My gluteus medius injury is almost healed and I should be out there in Central Park getting my road legs back. But I’ve been avoiding it. Not because it’s cold, or because I’m scared it will hurt, but because I’m afraid I’ll cry. I’m not running because I know when I head to Central Park for a run, it will be my last.
Michael K. Farrell and I decided it’s time for a life shake up, so we’re moving across the country to San Jose, CA. It’s exciting! I’ll have a new city to explore and there will be new roads (and trails!) for my sneakers to fall in love with. I’m eager for the adventure, but moving is bittersweet.
I’ve spent more than a decade here in the Big Apple. This is where I became a “real” runner. I completed my first half marathon here with my visually-impaired buddy Jim. Guiding him around Central Park, through the streets of Times Square, and down the West Side Highway in the New York City Half Marathon gave my running meaning, and a sense of purpose. (The New York chapter of Achilles International has been my family ever since.)
I did my first 26.2 here, too. There’s nothing like running through Brooklyn, Queens, up the streets of 1st Avenue to the Bronx, and then back into Manhattan to Central Park—it’s magical.
Yes, I’ll come back to visit—and I might even do a familiar 6-miler, but it won’t be the same. The city will feel different, foreign, and I will suddenly be one of those wide-eyed tourists that all New Yorkers love to hate. It makes me a little sad. But with sadness, there always comes a glimmer of hope.
Farewell, New York. I’m off to make a brand new start of it somewhere else.