This morning I ran the park loop rather than the reservoir loop in Central Park. As I was headed up the east side I noticed a couple of people waving at some man running down the road. When I got closer I swear it was Ringo Starr. But is that possible? Does Ringo Starr even live in NYC? Does he run??
Anyway, Ringo Starr or no, the beauty of NYC is that no one blinks twice over whack jobs, weirdos, or assorted whatnots (no wonder I like it here!) (and usually not celebrities) as long as said WWWs aren’t infringing on the imaginary, but very real, lines NYers draw around themselves. Case in point: the other morning as I was finishing up a run and there was a raving homeless man and a woman dressed in fishnets, hooker heels, black and pink hair (remember: it’s morning), both mixing seamlessly with busy, suit-dressed men and women on the way to work. There was nary a blink of an eye. But then comes a woman, clearly out to get her run in before she joined the suit-clad masses on her way to Wall Street, running with headphones, singing out loud (loudly, and not even a good song) in what appeared to me to be a desperate effort to finish up a torturous run. SHE pissed people off. SHE was interrupting people’s quiet space. SHE crossed people’s lines. I say whatever it takes to finish the run . . .