Queens Half Marathon ’03
The AOL Time Warner Center glistens in the morning sun above me here on the corner of Columbus and 59th. Perched on the edge of my well-stuffed, well-used chair, I watch dog walkers and families in their weekend best scurry by through the floor to ceiling windows at the front. The City is waking. Still, two Starbucks viente milds into this Sunday morning, I can scarcely keep my eyes open.
I ran the two articles on blogging), and traipsed into Starbucks where I’d hoped to recover. Alas, the recovery is fleeting.
I know, I sound pathetic. I do hurt. But what I haven’t mentioned, and what surely hasn’t helped my sinuses, was last night’s rooftop party. My brother and his most-pregnant wife Jennifer had a bunch of friends over, including most of my faves: soon-to-be-former Brooklynites Jeff and Kristan (who I realized I’ve known for 10 years!); bike-buddy, Rosey Media frontman, and BWD supporter John Rosenblatt; my cousin Brian; comedian extraordinaire Mark Mukschler; an always jovial Pat Valez; young Jonathan Goldner (of Goldner’s Movie Corner), and many many more.
It was cool and clear on the roof of their Upper West Side apartment, the kind of late-spring evening that reminds one just how reclusive they’ve been all winter. Everyone asked how I felt about soon being an uncle (“Uncle Benjamin,” I insisted, “Not Uncle Ben”), to which I hadn’t much to say (excited? anxious?). We drank beer, laughed, and made plans for more morning rides, afternoons in the park, and nights out.
Outside the window now, a little boy runs by smiling, his arms extended in front of him like Superman. Above him, the sun climbs into the clear blue sky. Inside, I am growing quicker: less pain, less asleep. I extend my arms, and fly into this Sunday morning. Now, I know what’s happening.