7:30 rolls around, and the last thing in the world that I want to do is go for a run. I've already eaten far too much matzah to be healthy, and I was feeling a food coma coming on. I decided that I was going to look up some ways to keep myself motivated, because of course I knew that today wasn't going to be the only day that my bed seemed so much nicer than running through the streets of NYC. So I simply googled "ways to stay motivated" and clicked the first link I saw, entitled "20 ways to stay motivated", simply enough. I hoped that it would give me some sort of insight as to what I can do to keep myself going for the next 26 days.
I particularly like the idea of making running a pleasure, not something I feel like I have to do, because then I will (hopefully) just get out there and go, instead of making it feel like a chore. I also liked the idea of "just getting started"...instead of sitting around and thinking and planning about what I'm going to do. I'm the queen of making pretty calendars and filling in each day with what workout I should do and for how long. Then, when I only end up following it for a couple of weeks, (if that), all I'm left with is a pretty calendar and unfinished tasks. Not good.
Anyway, after I finished reading about ways to motivate myself, I got my stuff on and walked out the door of my building. My goal was to just run 2 miles today, nothing too crazy because I knew I didn't really want to be there anyway. I started running, and I felt good. Really good. I wasn't even paying attention to the street signs until I had already run 15 blocks. I decided I was just going to run until I felt like it was time to turn around and then I'd start running back.
When I looked up again, I realized that I kind of recognized where I have ended up. I look around at the street signs and I see "St. Marks Place". I look around a little bit more and I see "Astor Place". All of a sudden my heart starts racing a little bit more (not because I was running, but because I realized where I was). I was in the East Village. (Which explained why there was a man dressed as Tigger playing the tambourine on the sidewalk). Now let me explain how I feel about the East Village. It scares the crap out of me. The streets aren't numbered anymore and I can't easily figure out which way is north and there are too many hipster people around that I feel like I'm going to get accosted for wearing too many bright colors. One of my best friends from college lives in the East Village, and although I've been down there numerous times, I can never find her apartment without getting lost. It either takes me twice as long to get there because I am trying to figure out where I am using the small map on my Blackberry or I have to call her and say, "Okay, I'm on the corner and I'm looking at a McDonalds, a Starbucks, and there's a gym right here." (Really helpful, right?) My friend usually manages to get me to her apartment, or has had to come meet me where I am standing on a couple of occasions because she realizes I'm a lost cause. Just this weekend I met her near her apartment and she had to tell me about three times that I was walking the wrong direction, when we were basically down the street from where she lived. You'd think I would've learned by now, but no.
Anyway, back on topic. When I realize that I have basically entered what to me is equivalent to The Labyrinth, I immediately turn around and start running back. Once I get to about 14th street, I breathe a sigh of relief and feel instantly better that I am securely in the numbered part of the city. Although I'm proud of myself for going outside my small square of running space, I had had enough for the day and was ready to go back home, having run one more mile than I had originally planned!
12 miles down/63 to go!