Dear Marathon Training – You suckered me in. I got all complacent, lulled into a sense of my own accomplishment. It’s 10 miles today, not a big deal. I can do 10 standing on my head! So why does my left hip hurt like I just ran the marathon? You’re sneaky, Marathon Training. You build confidence as you build muscle, but then you like to throw in some humility just to keep it interesting. Well played. I saw dead people. Today’s run took me out past Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn. If you’ve never been to Greenwood – which seems like an odd thing to say, I know – it’s really a lovely place. Odder still to say. Back in the day, before Central Park and Prospect Park existed, people would trek out to Greenwood because it was really the only green space New Yorkers had. They would pack a lunch and picnic amongst the inhabitants. In the pavement in front of one of the entrances, I saw the rails from the trolley cars that would shuttle people back and forth. I wondered how many of the people who took those trolleys out to spend a summer day in the shade are now permanent residents of the place. I saw a large mausoleum at the top of a hill. It was very ornate and had a rather dramatic stone staircase that made its way up to the door. It was very inviting, though I can’t imagine being in a rush to make that entrance. Or would it be an exit? Was the occupant of the little stone house on the hill planning on having a cocktail party? Is that why they needed all that extra room? I waved to the headstones as I ran along the sidewalk that ran along the cemetery. I always wave as I pass cemeteries. As I was driving once, several years ago, my nephew saw me doing this. “Are you waving to the dead people?” “Yes, I am.” “Why?” “To let them know that I remember they were once here.” I stopped short of saying that perhaps it was also some way of reminding myself that I would one day be there. I mean the kid was only 10, after all. I do have boundaries. I started the day with the eerie quiet of a cemetery, and finished the day in the swirl of Midtown’s Little Korea, ablaze with lights and people and BBQ and karaoke, talking about dying and funerals and laughing. And how laughter and tears are paired up so often out of necessity: how could we possibly run past a cemetery and not cry? For them…? For us…? It certainly puts a sore hip in perspective :o)
Posted on: Sun, 29 Sep 2013 03:40:10 +0000
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