Gay Running Club New York City, or A Saturday Morning Odyssey

We were on the A Eight Avenue Express en route to Gay Running Club in Central Park this morning, Bevan and I, when our train sailed past our stop at 72nd Street and then every other stop that followed until roughly fifteen minutes later we were standing, dumbfounded, on the platform at 125th.

By the time we'd climbed out of the subway and onto the street in Harlem it was 9:50 and the run was set to start at the Daniel Webster statue at ten so we hailed a cab and told the driver we would grant him an especially handsome fare if he could get us fifty-three blocks downtown in under ten minutes even though neither of us actually believed it was at all possible.

It was.

We made it.