As you know, Kitty has gotten my lazy self out for morning runs. About three times a week, before work, we hit the road and run into Prospect Park. As the run has become easier, we decide that we should try to up the ante by playing some running games.
If we saw a person wearing red shorts, we would sprint for 10 seconds. For blue shorts and black shorts we would sprint for 20 and 30 seconds, respectively. When we saw the "whippets", we would sprint for a full minute. Eventually, this lead to all sorts of arguments about people wearing red shorts with black stripes and "what about teal? is that a shade of blue?" The game didn't last long, our marriage is more important.
But then there were the whippets. I couldn't find if I've blogged about them before, but just in case, here is the summary: One guy is black and the other is white. They both wear exactly the same clothes every time they run. Both sport moustaches. Both are carved out of wood and are at least 60 years old. These guys are excercise MONSTERS. They are both regulars at the park and every time we see one of them it always brings a smile and one of us will say, "Give it up for the whippet" and we sprint for a minute.
Today was our long run day. Usually, we go into the city to Joe's Coffee shop where we catch up with a group of like-minded runners. We run from the West Village to the tip of Manhattan and back (about 6 miles). At the end of the run, Gabby, the co-owner, comps everyone a free drink.
With the drizzle this morning, Gabby cancelled the run. We decided to do the long route around the entire of Prospect Park. As we hit mile 4, we crossed paths with the white Whippet. We both gave a big smile and as he ran towards us, he recognized us and smiled and snarled, "Come on... pick it up..." As we gave up a minute for the Whippet, we realized that this means after all these months of running, we are officially regulars at the park. Perhaps we could even go so far as to say that we are "True Brooklynites."
Our route takes us by several great Brooklyn monuments. We run by Grand Army Plaza as we enter and leave the park. We also run by the newly restored main branch of the Brooklyn Public Library. As we run home, we run down Eastern Parkway past the Botanic Gardens and the Brooklyn Art Museum.
All along our route, we find people we recognize after so many runs- the personal trainer at the steps of the Museum, forcing a woman to run with military discipline, the group of guys in front of the Bodega on Washington, eating their breakfast sandwiches and sipping coffee, and the only bicycle cab in Brooklyn, with one flat tire, waiting to be retrieved by his newly famous owner.
