Monthly Archives: January 2013

Things I miss as I get older or Glory Days

Today, I ran one of the fastest 2.5 miles I have run in a long time. It created a flash back to a favorite memory of my past, breaking bikers on the run to Brooklyn, on the Brooklyn Bridge. Let me explain. I used to live and work in Brooklyn Heights, and after work, after quickly changing, I would run the Brooklyn Bridge. It was always an adventure, from model shoots to tourists to panhandlers, there was always something happening. But, what I loved the most was what happened at the halfway point. When I finished the run from Brooklyn to Manhattan, I would “stretch” at the steps that went down toward South Street Seaport. What I was really doing was waiting for a biker who was riding back over the bridge to Brooklyn, and it never was a long wait. Let it beginMy goal was to see if I could ‘break a biker” before they made it to the top of the bridge, the ultimate would be to beat them all the way to Brooklyn, that did not happen often. I would let them get a little lead but then I would start reeling them in, a jogger racing a biker. About a quarter of the way up, inevitably they would feel me kind of close to them and the reactions would start. Usually, they would start pedaling harder, almost as if it was an insult to have a runner pass them. The slight uphill elevation usually allowed me to catch them. The reactions were priceless. Most people would just stop riding, get off their bike and start pushing or get off the bike and tie their shoe, or adjust their back pack. Some would start furiously pedaling to beat me to the peak, because it was downhill from there. My favorite was the guys who would start cheering me on, “go man go”, “dont give up”, “push it”. With these bikers, a camaraderie had been formed. With the others, not so much. At the top of the bridge, with the inspiring view of Brooklyn Heights in front, and about a pack of cigarettes worth of vehicle exhaust on the roadway below, gravity switched sides, they knew it, and I knew it. This was when I would run as hard as I could, but I knew they were coming, they always came. Of course pedaling downhill, it wasn’t too hard. Again, the reactions were priceless. Tthe funniest would be the trash talk, “You got nothing”, “Choke on my smoke”, “See ya”. Yes, they usually would win the final race, but I can’t imagine the feeling of overtaking a runner going downhill was as satisfying as breaking a biker going uphill. Glory Days