proceeded to run the perimeter of the park, into Harlem (the 110th Circle area) and entered near 110th and Lenox Avenue. Then we ran the Harlem Hills. We made a full loop
back to the Harlem Hills, and continued to run until the 72nd Traverse. Then we ran
back to the East Side. I could handle the first twelve miles. The next two weren't too fun. The fifteenth sucked brutally. And the sixteenth nearly killed me. The Professor finished strong. I did not. I whimpered along, begging for the stupid guy on the Nike+ GPS to say, "You have reached your goal of 16 miles." Finally he did.
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Almost back to my apartment. |
The Professor and I parted ways and I took on the daunting task of getting back to my apartment. Obviously I
just missed the bus and had no interest in waiting around for the next one. Many a well-dressed couple in the 70s looked me over and decided I wasn't dangerous and (probably) didn't need medical attention.
I finally got back to my apartment, took of my shoes, and promptly threw up.