The Hard Way

View from the Manhattan Bridge

Eight miles is eight miles. Except when it isn't. There's that sense of satisfaction from completing a task, and then there's that inner ikickass warmth that comes from going beyond that.

The goal: to run eight miles. The plan: to run to Central Park and get there on time to cheer for runners participating in the Scotland Run 10k.  

This required getting up early on a Saturday and packing myself like a cargo mule so I could have water for the road and something warm and dry to wear when I got there.

Loops of the park would've been simpler, but I wouldn't have had the view from the bridge or have gotten to see two different elephant statues.

I ran out of Brooklyn trying to convince myself I could do it, telling myself I could stop once I got to Manhattan. The one-more-bite mom trick worked well for me.

Stop and smell the waffles.

I ran up the bridge and down to Canal Street. I ran past the Chinatown bus passengers waiting with their crates. I ran through Union Square past cherry blossom branches. The Broadway pavement was mine as I made my way towards Times Square where the billboards let me know I was getting close; it made no sense to stop. By the time I hit the high 40's I could see the the Central Park canopy in the distance.

In Central Park I got to listen to bagpipe music and got to see men in kilts. Nacht! Runners in kilts - even better legs.

The increased sense of badassery from doing this run the hard way was worth it. Plus, there was a wafelini for me at the end.

Run details here.