Thursday, May 6, 2010

The Great Saunter


We all had health concerns. M was recovering from two back surgeries less than a year earlier to remove cancerous cells in and around his spine. E had surgery on her Achilles tendon in December, and was in such discomfort two days before that she didn’t think she even would be able to start with us. B had to stop at mile 12 on our longest training walk due to knee pain. A knee injury I suffered in the fall seemed healed, but I had not put it to such a test.

Just four athletes in their 50s, beginning the 25th annual Great Saunter, a 32-mile walk around the perimeter of Manhattan, on May Day.

Happily, B, M, and I all completed the distance, and E felt fine for the first 10 miles (when she left for a family function). It took us 12 hours to complete the loop, beginning south of the Brooklyn Bridge at Fulton and South streets, up the west side along the Hudson River, across the island south of the Harlem River, and then back along the East River.

It was not as physically challenging as I had feared it might be, although my legs and feet were extremely sore the last couple of hours from standing so long. Three days later, I’m still hurting, though, from a matching pair of blisters on my toes, stiff legs (especially when I get up from sitting), and an aching right foot that forces me to limp.

More than 800 of us started out on a day warm enough for shorts and T-shirts, hot enough for sunscreen and extra fluids. I’m not sure how many finished—the ending was rather anticlimactic—but a number of walkers we saw several times on the west side were not to be seen beyond the George Washington Bridge.

The entire walk was low key. We wore numbers, but there was no start, per se; we simply noticed that some people had begun, so we decided to do the same. Along the route there were only a handful of volunteers, and we saw the same ones in several places. There were unmarked forks in the woods at the northern tip of Manhattan; fortunately we were near some experienced walkers who knew the right way. There was just one water stop along the entire 32 miles, despite the warm weather.

At the finish, we were simply handed a brownie, a T-shirt, and a blank certificate to which we added our name. The Great Saunter ended where it began, outside the Heartland Brewery, and I expected a party there Saturday night, but it was business as usual. B and I downed a pint of oatmeal stout and returned to our hotel room, and I hobbled out for some ibuprofen and food.

The walk, though, was glorious. Manhattan was ringed in green, and bubbling with children, on ball fields, in parks (we passed through more than 20 of them), running, walking, walking their dogs, and on bicycles, and there were many adult children as well doing the same activities.

The narrow strip of land between the Hudson River and West Side Highway was not only green, it was filled with well-tended flower gardens, with a lot less litter than I encounter on my walks in rural Massachusetts. M and B snapped away with their cameras. As we walked, we occasionally updated family and friends on our cell phones.

We walked at a moderate pace, and we seldom took breaks. We grabbed some sushi and juice from the Fairway Supermarket when E left us at 125th Street. We stopped beneath the George Washington Bridge to get a picture of the little red lighthouse on the Hudson’s eastern shore, and helped a bicyclist who had taken a bad spill trying to avoid a walker. On a shaded bench in Inwood Park, we ate a lunch of onion-olive focaccia, cheddar cheese, yogurt, and apple cider from a nearby farmers market. A young woman walker there told us she had signed up for a bicycle tour of New York’s five boroughs the very next day.

Turning south, we walked for 20 blocks or so in the middle of Harlem before angling over to the East River. To this point, we had mostly visited among ourselves, but now two middle-aged men and a woman veered off the main path, telling us that they were taking the “more interesting,” traditional route; the new one kept to the middle of the city for another mile-and-a-half, they said, to avoid some narrow stretches and street crossings. We decided to follow them.

The two men were from Poughkeepsie, where they work for IBM and belong to a walking club. This was their fourth Saunter. The woman lives in Brooklyn, and twice a week she walks the nine-and-a-half mile commute to and from her job as a bookkeeper on 57th Street.

I soon noticed a woman following us, and gradually drifted back and began a conversation. Maria was from Monterey, Mexico, and spoke limited English. She had become separated from four friends who began the walk with her; the five of them had traveled to New York to see “The Lion King” on Broadway the night before and then make the 32-mile walk. They were returning to Mexico Sunday.

Maria walked as if her feet were sore, so M offered to carry her backpack. She refused at first, but he persisted, and finally she relented. For the last third of the walk, M carried Maria’s backpack, though we were not always together—there were times when she was 100 yards or so in front of M, but she never once looked back. Her trust was gratifying.

The people we met were friendly, if a little bemused. Some older men by a street corner asked us how we liked Harlem River Park. When we answered that we had enjoyed it, one of them became animated and, introducing himself, said, “I started that park!”

Although the water looked murky, people were fishing all along the East River, poles bungeed to the metal railings above the water. We watched as one man reeled in an 18-inch eel, yelling, “I got a snake!” and warning the gathering crowd to not get too close because they bite and sting. “But they taste just like scallops,” he said.

We caught up to two nuns wearing beige-colored habits, one in sneakers. I turned to speak to them, expecting to see two older women. To my surprise, they were both in their 20s.

For the last few miles it was just B and I walking side by side, mostly in silence, with M and Maria a little behind. It was pleasant, but we were weary, and the remaining distance seemed elastic, expanding with every step. But it was an experience of New York unlike any I have ever had, or am likely to have.

The historic rivers and bridges; the ancient tulip trees and wooded paths juxtaposed with bustling sidewalks, cooking smells and traffic sounds; the mix of friends and friendly strangers; the exercise; even the exhaustion—all contributed to a unique perspective of this great city. Sore feet and all, I would walk it again.

2 comments:

  1. some of the same words I have used to tell friends about the walk. Also, a nice breeze coming off the water on the west side; many organized baseball games; and a man carrying what looked like a WWF championship belt over his shoulders and walking with an attitude....good times....m

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  2. Now those are weekend warriors! Thank you for sharing your sublty awesome experience so well.

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