Last night my running class (yes, I take lessons on how to run…er, faster) went up to the 1/5 mile track near the 106th Street entrance to Central Park on the west side. We did something called pyramids where we ran as fast as we could for one lap, rested, then fast for two laps, rested, then fast for three laps before working our way back down. I’ve been running for over a year now, but it’s only in the last few weeks that I’ve run full tilt. It’s an exhilarating if surprising feeling when you’re no longer in your twenties to zip around on full afterburners. Well, it is if you’re a writer and an editor and spend most of your day parked on your butt.
In other news I am happy to report that I have, thus far, refrained from taking to the subway with my book and pretending to read it. Thus far. I make no promises, however, about what might transpire should I ever see someone reading my book on the subway. Naturally the cool thing to do would be to say nothing at all. I’m rarely accused of being cool. And after all, the motto of the MTA (Metro Transit Authority) here in New York is “If you see something, say something.”