The running serves up the same relief I find in less productive endeavors. I experience elation as I start my five mile journey through Central Park, before my legs have an opportunity to register with my brain. The music I enjoyed as a youth I now only allow myself to consume when my feet are moving fast beneath me. The tunes lay the tracks, the scenery is supplied by the city of New York and it is up to me to complete the story and arrive back at my door. Besides the music there is much to distract from this chore: Runners approaching or receding, Bicyclist in their flashy clothes.

Sometimes the run is anguishing, each step fraught with pain, other times it is exhilarating. But it is always a challenge. I could play tennis or golf but it is running I pursue. I never excelled in eye hand coordination and the effort of having to arrange with others my fitness schedule was too much. So dismissed it all as undue ego affirmation and hit the streets.

Not that running is a solitary sport. I am beyond the age when no one passes me. Today a young man pasted me with a baby and a sports stroller only to be passed on the hill. He is kidding himself if he thinks tending to the flock is not going to slow him down as I maintained my lead, never to see him or his stroller again.

Forged by this athletic activity, I dream of conquests and victories, fueling the passion to move faster. Young women pass on a regular basis. I then seem to speed up or they slow down resulting in us running in sync of a spell. I am not sure whether it is the added adrenalin quickens my step as I gaze on her form. I do appreciate the motivation.

Passing the Metropolitan Museum of Art, my body is now in its most stressed state, just completing the largest incline of the circuit. And not close enough to home to dream of comfort. This is when I start thinking of the pain. Others I know are suffering from cancer, work or divorce; if I push a little harder I will be preparing myself for these challenges ahead.

I wonder how it will end. As I get older will the injuries limit my running to a quarter of a mile. Or will I go out in some explosive spasm right there in front of the reflecting pool. For now I am strong and virile and eating everyone’s dust. Pant,Pant Close to finishing, thank god.