Wake up she said.

"Wakeup", she said! "Go take a look at the marathon", she said! Well, after setting off for my office (a good 4 mile walk), my course had paralleled that of the marathon across the Pulaski Bridge, that is until I reached the 59th Street Bridge.

When I got to the mouth of the pedestrian path that is on the North side of the lower deck, my day was about to take a strange twist. In there deep blue uniforms and rubber gloves, 3 of New York’s finest were engaged in an exchange of “fuck you’s” with some cyclists. Apparently the pedestrian path to Manhattan was closed and the cyclists were none to plussed.

Having nothing else to do I asked if I could pass and was told that the only way into the city was to take the train. HA! Not wanting to be discouraged so easily I walked back to where the runners were. Slyly and discretely I blended in and began walking across the bridge as is I were in the Marathon. I crossed into Manhattan and was met with cheers, Gatorade, towels and Vaseline on tongue depressors (runner nipple) and they sense that I had run the marathon, if only for an hour.