Notes
The bagel run, from Brooklyn over the Manhattan bridge easy pace @ 9s, bagels from Tal's, then back with a load of bread on my back, running easy felt hard...extra weight is tough. Bagels are good.
-----------
There is a great place in Manhattan for bagels. I know that surprises you, but it is true. The place I have long loved is called Tal's bagels. My wife's parents used to have a place in the city, right around the corner. Whenever I would visit, we'd eat there every day for breakfast. The bagels at Tal's are big (but not to big), densely chewy, crackling on the exterior and full of savory flavor. Back during the big bagel boom over a decade ago, back when carbs were king, Tal's was the holy grail, often sought but never achieved. They say it is the New York water, but it is also the choice of flour, the years of experience and the fact that they don't dilute the soulful chewiness for something that goes down easier, if less flavorably.
Well, my wife's parents moved from the city, our family grew and we got to New York less and less often. Suddenly I found that I would go years without enjoying one of their bagels. I was stuck in the hinterlands of middle Tennessee, relegated to eating big cakey, spongey bread that vaguely resembled a bagel in form, but not in taste, mouthfeel or aroma. The closest we got were the bagels shipped half-baked and frozen from New York's H&H ("Woody Allen's favorite!"), but they were not the same, and you could never get the only bagel flavor that matters: pumpernickel.
So suddenly, I found myself in Brooklyn for the weekend to meet my brother and his wife's brand new son. Their place is just a few short blocks away from the bridge to Manhattan, itself just a number of blocks away from Tal's. Well, six and a half miles, to be exact. One mile on small cobbled Brooklyn city blocks to the main avenue, one mile to the graceful and haughty Manhattan Bridge, a mile up and over it, then a mile and a half through Chinatown and the restaurant district until I pass Houston, and finally, 54 blocks up the rolling First Avenue. No problem. Six and a half miles there, six and a half back. A nice easy 13 mile run, perfect for a Sunday morning.
In fact, not accounting for the frequent stops from the cross streets along city blocks, the jog to Tal's felt strong and light, an empty backpack over my shoulders, a light sun flashing behind the buildings, the early Summer cool blowing off the river. My pace was an even 9 minute pace and the effort felt low Got to my destination, ordered a dozen bagels (a bagel baker's dozen includes 15 bagels), loaded them into the backpack and headed back south.
Bagels are heavy. Did I mention that good bagels, among their other attributes, are heavy? Indeed. Heavy.
Within a mile or two on the return trip, my pace had slowed to a near-10 minute pace. The morning had awoken and New York was out. Dodging through the crowds, a heavy pack jostling against my back, the cumulative pounding from those added pounds bearing down with each step, this was no longer easy work. Running along the avenue as the cross streets counted down provided a great dissociative diversion. Running past 50, then 42, then 33, then 20, then 14 and suddenly under 10. Twenty blocks to the mile. The further I went, the more people were in my way, many staring at me. The further I went, the more my legs strained and my sweat drenched. The force was sapping away. Somehow I gutted it out through all the crowds and stops and twists and growing weight to get back the the base of the Manhattan Bridge.
The sun now high and the views positively glowing from over the river, I pushed on. On the bridge, I had a little over a mile to run, a slow steady climb, then descent into Brooklyn. To my left, the traffic flew by: cars, trains, bikes. To my right, the brooklyn bridge aglow in the crisp sunlight framed the East River and the Lower Manhattan skyline. Descending on the other side, I ran over the top of the funky industrial and shopping district of DUMBO, where just the day before I had made my pilgrimage to other food destinations, including Grimaldi's pizza and Jacques Torres' chocolaterie. Where yesterday there was an overflowing hip hop festival against a burnt out brick warehouse on the river, today was a grassy meadow reflecting the sunlight and welcoming my return. New strength arose ]as I came down. Two more miles. And with my pace still trying to falter.
I must say, after those last two miles, run through the small cobbled streets along close city blocks with stop again/start again efforts due to the cross traffic, arriving back at our place and unloading that pack was an overwhelming relief. My legs felt more like they had covered the marathon distance at a good effort. For the rest of the day, they were worn, with very little to give. It was all I could do to rehydrate, to stand, to interact as a human with others. I was spent. What a great run, but with the pounding from the added weight, the twists and turns, the crowd dodging, the traffic and the stop and go effort, this was one tough run.
Ahhh. But you see, the bagels were wonderful!!