New York City is ruining me in more ways than one. I have a love affair with the Big Apple that dates back nearly a decade, but during all my time here, the only running I did was to catch a subway train or a bus.
Now, in the midst of preparing for the Deseret News Marathon, I find myself here again enjoying a wonderful vacation. For many, this would be the perfect time to run, but for me it has been a difficult challenge.My second morning in Manhattan, I roused myself early and set out for a medium-distance run. In contrast to midday, when the streets are packed with tourists, vendors, business people and motor traffic, there were but a few folks preparing their sidewalk storefronts for the day. Taxis were out, but not in force, and although I was never alone, I had plenty of room to maneuver. I ran toward Central Park from my hotel, enjoying the new environment.
After two blocks, the world's most romantic skyscraper, the Empire State Building, towered above me and passed behind me as I chewed up the short city blocks. Next came the New York Public Library, an architectural marvel featured in the movie "Ghostbusters." Onward past St. Patrick's Cathedral I ran, continuing north past a colorful collection of smells.
A few blocks away from the southern border of Central Park South, I saw my first fellow jogger, and the beautiful woman actually smiled at me.
I had run far enough by then to discover something was wrong. There was too much air. The elevation change had provided me oxygen-rich breathing, despite my adrenaline-laced, city-inspired, much-too-quick pace. I had become a tourist on fast forward, but the loss of concentration hadn't hurt me at all.
I crossed Central Park South and entered the massive world of green that keeps the city in check - Central Park. After negotiating some entry paths, I found myself in the middle of a running mecca.
Even at 6 a.m. the interior roads were packed with bladers, bikers and runners of every shape and color. I was still feeling great, although the humidity was causing me to lose water faster than normal, so I set a good pace for myself. To my surprise, my accidental high-altitude training was paying off and I started passing people, always thinking I would tire out soon. But the tired never came. I ran and ran, passed more and more people and marveled.
Then, my downfall began.
"Too bad today couldn't be my marathon day," I thought. Then I couldn't help but think that flying to NYC and knocking out 26.2 miles wouldn't be nearly as hard as following the trail of Utah's Mormon pioneers. Across the Brooklyn Bridge or up a steep canyon? I nearly cried.
If the idea on the second day of vacation that I should run a totally different race than the one I prepared for wasn't bad enough, the rest of the trip was.
When on vacation, I try to suck the life out of every day. I wake up early, I eat fast, I canvass giant museums and I soak in nighttime atmosphere. After watching an emotionally packed Broadway version of "Les Miserables," I had little choice but to wander Times Square in search of cheese-cake.
Who could sleep in the "city that never sleeps"? Not me.
Late-night laundry and early-morning sightseeing combined with butter-rich lobster ravioli and divine chocolate bread pudding have conspired against me. I fear I am in trouble. However, I try to follow the creed that a person never fails until he gives up. I have personal doubts, but I also have hope. The countdown is on.