MAKE IT WORK!

Last night was the first of what I’m sure will be many instances where fitting the TNT schedule into “real life” becomes something of an obstacle. As I was busy filling my liver with toxins during the first training run, I was determined to hit the road with my teammates at the second group session. Plans were nearly thwarted when tickets for a hot show I’ve been really looking forward to seeing became available. The 5-mile training run started at 6:40 in the Park; curtain was at 8:00 in midtown. No way to do both consecutively. When I called Celeste at work and told her I’d likely have to run on my own during lunch to complete the mileage, she turned on the Tim Gunn and ordered me to “make it fucking work.” 

I hopped the train uptown and met up with Celeste, Stephanie, and a crowd of…a lot of women. Gotta admit, before finding Celeste I was a little nervous knowing practically nobody. When the coaches began to explain the four, five, and six mile loops in Central Park (with which, having lived on the UES for a year, I’m really familiar) my own comfort with the various courses alleviated any anxiety. The coaches split us into three groups – beginner, intermediate, and advanced – and, to my surprise, I met the criteria for advanced (the ability to run six miles comfortably). It hit me that this was the first time in my life I’d ever been identified as “advanced” in any kind of athletic context. Ever. The sole exception was being granted the “Most Improved Player” award at Pine Manor Tennis Camp in fifth grade, but I suspect that was more of a pat on the back for building up just enough endurance that summer to stop flooding the court with sweat during matches.

We started with an easy jog and maxed at what felt like a 7:50 pace. Slowing down was honestly a little tough, but both my mom and the coaches have been stressing the importance of it. I suspect they know a bit more than I do, so I’m trying to take their advice. Repeating the Celeste-inspired mantra –make it fucking work – I veered off at the southern edge of the Park, sprinted back to the office, changed (still sweaty) into nicer clothes, and bolted to the theatre with a bag of pretzels for sustenance. I’d like to give a shout-out to my apocrine glands for giving me the gift of limited body odor, as my co-worker appeared not to notice any rank scent. Or at least was nice enough not to mention one. 

Great run, fabulous show; this whole thing may work out after all.