On THE Road WITH Elfen McCurtin

One story about running in Manhattan that I particularly love is that of a friend who was out for an early run sometime before 5:00 A.M. down Fifth Avenue. She was surprised and alittle unnerved to pass a naked man who was also running. There was hardly another soul around. Minutes later she spotted a police car and flagged it down to report the incident. “Can you describe him?” police asked her.

When Iran on the U.S. 100K team in the early and mid-1990s, my teammates from other parts of the country would want to know “Where do you train? How can you be an ultrarunner and live in New York City?” Acouple of them even seemed to feel a bit sorry for me, as though I couldn’t possibly have a choice in the matter; no one would willingly subject herself to what must be an ultrarunner’s purgatory. And at times, I freely admit, I had my share of frustrations in my 12 or so years there. The air quality at times could be bad, the park could be prohibitively crowded in nice weather, and the harsh and ubiquitous sound of the horns on the taxis is loathsome.

Acommon refrain is “Isn’t it dangerous? Is it safe to run in the park?”

November/December 2002

In the more than a decade that I lived and ran there, [had 40-ounce malt liquor bottles, rocks, and firecrackers + thrown at me. Iwas chased and groped and once was tackled and thrown to the ground by two men who grabbed me from behind but fled when I put up a struggle.

All these incidents were upsetting and made me angry, but I was not about to stop running—only to be more careful about when and where I ran and to run with someone else whenever I could. These things could have happened in just about any city or town, and even though I live in a borderline rural-suburban area now, I sometimes feel less safe than I did in the city.

New York City grew progressively safer during the years I lived there, noticeably so under Mayor Giuliani’s administration when violent crime dropped all over the city. Now that he has left office I have heard runners voice their concern that this may change. Asin any other place, though, you have to use your judgment and be careful.

Fortunately, on the plus side, I was rarely, if ever, at a loss for training partners. In fact, Iused to look forward

ON THE ROAD WITH ELLEN MCCURTIN M13

tomy occasional soloruns because they were so rare. These days I am lucky if Irun with another person three times a week. Another plus is that New York has designated pedestrian lanes and certain hours when the park is closed to vehicles. One of the problems I’ve faced in the suburban and rural areas where I now live is that cars are king and runners are given little if any leeway on the roads. New York City has races every weekend and a dozen running clubs from which to choose if that’s something you want.

But, most of all, I liked the fact that you could do just about anything, any distance, any speed, any time, and still be relatively anonymous. After all, this is New York City and there’s always going to be someone doing something weirder than you. If you want to run 30 miles around the 6mile loop, chances are that no one is going to notice and anyone who does is going to take it in stride—literally and figuratively—and mightevenjoin you for a loop or two.

My friend Ed was out for a 25mile run one day along with another runner, a young man many years his junior, who decided to jump in for several miles. As they ran along, they encountered another guy who admonished his friend, “Don’t run with this guy,” pointing at Ed. “Do you know how farhe runs? He’s crazy.” To which the first guy responded, “Idon’tknow, man. I think he rocks.” New York is a city of extremes, and since ultrarunning can be extreme I saw the two as quite compatible.

A few summers ago, I was walking through Times Square, where I worked for a while, on my way to lunch. As I stood waiting for the light to change and staring up at the National Debt Counter, I noticed coming up Broadway a fellow ultrarunner who is partial to multiday events. He was doing what could be described only as the “ultra shuffle,” so I asked him what he was up to. The answer: running from one end of Manhattan to the tip of the Bronx, he smiled and said without missing a beat. As I dodged my way down the crowded sidewalk back to the air-conditioned office and my cube with a sandwich and iced coffee, I wished I could be out there with him, even on this hot and gritty July day in haze-covered midtown.

One of my first runs in Manhattan was an exploratory run in Riverside Park during Hurricane Gloria, September 27, 1985. I was a freshman at Columbia living in McBain Hall, a block from the park at 113th and Broadway. I think I did about five miles in the rain and wind and came back covered in all sorts of detritus. The school had advised staying indoors as a precaution and I had noticed, as I passed by earlier, that the windows to the dining hall were reinforced with electrical tape. Still, these were the days before gyms with treadmills and I was going to get out one way or another. And the storm, at least in Manhattan, was not living up to its expected severity. My roommate thought I was crazy, but it felt good to

November/December 2002