Back home

When Zdenek and I returned back to the Big Apple on Tuesday, we were pleasantly surprised to find mostly sunny skies and a relative lack of humidity. This being quite unusual weather for NYC, and given that we had eaten and imbibed a bit too much over the last 10 days, we took full advantage of our last vacation day by going for a seven mile run in Central Park.

As we trod side by side through the ups and downs of Central Park's moderately challenging -- but always delightful -- course, we were bemused to find that (a) our pace was a pretty respectable one, and (b) it didn't feel half bad! This was surprising because, although we weren't total sloths during our vacation, the four (Zdenek) or five (me) short, relatively flat runs we did manage to squeeze in (we even get up at 6:30 am on vacation days!) had left us feeling tired and weak. So how in the world could seven miles on a somewhat more challenging course feel so right?

While on vacation, I met a rather interesting Aussie (whose first name I cannot recall, but whose last name was "Shirley"). He didn't seem terribly interesting at first, mostly because he was sitting next to me on a bar stool reading a book. That's right -- a book in a pub, and just as the musical entertainment was about to begin. After a few minutes, though, I took pity on the guy and decided he must be very sad and lonely to be reading in such a venue, so I struck up a conversation to keep him company (who wouldn't rather talk to me than read their book?).

As it turned out, Mr. Shirley was a bit lonely, because he was on a business trip to Nova Scotia from his current home in California. After talking with him for some time, I was astounded to learn that he has visited fifty countries through work and travel. Fifty countries! I am not even sure that I could name fifty countries, and I think my own list numbers about a dozen. So I asked Mr. Shirley, who has seen far more of the world than most people, where he thinks is the best possible place in which to live. Predictably, he replied, "Oz."

Obviously this has a lot to do with the simple fact that familiarity breeds comfort. We gravitate towards the places we know best, because we feel best when we are there, hence the old saying that "home is where the heart is." I'm also realizing, however, that familiarity breeds success, at least when it comes to athletics. Stage 4 of this year's Tour de France was a case point: Team Astana whipped the competition, not on sheer talent alone, but because they had previewed the course extensively and therefore knew it better than any other team out there. There's also the fact that marathon runners are recommended to drive, if not run a portion of, the race course prior to race day. Knowing the twists and turns that may arise helps immensely to prepare appropriately and thus put one's mind at ease. In my own cycling, I'm finding that I can be a bit more aggressive and cycle a little harder each time out, because the roads to and from my apartment (including those in the Park) are becoming ingrained in my cycling brain.

Sometimes I feel that I know every bend and incline on the Park's loop better than I do the back of my own hand: the gradual rise by Tavern on the Green; the slight uphill by the merry-go-round; the fact that the first hill after the 102nd Street transverse is moderately more challenging than the one by the 86th Street reservoir. I know the placement of every water fountain; I know how many minutes to knock off my loop if I run counter-clockwise instead of clockwise; I know, to three decimal places, the exact mileage of every permutation and combination of the Park's myriad of routes. How else to explain Tuesday's run but to say that Central Park is home? I run well there (at least most of the time) because I run without thinking; I run well there because it is where I feel I belong.