Today was really nice - 64 degrees F and sunny - so I thought I’d go for a run. I wanted to run over the Brooklyn bridge, as I hadn’t actually been on that one yet.

It’s a beautiful piece of architecture. However, it is a horrible bridge to run on. Or walk or ride a bike.

Even so, there were about a billion people on it. And most of them are tourists. Taking photographs of themselves with Manhattan and the setting sun in the background.

Tourists love doing things like: walk while swinging their arms really widely, stopping suddenly and turning around against traffic, walk the wrong way in the bike lane (making NYC bike commuters visibily - and occasionally audibly - angry), and stare at you like you’re a total moron for running over the most scenic sunset viewing spot in the city (Hey - isn’t that the Statue of Liberty?! Look, a Macy’s bag!).

I know I haven’t lived here long enough to consider myself truly New Yorkian, but I did feel a little kinship with the angry bike commuters today - we could’ve even exchanged knowing glances if that crazy biker lady hadn’t been so intent on yelling at that woman who was taking a photograph of her mom.

Also: I made it to 8.4 miles today, mostly because I didn’t want to run back over the Brooklyn bridge, and so I ran through Chinatown up to the Manhattan bridge.

That’s the beauty of my particular brand of logic: if I do something that’s unpleasant (running over the busy Brooklyn bridge), I will allieviate that by doing something that’s horribly impossible (attempt to run through Chinatown).

I needed to walk for a few minutes anyway.

After nearly two months of not running, I started again. When I first moved here, I had no problem with it - I was more or less on my old schedule - about 3.5 miles every other day. Then it dropped to twice a week. Then it dropped altogether.

There are things about running in Brooklyn - it’s dirty, there’s a lot of dog poop on the sidewalk, the smog, the crazy drivers - that are not very fun, and they got to me - made me dislike everything I love about running.

However, I started to have dreams about it - not like those dreams where you’re running but it’s never fast enough and you feel helpless, but dreams where I would plan a route, get excited about it, and then actually run.

Last Sunday, I got sick of not running, and tried my orginal Brooklyn route: a 3.3 mile loop from home, by Pratt, and around Ft. Washington park. It felt great to be back outside doing something other than walking or riding my bike to school. It’s so… purposeless - I’m not trying to get anywhere, really - just trying to get.

My legs got pretty sore - like they did when I first started running last December - and I had to rest them until today. I went out again this afternoon - it’s been gorgeous here (67 degrees F today!) - and started on the first part of my usual loop. But by the time I got to Ft. Washington park, I was more engergized than when I had started, and so I decided to tackle one of the bridges into Manhattan. I chose the Manhattan bridge because that’s the first sign I saw, and made it over and then back home (almost exactly 7 miles) in 01:03:47 (that’s a little over 8.5 minutes per mile, which isn’t bad for me considering I walked a couple of minutes here and there and had to wait for traffic a few times).

I’m pretty pleased with myself - it’s a new personal best for length (by almost 3/4 of a mile) - and it was incredibly rewarding to be on the Manhattan bridge to see the sun set.

I know I lapse into this corny self-congratulatory nonsense when I write about running (which I haven’t actually done for a while) - but I can’t help it! It’s the same way I feel when I’ve had a really good day photographing: excited about what I’ve done, but even more excited to do it again.