Sunday, October 12, 2008

Irish Riviera



















Today's run--a long one, 20 miles--couldn't have come at a better time. Slightly wound-up/anxious courtesy of some issues at work, fantastic news from these guys (in! in! in!), November 4 (hopeful! hopeful! hopeful!), and a few other things, I needed for it to go well. And by 'well,' I mean comfortable/calming/free of the pesky aches that have risen up from time to time while training for this particular race.

It was, do I dare say... near-perfect? I do!

Got to bed last night at a decent hour, anticipating a warmish day, one that I wouldn't want to be running square in the center of. An eight a.m. start? Sure! Or, no. Following the standard 'sitting in front of the computer while considering that maybe I wasn't up for the task at hand after all--physically, mentally,' it was 11 by the time I pushed off, and it was none too cool. Not that I could/can really complain--these last few days have been the finest in recent memory: bright and sunny, crisp yet plenty comfortable, no jacket required. In the words of my corner market guy: "I'll take this every day of the year."

I'd decided on a straight and simple approach: Start on Flatbush, stay on Flatbush. Similar to a (shorter) run I did earlier this year. The initial plan was to turn around once I'd crossed Gil Hodges Memorial Bridge and gone two or so miles up the Rockaway Peninsula shoreline, finishing up at Ave. J where my due reward would await--pizza-lunch at what remains, no question, my personal favorite. Alas, I strayed from this early idea, though I did manage to invest in a halfway-decent slice elsewhere. Far elsewhere. But anyway.

Starting out, I wasn't feeling too hot. The first four miles--skirting my own Park Slope, passing through lively Flatbush (the neighborhood, not the street), heading into Midwood--passed laboriously and, frankly, I was just kinda bored. That happens these days during runs, every so often--more than in the past. The bored part, I mean, which tends to get me a little nervous, just because it's new and, well, it's pretty much the last thing I ever want to associate w/ running. Well, 'injury' is up there, too, but I'd almost rather contend w/ some nagging ache/pain (distraction!) than I would boredom. Yeah.

Somewhere around mile five, or maybe six, things started lookin' up. First off, I'd lost the shirt--a loose tee that was flappin' around and just generally irritating me. (Shorts & sports bra weather well into October? I'll take it.) And, I don't know, the roadway opened up (literally--expanding into an eight-lane, median-divided street toward Kings Plaza) and the scene quieted down significantly, which, again/in retrospect, was just what I was looking for in today's jaunt.

After Kings Plaza came the postcard-ready Bergen Beach, Nick's Lobster & Fish Market (considered returning for lunch, before fast recalling the absence of a train stop for several miles), Floyd Bennett Field (NYC's first municipal airport, just learned), the golf course and rolling park I fell in love w/ the first go-round... And the trees! Oh, the trees. Boy were they somethin'. The reds especially stood out--crimson and burgundy, brilliant offset by all the green still unchanged.

On crossing the bridge this time, the structure itself was more impressive than I remembered. It's not a large bridge, at least compared to the ones I'm accustomed to, but the shape is interesting--especially from a considerable distance, at which point it made/makes me think of a pair of rising/opposing waves. The color's also neat--sortof an icy blue. Oh, but in starting across and eyeing an appealing stretch of clean, velvety sand below, I realized I was probably gonna need to reevaluate my route, momentarily captivated by a fantasy involving my bare toes post-run, the ocean, that soft warm sand... And that sealed it: DiFara's would/will be there next week. Or, y'know, maybe.

Just off the bridge, I turned right, having opted for a left on a previous run. Good move. Here's an aerial view of what lay before me. Breezy Point, which, sadly, is off-limits to me (residentially). Eesh, even their website's forbidden. Too bad, 'cause after experiencing it, I was sending texts far and wide, proclaiming its breezy beauty and its aptness as my next home (probably moving soon here--cave's just too much money and too much dark). Ah well--I'll have to settle for more routine treks out that way.

Soon in, I came upon a harvest festival of some kind, kids carving pumpkins, parents grilling corn. It was all very festive, w/ a hefty and clearly evident dose of community spirit. I definitely felt like an outsider, though not unwelcome. Moving on, I reached this next, the only retail hub in the area. I stopped briefly for water and to confirm my whereabouts, then continued on...

Here's one teensy street I believe I ran up, after rounding the better part of this stretch of the peninsula and encountering more of that thick and dazzling fall foliage, a series of sweet, disjointed promenades strewn w/ that lovely pale sand and smooth pink shells, and neat views of a very distant Empire State Building, the Coney Island parachute jump, the Verrazano, planes flying in and out of nearby JFK Airport... And while the occasional person would amble--and I do mean amble--by, tanned and smiling, for the most part I was left to my lonesome, the only sound the lulling crash of the waves just beyond. Because even when I would come upon someone, it's like people were operating according to some unspoken rule, like, 'feel free to move your lips, just don't let any sound out.' My time spent here was the most serene in... months? Longer? I kept thinking of the Oregon coast, even Calif., minus some of the rockiness.

In reading up, it sounds like the vast majority of co-op dwellers are only present through the summer months; I suppose our recent nice weather's responsible for drawing some of them back out this w/e. Or maybe it was that festival I ran into? At any rate, they struck me as a friendly enough bunch, and quite keen on displaying our country's flag. I can't tell you how many residences have this feature; they also fly from roadside posts at regular intervals. Must be due to the area's military background.

W/ about five miles to go, I ran northeast toward the 116th St. train stop (A train--or, shuttle train to the A), and at this point I was starting to feel pretty tired. I'd been running a pretty consistent 9:00/mile pace--a bit faster than ideal for a long training run, but still a pace I felt good about--and experienced a bit of a dropoff through the next three miles, but at around 18, knowing I was so close to the end and pleased to be feeling as good/strong as I was (especially compared to my last 20-miler, at the end of which my legs felt like rotting wood stumps), I kicked it up a bit, remembering to focus on my form, going over some helpful mantras, this sortof thing. Oh, and I'd started daydreaming about my post-run meal, par for the course.

The scene around me these last few miles was pretty ho-hum relative to what I'd witnessed back in/at Breezy Pt. I was following the shoreline, but a stone wall separates pedestrians (and fishermen--there were many out today) from the water, and the grassy space in between roadway and walkway was pretty litter-y. I kept to the housing side, where homes and lawns are very well-kept but modest--not at all stuffy. I took advantage of the occasional sprinkler, the effects of the midday sun taking a toll...

With half a mile to go, I knew exactly where I was, recognizing some key landmarks from before. As I slowed to a walk, I marveled at the lack of 'wooden-ness' in my legs, relieved at having completed this one w/ relative ease. A well-timed confidence boost, for sure.

Last but not least: cheeeese pizza. It was no DiFara's, just some random place off the main drag, but crap did it hit the spot. As I devoured the thing, I headed beachward, admiring the clear, unbroken stream of blue overhead and eventually peeling off my salt-crusted socks to dip ten very happy toes into a very chilly Atlantic. I then did a little beachcombing, careful to sidestep all the glittering jellyfish and wishing I could take home w/ me the feeling of the sun on my bare shoulders and back, the hypnotic din of the surf, before lying directly on the sand for One Satisfying Nap.

An hour later: back home. Back home and pondering how to justify not packing up and promptly moving out to the ocean (what better place to write?), when said ocean's such a tantalizingly short commute (well, an hour) from my Midtown job...

Posted by princess kanomanom @ 3:44 PM