I spent most of Saturday horizontal on the couch nursing a cold. Sunday morning, amped on Mucinex, I took my bike (and Matthew) to Central Park to ride two loops of the park for the first time ever.
It’s a strange activity for someone who spent most of the weekend trying to take it easy. But I’m training for something. What? Yup! I haven’t mentioned it here because I’m a little intimidated by it.
It’s been nearly two months since my last post.
Cycling 22 miles to Coney Island was pretty much a mic drop as far as this blog and my fitness life are concerned so I’m okay with the dramatic hiatus.
I am certain that questions of my whereabouts crowded web forums in similar style to chatter about Tupac’s disappearance. That is unless you follow me on Instagram. From my millennial-esque oversharing, you know exactly where I was. (#ButWhereisTupacREALLY?)
Ever since mankind ceased being nomadic, political and religious factions have fought over land. It’s a tale as old as time, even since before West Side Story.
But there is an untold tale of tribal land grab happening in a zip code close to home. Even though NY1 isn’t covering it, Central Park is home to a conflict. The groups involved are so fundamentally different in their desires, I don’t see how we can ever live in harmony.
Every Saturday morning, three factions set out to the Central Park loop armed with cameras, bicycles or just a sweat-heavy singlet. This land war is between tourists, bikers and runners. View Post