On Thursday I awoke bright and early, ready to run the hills of New Jersey, as I love to do in the mornings. I begin with two steep hills, run on flat for a few miles, and then finish with those hills again. It's a challenging loop, at beginning and end, and one that leaves me feeling satisfied.
Today, though, I wondered whether I was wearing the right shoes and checked to see that my PEI-lupin-colored Nikes were on my feet and not some errant pair of heels that I'd strapped on in my morning fog. For my knees ached, my feet ached, my legs didn't seem properly attached. A day in the city had thrown me out of alignment, I guess, and I abbreviated my run, lopping off a mile and forgoing the finishing hills.
|The running shoes at an angle of repose. Photo taken while they were still new.|
When I was in my early 30s I worked in the city, 5th at 42nd, right across from the NYPL in a lovely art deco building that housed (and still does) a venerable publishing house. During my lunch hours I'd power-walk all the way up 5th to Bergdorfs, or take a turn on Madison to Barneys, and hightail it back to the office, ready for my afternoon.
After work I might carry on down Broadway to ABC (the most beautiful store this side of Liberty's), with a sidestep into Fishs Eddy, around 23d St. Then I'd go work out.
So this physical shakeup following a mere afternoon in the city does not sit well with me. But sit I shall, after taking a dip in the pool, whence I'll return to The Goldfinch (only 200 pp left!) to see what happens to Theo. Nothing good, I'm sure, so I'm working on not rooting for him, though, of course, I am.