Saturday, November 26, 2005

Balance










I can't recall having enjoyed a long w/e more than I have this one. A hushed Thanksgiving dinner w/ Pea and two new friends at Old Devil Moon, complete w/ fried catfish and peanut butter pie (special request!); a brisk evening walk through the neighborhood, four eyes peeking out from beneath thick scarves and the puffiest of puffy coats; the discovery of the greatest sake bar of all time (ok, in my limited and wholly-American experience); a leisurely evening spent browsing Strand's miles; an afternoon tucked inside the Scandinavia House library, alternately (trying to remember how to) read Dagbladet and knitting my latest creation... I'm thankful. I'm further thankful to have figured my way out of said library upon discovering I'd been locked in.

The weekend also witnessed the continuation of a vaguely consistent running regimen. Yesterday's six-miler on the East River Trail was one of those oh-yeah-that's-right-this-is-why-I-do-this runs. Sun out, sky blue... It was the crispest day I've felt so far, w/ temps hovering in the mid-20s. Such numbers are bound to make a transplant like myself a little apprehensive at first, but upon considering my options--run-trip-run on a beat-to-hell treadmill, or layer up and hit the pavement--the latter edged out the former by a hair. So, way too much Coolmax and a nifty brain-saving fleece cap later, I was out the door. And it wasn't bad. At all. My lungs took a few minutes to adjust to the offensive new kid in town (he'll be here awhile, they've since been warned), but once they were on board, I was free to soak up the noontime goodness. I didn't have to share much, either, as I'm guessing a number of my cohorts chose to take up w/ the Fifth Avenue saling brigade. My fixtures were gone, too--the fishermen that pull mutant lifeforms from the East River, even the always-present groups of Chinese men and women that practice Tai Chi down by the South Street Seaport. Of course, count on those lumbering tour buses to keep things lively, but other than them/their overexcited occupants, all was pretty quiet. So on I ran, acutely aware of my breath coming out in short little puffs and the clarity of the imagery that accompanied me. The trio of bridges--Williamsburg, Manhattan, then Brooklyn--looked exceptionally sharp, high towers and cables cutting cleanly into the blue of the sky. Across the water, Brooklyn's lofts, sprawling and worn, could be seen, including that old 11th Street sublet of ours. Approaching the ex-Fulton Fish Market, newly elsewhere, I braced myself for the usual stomach-buckling smells, because well, a few weeks has done little to dispel them. Foulness behind me, I continued to the Staten Island Ferry Terminal before heading back.

This one's a route I know well--the consecutive playfields, the scary cement seal park, the placement of each and every water fountain--and it's a route I'll get to know better still in the months ahead. It's become my old standby, the NY version of Seattle's East 19th-Interlaken-Lakeview-Pike loop that once served the same purpose.

Posted by princess kanomanom @ 9:35 PM