It Never Gets Old

Here is an imaginary conversation between me and my training schedule:

TS: Who’s your daddy?
TK: You are! You’re my daddy!
TS: That’s right! You’re my bitch!
TK: Yes, yes, I’ll do whatever you say!
TS: Now stop that whining and get your ass out there on the road.
TK: Yes, yes, I promise I’ll work it as hard as I can!

Luckily, TS talks a mean game but so far he hasn’t been able to do me any real damage, not even a paper cut. As I learned last week, the real result of me ignoring or negotiating with TS is that I pick fights with whomever happens to be standing next to me. So if only as a public service, I have been back on track with my training this week. Which meant: 11 miles on Saturday.

Yesterday’s run was without a doubt cold, but I was trucking along at a nice enough pace that I was warm after half a mile–even my fingers! Originally I was going to take the subway to the Columbus Circle to meet my physical therapist Danielle for the 11 miles, but she was uncertain about the wind and the cold and so she bailed! I could now set my own route, and I decided to re-enact my ill-fated 11-miler from a month ago to see if I couldn’t get it right this time.

The sky was blessedly clear, not a cloud in sight. That’s something–I spend most days running in the pre-dawn or post-dusk darkness, so running beneath a bright sky is a treat during these winter months. And the wind, which I feared would be a sparring partner the whole route, took just a few swings at me along 43rd Avenue and then backed off.

It never gets old, the tough love ascent up the Queensboro Bridge towards Manhattan. It never gets old, watching the Roosevelt Island tram high-wire itself over the East River. It never gets old, imagining the lives of the people who live down below in Queensbridge, on Roosevelt Island, in Midtown East. Who are those kids playing on that ball field, who are those folks waiting for the Q60 bus? And it never gets old to look up the glittering river at the Triboro Bridge, and down across the bridge to see the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings gleaming at me through the fretwork. That part, the first five miles, took me 48:28, and I felt gooood. The words of the day were “Relax” and “Take It Easy,” and my fairly consistent heart rate (between 150 and 160 bpm the whole way) shows that I definitely kept the effort level set on E.

It was this next stretch of the road–the transition from the bridge run to the run to Astoria Park–that messed me up last time. Now, though, I paid special attention and ran a little bit out of my way just to be sure I made the correct turn. My two landmarks–the large (& very orange) Western Beef store and the divey Albatros Bar–came up in appropriate succession, so I knew I was going in the right way. And this is when I just settled in and enjoyed the ride. Driving in Astoria is a nightmare, the traffic lights are interminable and it takes forever to get anywhere. But running along the side streets is a pleasure. The residential areas are generally clean, the houses well-kept and replete with that shoulder-to-shoulder charm my favorite Queens neighborhoods have. Locals pass by me, Starbucks coffees in one hand and a bag of bagels in the other–there are few things more New York than your Saturday morning coffee and a bagel–making me smile. I turn left onto Ditmars, the street that gets better the further east you go. Hell Gate bridge begins to appear in the sky on the left, and I know Astoria Park is only minutes away.  I checked little G, and it seemed like I had enough mileage left till 11 so that a run around the park wouldn’t put me over. I love running the permimeter because there are always other runners doing the same thing, and it’s just pretty. The trees are stately, the bridges arch above like gigantic gymnasts in a backbend, and the apartment buildings that overlook the park aren’t too bad, either. And of course, I always jump onto the track and run a loop, just to pay tribute to the running gods. It’s kind of like waving at the cat on Cat Hill in Central Park–best not to take it for granted. I was so relaxed, I felt locked in to my pace and was warm all over.

The trot back to Sunnyside wasn’t bad, either. It’s slightly uphill, but nothing terrible, just enough to keep you honest those last few miles. It took me approximately 33 minutes to run those final 3.3 miles back–but I slowed down by about a minute the last mile since I ended up running an extra mile somewhere along the way! I was so lost in enjoying the neighborhoods, and in savoring the strength of my body’s engine that was keeping me toasty warm, that I lost track of my distance. Do you think I’ll get in trouble with TS for that extra mile?

12 miles; 9:21 average pace; 8:52 fastest mile; 10:56 slowest mile.