Three Bridges Run

I first started running in November of 2008 as a replacement addiction to smoking. Like many beginners I did a mile, then two, then over that Christmas I went for a run with two of my brothers-in-law for what amounted to a three miler. Three miles...consecutively. In addition to the exhilaration of not sitting on the couch, the sport of running is perfectly suited to accessorizing. I'm a hobbiest by nature. The allure of hobbies are the many tools one needs to pursue them and the lingo that attends them. Carboys, trub and secondary fermentation are just some of the delicious words from my beer making lexicon. To those I could now add negative splits, tempo run and fartlek. Mmmmmm. I was hooked. I immediately canceled my subscription to Time to make room for Runner's World and Running Times Magazine.
My miles gradually increased and in late April of '09 I broke double digits with a run to and around Roosevelt Island. The bridge heading over to Roosevelt was my first bridge. Unimpressive in span and ugly, but my first, and like any good 'First' it was gentle and easy going, so it will always be special to me. The south end of the island takes you under the Queensboro Bridge, and a stones throw away from the abandoned small pox hospital. As I rounded the north end of Roosevelt and spotted the pedestrian bridge from Randall's Island over to Manhattan, and the Triboro seemingly parallel to it just to the east, I decided I wanted to run all the bridges of Manhattan. Someday, if I kept this running thing up.

Cinco de Mayo
A week or so after the Roosevelt 10 Miler, giving important runs a title is one of the few free accessories, I headed out for a short and easy jog. I didn't have any particular distance in mind, just that it would be a couple of easy miles for a few reasons. First, I had just completed my own personal marathon with the Roosevelt 10 Miler, there was a light rain, and Lisa I had tickets to see Ben Harper and Relentless 7 debut their first album at Irving Plaza that night. As I headed south down Vernon Boulevard, past my bridge over to Roosevelt, I decided I would run to Queensboro and back home. A nice, medium run. Things went wrong at Queensboro. I decided to tack on a little more by heading further east, thinking I could take the small overpass I often saw out of the east side window of the N/W train heading home. I later learned this overpass is named Honeywell Street. I didn't find Honeywell that Cinco de Mayo. I thought I found it, but what actually I found was the Pulaski Bridge. Nor was I heading toward the N/W line as I thought. I was heading south, into Brooklyn, Greenpoint to be exact. As you come across the Pulaski there is a sign directing you west to the water front, I took this route hoping to find my bearings. By the time I hit he sign saying "This Way to Williamsburg Bridge" I had gone too far to turn back. Besides, I could notch off two bridges with one run. So I followed the signs to Williamsburg Bridge and made my way over to the city.

I love the Williamsburg Bridge. Besides the obvious great views, wide lanes marked for the appropriate flow of traffic make for a great run. To the south are the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridges. Something crazy started brewing in my head as I ran over the Williamsburg. I could run three bridges. The Brooklyn Bridge wasn't that much further and I hadn't even walked the Brooklyn Bridge. That's something everyone is supposed to do. Even if you're only in the City for a few days, you go to the Brooklyn Bridge. It had a TV show named after it for goodness sake. But how to get to it? I was already admittedly lost, I couldn't get more lost. However, I had been gone for a while already. I needed to head home, the Brooklyn Bridge would have to wait for another run. But three bridges in one run was to sexy to ignore. Before I had completed the Williamsburg I was already constructing the Facebook update in my head, 'The Three Bridges Run'. The Brooklyn Bridge was out, but to get home I would have to cross the Queensboro. I could do that by train, OR, I could run and thereby challenge myself to the greatest physical endeavor of my life, and publish the all to rare, worthwhile to read, Facebook update. (Forest Gump accent please) So I went running.

For much of the east side run I had embarked upon there is spacious and safe bike lanes. But at one point the bike lane ends without warning. So I found myself running on the shoulder of the highway, on a narrow strip of concrete. Were I to slip there would be no way for a speeding car to avoid grounding me into road kill. Stupidly I continued. In fact, the danger of it didn't even occur to me until later when I was recounting the run. I survived my Running with the Bulls and trudged my way over the Queensboro Bridge. 2:28 minutes, three bridges, and three boroughs later I completed 15 miles, which is still my longest run.

To be honest the last mile up to and over the Queensboro is better called a fast walk, perhaps even a speedy limp. I was hurting bad. The walk up the stairs was slow, horrible and painful. The walk down from the train platform was worse. I don't know what I looked like after that run, but when I came up a dollar short for my raspberry/banana smoothie with a shot of protein powder at Soho Diner, the guy at the register had a bit of concern in his voice when he said, "Don't worry about it man". I sipped on my windfall as I limped the fifteen minute walk home. When I walked in the door Lisa popped up, obviously she had been far more concerned than the generous smoothie artist. I had been running for two and half hours, gone for nearly three. My runs were gauged in minutes, not hours. This was unusual to say the least. Lisa asked if I was okay, I let her know I was then recounted the route I had traveled. Lisa, my beautiful, caring wife, was impressed and then immediately concerned. "You can still go to the show tonight, right?". I assured her I could, but first I needed some ibuprofen and a nap. My legs were still lead that night and every flight of stairs were still painful, and there were many, many, flights of stairs. I had to suppress an "Ouch" with each footfall up or down. Lisa had a couple of beers while I gleefully paid $5 for 10 ounce bottles of water, and an extra dollar for a cup full of gorgeously gleaming ice cubes. The concert was great. Ben and the band only played songs from the new album, plus a few new covers. Ben said he wasn't going to revisit the old days of the Innocent Criminals, he was doing something new now. Right on. I wasn't going to go back to the nicotine stinking sloth whose body turned to lead after a 12 minute mile. I was a runner now, an endurance runner. I had taken my body beyond its limitations and kept it there for a few hours.

Just a year before the Three Bridges Run I had said to Lisa "I would literally rather hammer a nail through my toe than run 26 miles". Well, on June 26 I'm doing 26.2 with the same two guys that took me on that first three mile run, my bros-in-law, Chris (doing the half) and Andrew (doing the full, and hopefully qualifying for Boston 2011). My sis-in-law is joining in for 13 as well. We planned a vacay to Seattle so I could run 26.2 miles. Boy how times have changed.