:Running

The cold gets into my bones before I even leave the house.

I'm snuggled tight in my heavy running tights, bright pink fleece jacket and layers underneath that promise to wick away my sweat, a headband to protect my ears from the wind, black gloves that I know will come off sometime around the third hill with a new lavender stop watch strapped around my wrist.

I stretch in the house before heading down three flights of stairs to the front door. I do it again on the landing and head down the steep staircase in front of my house on 118th Street.

The construction guys on the corner leer, even though I feel gross and half asleep _ thanks _ and I think briefly about turning back and getting under the covers. I shake it away and start running down Adam Clayton Powell toward Central Park.

I dance around one of those nylon bands they use to tie stacks of newspapers and pick up my pace to make it through a stoplight in front of a bus filled with school-children.

I hear a man or woman on the other side of the street howling to the long-receded moon about Jesus even though its well past 7.

I see a group of African men wearing green and yellow dresses and cross to the other side of the wide boulevard to avoid collison. Somewhere in the back of my mind I'm thinking about skipping Central Park and running around the block. Instead, I head to the park.

I can see the start of the first and steepest hill. It is daunting to face such a steep hill at the start of a run but I am already joining a trikle of other runners. I look down so that I don't have to wrestle with the thought of the distance ahead.

My muscles are sore from a workout at the gym the day before but I hear footsteps behind me and I know that it is too late to turn back.

The sounds of traffic start to fade away as I near the first water fountain just as the hill begins to crest and stretch out into a steadier slope. A large, brown dog runs gracefully across the road before me from a path that peeks out of the trees. I crane my neck and look to my right as I run past the path but see no owner. Everything is quiet.

I am concerned for the dog, but my legs are tired. I can't see the end of the hill but continue because I hear the pit-pat-pit-pat-pit-pat of anohter runner close behind. I speed up because it is in my nature.

I can hear the cawing of hawks above me but I cannot see them yet. A squirrel scurries across my path, close, but doesn't seem to care that I am here. I am finally at the top of the first hill when I pass the tennis courts. All I can hear is a hypnotic clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop, clop.

I start to think about the yin and yang of this city and my love, hate relationship with it.

This park is beautiful, especially with the sun hanging low and orange in the sky early in the morning.

Around me, I see only an occassional runner or biker. I feel alone, which is incredible in a city this large. I see a hawk with a red tail soaring above me. I'm probably at about 95th Street by now, but it's hard to tell up here because the woods are too thick to see the street.

I begin climbing a gradual hill and am starting to feel warmed up and more confident when the runner who has been behind me passes. Jerk.

On my left, I see the Jackie O. Resevoir. I ran around it many times after work when I lived at 80th and 1st on the Upper East Side. The resevoir is beautiful in the evening. As the sun sets, you can see the light of New York flicker on _ and it is very flat.

I am almost at the museum and I notice flashing police lights to my right and cluthes of people have stopped to gaze down from the raised park at the avenue below. I have no choice but to run over and see what is happening.

I see about a dozen cops with their guns drawn crouching beside police cars and I start searching for my cell phone quickly remembering that i don't have it with me. A couple next to me was also running and stopped to watch the fracus. The cops being to head into the museum with their guns pointed. I realize that I'm standing on a hill and that somebody might begin shooting at any time so start crouching down.

When i notice that the couple next to me isn't following suit, I gesture them to back up. They laugh. Then I hear a man yelling "Cut! Cut!" over a loudspeaker. I crane to see through the trees and see the movie cameras and stage-hands. I look at the couple and laugh at myself. They smile kindly in return.

I continue running on and remember again what I love about this city: It's always suprising, never boring, sometimes mean but often beautiful.

Peace,
Tina