Notes From a Saturday Run in Central Park

Running in Central Park is always a treat. Although I've run in the park enough times to know the loop like the back of my hand, I never know just what I'm going to see along the way. Here are a few selected sights from my most recent run:

• Man wearing a Jersey Boys (a musical) T-shirt and black leggings singing theatrically to the music playing through his headphones while he walked around the loop
• Man dressed in traditional running gear praying theatrically to the sermon (I assume) playing through his headphones while he walked around the loop
• Countless tourists wobbling along on rental bikes, strolling under the trees, or riding in rickshaws or horse-drawn carriages while photographing themselves and everything around them and speaking a polyglot of languages
• Two boot camp-style fitness classes jumping around cones, laboriously elongating elastic bands, and doing sweaty push-ups
• Running group stretching before beginning their run
• Meditation group sitting cross-legged and very still
• Man with long beard sleeping on a boulder covered from the chest down with an American flag
• Yoga group enthusiastically performing sun salutations
• The Achilles running group, a team that pairs able-bodied athletes with handicapped runners, meeting up for the day's workout. They wear bright yellow t-shirts and are easy to spot. About four miles later, I passed by a guy walking the wrong direction around the loop with a camera. Spotting a blind Achilles runner jogging alongside his guide, the man (who, upon closer examination, was wearing a white version of the Achilles t-shirt) began cheering enthusiastically and took several pictures of the pair.

Rounding a bend near the northern part of the park, I came upon the strangest sight of the day. From a distance I saw two ambulances and my stomach turned. I expected that it was probably a grizzly bike accident - some competitive cyclists go too fast through the park during training rides, and pedestrians, runners, and inexperienced cyclists often weave into their paths at unexpected moments. As I drew closer, I saw two rental bikes standing upright. Nobody appeared to be lying on a stretcher or on the pavement, however, and there were no EMTs rushing around, so I relaxed a bit. A man in uniform was closely examining the front wheel of one of the bikes, turning it this way and that. I wondered whether the cyclist had hit a runner or pedestrian and if the guy was gathering evidence. (Perhaps I have seen one too many episodes of Law and Order.) Finally, I got close enough to see what was actually going on. A large gray squirrel, intact and very still, was wedged between the spokes of the wheel and the fork. The man was attempting to extricate the squirrel, while a tragic looking eleven-year-old girl wearing a helmet stood some distance away, watching solemnly. She seemed unhurt, which was rather amazing; I'm not sure I could come to a graceful stop if a squirrel threw itself between the spokes of my bike wheel. I was relieved that no cyclists or runners had been hurt, but I felt sorry for the girl. And the squirrel.

Although it wasn't a hot day, it was a very sticky one, and I eventually abandoned the park to run downtown to my gym and finish my prescribed daily mileage on the air conditioned track. My gym has much less potential for strange sights than the park, but next week I'll be back and will no doubt have more adventures on the six-mile loop that is always and never the same.