One of my favourite past-times is running in Central Park. I have the same route, because I know exactly how long it's going to take me from point A. to point B. and I like to be consistent with my running. I run for two reasons: to stay skinny and to relax. Yes, running is relaxing for me. Obviously, not the type of sit-on-a-couch-for-5-hours-watching-T.V. relaxation, but it's an "active relaxation." It's both a physical and mental battle, but at the same time, while I'm listening to music as I run, I daydream, and visualize my goals, and affirmate! Once I start up my heart rate, I hate to stop. It's like a high or a rush that's cut short, and it's frustrating and annoying to have to stop mid-run. Which is why the story that I'm about to tell makes for a good laugh.
I was just starting out my run in the park. It was a most gorgeous day. The sun was proudly blessing us with It's rays. my music was giving me a great boost of energy as I inhaled the smell of freshly cut grass, a scent I have adored since my days at summer camp. Man, I felt GOOD. I was set to go for an hour, and nothing, no nothing could stop me now! (I crack myself up.) Not more than five minutes into my run, a Japanese tourist approached me. You know the type. Porcelain skin caked with pale foundation; Louis Vuitton bag in her clutch; head adorned with a huge sun hat; meticulously planned designer outfit. THAT type of Japanese tourist. She asked in her soft broken English, "Excuse me, Metropolitan Museum?" I replied mid-stride, "You're close but you have to go that way out of the park," and pointed her in the right direction as I continued my run. She either did not understand me, or wanted clearer directions on how to get to The Met, because, not satisfied with my response, she actually started to run with me, in order to keep up and ask more questions. "Oh, LORD. Here we go," I thought.
As this woman, who looked liked she had never broken out in a single sweat bead in her life, attempted to keep up with my pace by running beside me in a sort of comic desperation, I really was torn. On one hand, she seemed perfectly pleasant and could have already been wandering about for hours trying to find The Met, and we were so close to it that I could have walked her out of the park and physically steered her in the correct direction. On the other hand, I was mid-run! Our conversation went back and forth like a tennis match as she continued throw phrases at me like, "Out of park?" and "5th Avenue?" and I hit her back with responses like, "yes, you need to go out of the park THAT way," and "Yes, if you exit the park THAT way, you'll be on 5th Avenue, then you can ASK SOMEONE ELSE."
I wished there and then that I'd had a friend with me. Or a candid camera. SOMETHING to witness this moment that could not have been better scripted by the most talented Sitcom writers. After a mere minute of keeping up the pace, my acquaintance was becoming breathless. I thought that, surely now, she would relent, too tired to continue the effort. Not so. Let me tell you -- getting to that museum must have been this woman's childhood ambition -- because Miss Japanese tourist took stride after stride with me. I must admit, watching her valiant efforts while she struggled in her heels gave me a sick delight. I don't know if that makes me a bad person? The scene and the memory of it are too funny for me to really care.
Out of breath and probably perspiring a little in her designer outfit (and holding onto that sun hat to prevent its falling off), she followed me. And followed me. And followed me. I stopped being torn in two ways as to whether to stop and help her or keep on running (in all honesty, the chances of my interrupting my run were almost non-existent) and began to question this woman's sanity. I could not for the life of me figure out why, in a park where she was surrounded by sunbathers and ice-cream vendors, this woman had chosen the ONE non-static person to ask directions from. I have laughed at the thought ever since. I relayed this story to a friend who surmised, "well, maybe she saw you and thought because you're a bit Asian, you'd speak the same language." Ha. Perhaps. Though I seriously doubt it.
Finally, after a good three minutes or so, my breathless acquaintance either decided that her outfit was not worth ruining or that she could perhaps...oh...I don't know...ask someone who wasn't obviously in the middle of an intense workout. I continued on my merry way, and felt only slightly guilty that I hadn't been more helpful.
I do hope she found The Met. The thing is, had we been the only two people in the park, of course I would have stopped and would probably have walked her to 5th Avenue. But it was a busy day, and she certainly wasn't stuck without someone else to help her. I made my directions as clear as I could, so I hope that she was helped at least somewhat by me. Maybe next time, she'll carry a map.
I don't know what all these tourists in NYC are doing strolling along without maps. I've lived here for over a year, and my map follows me wherever I go. Moral number one: Always carry a map when on holiday. Moral number two: When asking for directions, ask someone who is not in a rush. Moral number 3: Start working out to improve your Fight-Or-Flight capabilities so that when you are lost, if you HAVE to approach a runner, you can most definitely keep up the pace!
copyright (c) 2010-2011 Celia Mei Rubin
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