Getting out the door fresh at 6:40 a.m. I was expecting some peace and quiet on the streets. Naively so. This was Brooklyn. But having spent time on the west coast I seemed to have forgotten how hectic and restless New York is, even at the break of dawn.
I was running from my friend A’s place to the home of D., another friend, whose cats needed some love (and food). But as I sleepily made my way to 5th Avenue, I was not ready to dodge cabs, deal with the incessant honking, jump around the homeless people, handle the aggressive bicyclists, be considerate the loads of school children and their nannies, and avoid the dogs and the mess they tend to leave on the Brooklyn sidewalks.
I was not ready.
So I slowed down and turned up the music on my iPhone. Jogging carefully I eventually made my way to Prospect Park. It wasn’t quiet there either; drummers at 7:30 a.m.? But I found the hilly trails I love, and I was glad to be on my new Brooks Cascadia’s, strong and flexible as hoped.
The rain came down hard when I crossed 8th Avenue. The run back to A.’s place demanded all my focus: navigating the hectic, now dark and drenched urban chaos took a lot out of me. It was an interesting welcome back.