Ahhhh!! I’m running for the first time in three days. A quick 30 minute jaunt to Central Park and back to the petsit apartment on Monday morning was not enough to sustain me till Thursday. Used to running at least 6 days out of the week, abstaining from doing so for so long left me cranky and feeling on edge by Wednesday afternoon, despite a few bike rides and push-up sets thrown in throughout the days.
By Wednesday night I was feeling the battle of the bulge creeping up on me like Aubrey Plaza’s character, Lenny, in Legion.
So instead of heading into the office for a 9a start, I decided to spend some time on my own pursuits blogging and running a loop in Central Park.
“An excellent time to run is when the park is closed to traffic, Monday through Friday from 10am to 3pm and 7pm to 10pm and also on the weekends starting at 7pm on Friday through 6am on Monday.”
It was pretty empty, especially compared to last Saturday when a 5K charity run was on that filled the lanes. It’s invigorating running in a race, but I sure do love the serenity of running wherever I like in Central Park without strategizing how to dodge runners and bicyclists.
“A full loop through Central Park is nearly 6.1 miles and runs along the Park Drives on the West and East sides using the various transverses to cut across the park. Shorter variations are also possible. For example, you could take two 5-mile loops through the lower and upper sections of the park or a 1.7 mile loop in the southern part of the park by the Tavern on the Green.”
Why of course a bagel collected from last night’s dumpster dive at Bagel Works in the Upper East Side
And apples from the cheap ugly fruit bags at Union Square
What do I listen to on my runs?
“Mr Willy Wonka can make marshmallows that taste of violets, and rich caramels that change colour every ten seconds as you suck them, and little feathery sweets that melt away deliciously the moment you put them between your lips.
He can make… sugar balloons that you can blow up to enormous sizes…
And, by a most secret method, he can make lovely blue birds’ eggs with black spots on them, and when you put one of these in your mouth, it gradually gets smaller and smaller until suddenly there is nothing left except a tiny little DARKRED sugary baby bird sitting on the tip of your tongue.”
“Whipped cream isn’t whipped cream at all if it hasnt been whipped with whips, just like poached eggs isn’t poached eggs unless it’s been stolen in the dead of the night.”