Saturday, June 26, 2010
Good morning, New York. Please don't hurt me.
Calvin Harris my boy. This is the best song ever.
International tourists are sick as pigs - I am the greatest traveler ever! Honestly, however, credit is also due to my wife, who made my reservation at the Vanderbilt YMCA, and to the Transportation Security Administration. It took the most heinous terrorist attack on American soil to get the people of this great nation to learn to plan ahead and organize their shit.
I opened my carry-on (because really, if you need to check a bag for a four day trip, you are filthy rich or a total slob) and everything was plainly visible including 1. my plastic bag filled with tiny bottles (because really, did you need to lug the entire gallon jug of Head & Shoulders with you?) and 2. my plastic bag filled with cables and chargers.
Yeah, there was a two-hour delay in Philly but I got in before midnight, the room is tiny by the a/c works, I brought my white noise generator and slept ... for less than six hours.
The past several days I have had a low-grade crud, makes me dizzy and cough. It's, you know, a cold or something. Allergies. I should rest, but I can't. So I set out for a seven-miler around the park at 6 AM.
Vanderbilt YMCA Circle
Distance: 7 miles
Heading back I saw all the people waiting in line for previews of The Merchant of Venice with Al Pachino. Long line. I would like to see that, only I will be seeing a lot of other things while I am here. Then I got a stitch in a strange place, in my back, on the left side, not the right side, and in the center. I tried breathing through it as I ran but it wouldn't stop, and then I began to feel it in my left arm.
So I stopped running, and the pain went away. So after a hundred yards of walking I started running again.
If I collapsed right here ... well, there's my iPod, that has a serial number. Oh, even better - I had my phone with me. And my key to my room. Yeah, I could die right here, they'd figure out who I am.