Yesterday I spoke about the picture, the view of the 59th street bridge that I have from my work and home and runs. Today, before a lecture and the Natural Selections planning meeting, I sat by this view, watching where I had run the day before.
I remember when running my first half marathon, while injured, and on too many painkillers, trying to disconnect myself from the pain I felt by telling myself that it would soon be over. I could keep moving, put one foot in front of the other, and before I knew it I would remember this moment as one in the past, instead of the painful reality of the present. Later, when finished with the run, I thought back to that moment, and how true it was. It was now in the past and, although I wouldn’t be able to walk without a limp for a good two weeks, I was happy I had kept going. The pain I had felt, while real at the time, was only temporary.
Yesterday’s run was the opposite. I adored every moment of it: the feeling of gliding swiftly over the bridge into a perspective of a view I had watched so many times before, but never experienced this way, from above. As I ran I thought of the view I had of this bridge, and Roosevelt Island, from my cafeteria. And, before I knew it, here I was, sitting with my fish and zucchini, watching the bridge and wishing that it was I that I was watching, running along the rec lane like a miniature ant.