If only they knew. I’m running down Williamsburg’s Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn around 11am on a Sunday. The hipsters, the cool dads, the too-chic toddlers, all of them are just beginning to shake their fluffy heads to amble along the streets in search of brunch. The line at the fair-trade, single-origin coffee shop stretches out the door.
Surely, I look crazed to them. This tired, sweaty thing clutching an empty water bottle, running not very fast down the main drag, my tank occasionally flapping in some way so as to reveal an unflattering glimpse of bare belly. They don’t know the truth. They don’t know that I’m not just another weekend runner trying to jog off the excesses of the night before. They don’t know I had a lame Saturday night and went to bed at a decent hour because of this. They don’t know that my Garmin reads 17 miles. They don’t know that today I am completing my first 20 mile run. More »