Hitting the hole

I'm not sure when the original (intended) posting date was for this post. I have narrated it in my head several times. There are mounds of crumpled up rough drafts on the floor of my brain. Pages of scratched crossed out scribblings meant to describe what I have finally brought my fingers to keyboard for.

I may not be a professional athlete but walking around this city makes me feel like a running back. Between the narrow streets, garbage, unforgiving cabbies and physicality of oncoming traffic there is no shortage of obstacles. I'm also racing against the clock, whether that's getting to work or just not wanting to wait another 15 minutes for the next train. It's high stakes, people.

I can't say that I have a specific running style. It's all about fitting the situation. During the weekends in SoHo I'm a little bit like Justin Forsett. Patient, decisive, waiting for a small crease to burst through. If I'm in a hurry and need to sift through defenders in the subway, I'm a little more shifty and rely on my lateral motion and hips. If I'm with company I don't mind following my fullback and waiting for my blocks to set up. Then there are those belligerent nights in the LES where you just have to go beast mode and use the truck stick. They all get the job done. Some faster than others, some certainly safer than others.

People always talk about the accelerated pace that people live by here. I guess I agree, and it manifests itself in foot traffic. Back in California I felt like I could stroll. I actually thought that people walking through Sproul were a bit slow. My first few months in New York made me feel like I was getting left behind. Passed up. Playing in a whole new ball game. Like everything in life though, an increase in reps slows the game down and makes it mechanic. One day though, my body (and mind) will need to go back to a slower pace. And perhaps that pace will allow me to reflect much quicker so as not to litter the floor of my mind with unfinished musings.