Cowboy Hazel

This addiction to running that they speak of is no joke. I'm fiending for a hit. But, no, I can't go running now. I have to wait until the morning. You would think that this morning's run would have cured the itch – a total of eight miles with six sub-3-minute (a couple seriously sub-3-minute) half-mile intervals stuck in the middle. But no. All day long, all I have been able to think about is how good it would feel to get outside and go for another run. I've been antsy all week – there's a lot on my mind – and this always makes the urge to go running worse, but this is extreme. I'd seriously go outside right now and run again if it weren't for the fear of injuring myself.

This morning's run was amazing. We did a mile warm-up which led us to the Reservoir in Central Park. I did the first half-mile around 2:40 and it felt great. I intentionally slowed myself down a few times during it because I was worried about not conserving enough energy for the rest. The second one was pretty much the same thing. On the third, I didn't even think about speed, I was just focusing on form. I was trying to keep my head from moving and making sure that my arms were swinging parallel to my body and checking that my ankles weren't rotating. I also focused on breathing. In, out, in, out. Steadily. It was almost like I was watching myself run and critiquing. Still, without even thinking of speed, it ended up under three minutes. The fourth I ran hard again. Then, the fifth, back to watching form. And, finally, on the sixth half mile, I set out sprinting. I was running so fast that I didn't hear Sarah call out that it was time to stop. Truthfully, I must admit that I slowed down slightly about a quarter-mile into it but it wasn't by much. I nearly sprinted the half mile (six miles into the run at that point) and even a little extra. I don't know my time exactly, but I'd be willing to wager good money that it was sub 2:30. This isn't the first time I've ever run that fast, but it was the first time I'd ever run that fast and felt that good afterwards. Thing is, having a run that felt that good just left me wanting more...

I need to pause here and talk about the magic that is New York City at 4:45 in the morning. Walking across Harlem that early (or late, depending how you look at it), you run into a lot of people who haven't made it home yet from the night before. And, there's always this look that they give you when they see you in your running gear, as they pause and take another sip of the paper-bag-covered beer. Is this guy for real? Why the fuck would anyone go running in the middle of the night? And then they stumble on, and you walk on, but not without taking something away from the exchange. They pass the baton of the new day on to you. We're done, they say, now you take over. Later, on the run itself, the sky slowly starts to lighten and the bright lights within the skyscrapers don't seem to contrast with the backdrop so much anymore. Then the water begins to reflect the light from the sky – the Reservoir, the Hudson, the East River – it seems to gradually suck the darkness out of the sky. By the time you finish and are walking home, the sun has arrived and people are dressed in khakis and waiting for buses. They yawn and sip on their coffee and read The Post, foolishly thinking that the day is just beginning. But you know better. For you, the peak of the day has already passed.