A Tale of Two Bridges

OK, it was only one bridge, but apparently one was enough.

The George Washington Bridge is a suspension bridge over the Hudson River, connecting the Washington Heights neighborhood of Manhattan Island in New York City to Fort Lee, New Jersey.

Last Saturday, the team ran from 178th Street in Manhattan, across the George Washington Bridge to the Palisades Park in New Jersey, through the park and then back to Manhattan. The run was based on time, rather than distance. The goal was to run for two hours and twenty minutes, which is about the time that elite runners aim for when running a marathon. So we ran one hour and ten minutes, stopped wherever we were, turned around and ran back.

I used to be afraid of bridges, and I thought I might still have a little problem with them -- I was worried about the run all week. I did fine on the way over. It made me nervous, but not to the point of being irrational. But for some reason on the way back, I was truckin' along, doing just fine, when suddenly one of the suspension cables made a noise – "ping" – and I was sure that the bridge was going to fall. Even though I knew the bridge wouldn't fall. I knew it. Sure. But it scared me, and I took off like a spooked horse.

After running ten 13- or 14-minute miles, I ran the last mile in about 11 minutes.
My running partner was ready to kill me when we finished. "I'm never letting you go in front again!" she said. Of course, that won't be an issue considering I never plan to run across another bridge. One was enough.