The Northwest Corner of Death

Saturday, I was determined to run in my favorite sanctuary, Central Park. The streets have been filled with ice, slush, and snow for over a month, but I knew the road around the park would probably be plowed and fairly clear. 30-degree weather had been keeping me on the treadmill, but it was 34 degrees, and I needed a break. No matter what, I thought, I am going to run outside.

I bundled up and headed out, immediately regretting my decision. It was nasty out, but not raining hard enough for me to give up and return to treadmill monotony. It was just a steady, unrelenting drizzle (almost mist) of ice-cold rain. But I knew it would beat another day on the treadmill.

I felt better the moment my feet hit the familiar, tree-lined black pavement. There were plenty of other runners out torturing themselves in the ice-rain, and I felt very comfortable and confident that I had made the right decision by sticking with my plan. Pretty soon, I was well into my running groove, maintaining my pace, my breathing, thinking about nothing but the park and how familiar this route is to me. Soon I was rounding the road at what long ago, I named the Northwest Corner of Death.

The first time I came across the Northwest Corner of Death was about four years ago when I decided I was going to skip running around the reservoir in the center of the park and just start running around the entire park. There is a shortcut you can take in this corner of the park that cuts off about a mile of the distance you would run if you ran on the road all the way around the park. My first time not taking the shortcut is when I understood why the shortcut is there.

There is no gentle way of putting it; this corner--flanked by two giant hills--sucks even if you are expecting the pain that lies ahead. There have been several races I've done in Central Park, and usually I only glance at where the start is. I can't tell you how many times I've been in a race, and suddenly, instead of taking the shortcut, I am climbing a hill--a big, bad, wolf of a hill. If you run around the park counterclockwise, you are already on top of the second hill when you begin the corner (due to elevation variances around the park). You enjoy a nice, downhill curve overlooking the ice rink (which is a pool during the summer), then you climb the other hill and enjoy very lovely, LONG downhill until the tennis courts. If you are running clockwise around the park, you climb twice. The downhill on the first hill is a tease when you know your second climb is literally around the corner. Clockwise is definitely harder.

I was running counterclockwise. Though I was running in the easier direction, the climb on that hill is no small dice; it looks even more looming with cliff-like sandstone overhanging in the road.

Noting the beauty of the snow-covered rocks on my left, and being mindful of a few, small stubborn patches of ice in the road, I climbed the second hill, and thought about how hard it used to be for me. The Northwest Corner of Death, for the first time, held no power over me, even though I am far from being in race-shape for the spring season.

 I have progressed in my years of running, and this realization left me feeling elated! No more, is this corner my own personal journey through hilly Hades, but an opportunity to reach the top and enjoy my downhill stride grandeur.

Whatever you've accomplished over the years, recognize it and enjoy your own downhill stride grandeur. There's nothing like giving yourself a pat on the back.

Cheers!
Angie

The Muse in My Feet Finds Its Way to My Brain

At last--I thought the Muse would never show up. I had forgotten how connected my body and mind can be, if I just allow things to happen naturally. With post-marathon details on the brain, sometimes having too much to write about can cause an impasse--where do I start?

Well, I decided on a cold run last week that I simply just needed to start. I let my mind go as my feet clipped through my Queens neighborhood dodging loose trash and empty garbage cans rolling in the wind. I was thinking about how my legs felt like they were going too fast for my body, and after awhile of debating whether or not that was a good thing, it seemed as though my mind started to follow suit. My brain has been working overtime ever since.

When I started this blog, I envisioned a close account of my marathon training with a growing number of followers, enough that I would continue writing about my fitness journey after the marathon and beyond. This goal was not met. I was too busy last summer juggling jobs, too busy in the fall surfing from couch-to-couch. I also envisioned a marathon time under 4:30, or near to it; this goal was shattered after Mile 22 when my enflamed left knee and ultra tight right calf caused so much pain in my body, I could barely walk the last four miles. "When I reached the Bronx, I just lost it, " I said to one of my friends afterwards. "It's okay," she said. "The Bronx has that effect on people, with or without a marathon." This made me laugh. It is not the end of the world that I didn't reach my goal, and this is not the end of this site. I will keep writing just as I will keep running. There is no shame in starting over.

So stay tuned, because more good things are on the way!