There was a half marathon in Central Park on Sunday knowing, if I wanted to run, I had to go early. Finding yourself in the middle of a race that size is like running alongside buffalo. One could say, it’s not exactly relaxing, especially when some idiot in Spandex yells, get the fuck outta the way you slow, skinny bitch.
I flew from my building at 5:45, waking the doorman who was sound asleep.
As I’m nearing the entrance to the park, I see groups of workers setting up water stations, cordoning off parts of the road with yellow tape like it was a crime scene, and for me it was, having to be this hysterical on the official day of rest. It’s one of those Catholic rituals I still abide because, hey, it’s a great excuse for doing nothing.
I approach a police car parked on 90th and 5th. “Excuse me Officer,” I say, through a closed window.
“Yeah,” he says, rolling it down eating a Danish.
“Could you tell me when the race is going to start…is it soon?”
He looks at his watch, then back at me and says,”11 a’clock, in Brooklyn.”
“Really, that late? You mean I could’a slept in?”
“So why didn’t ya go online and see what time? I mean, that would’a been a lot smat’a than gettin up so early, doncha think?”
“Yes, I see your point Officer, Andy is it?” Without my glasses that’s what it looked like on his blurry badge.
“Be safe,” he said, shaking his head before rolling up the window.