Silence at Sunrise

"Silence? What can New York-noisy, roaring, rumbling, tumbling, bustling, story, turbulent New York-have to do with silence?" -Walt Whitman

It's deafening. To find yourself in complete silence, unaccompanied by another human, not even by sight, at sunrise in Manhattan, is terrifying and beautiful. 

I wasn't aware that I had set my internal alarm clock for sunrise-o-clock (4:30am?? Excuse me, what??) Ok, ok, so maybe I was a little heavy-handed at Forcella's happy hour with my soccer team last night.

A little vino?

It looks incredible, doesn't it? And on a rainy, Tuesday night? Seriously, how could anyone stop at just one...? I think I woke up so early because my body needed to drink its weight in water. 

Regardless, I couldn't get back to sleep and of course there was a million and one things racing through my head, so I had another one of those

putmyshoesonandgrabmyheadphonesandwalkoutthedoorbeforemybodyknowswhatshappeninggg!!! moments. (I think I should rename my blog.) Tricking my mind and body is clearly becoming a theme to getting myself out the door.

But WOW. What a morning. I jogged slowly up to Riverbank State Park and started around the track. There were four walkers out there with me. I have no reason to ever run on a track, with the abundance of parks near me, so naturally I found an incredible beauty in this nostalgic experience. It took me back to the paper I wrote in 8th grade about "What Freedom Means to Me". I wrote about how free I felt when I ran up and down the soccer field. I got a D on that paper. I think the teacher was looking for something a little deeper than running down a soccer field, and singing in the shower.

I, oddly, had the same feeling of freedom on the track this morning. I truly felt completely free; my mind lost every single worry, concern and care that I'd been carrying for the mile or so that it took me to get up there. On that track, there's no competition. No one's better than me. I don't have to worry about sideswiping another runner or dodging a yellow taxi. I won't trip on a tree root or a crack in the sidewalk. I'm not looking for the next landmark in my route and I certainly am not watching the clock to get back home. No one's looking at what I'm wearing, no one's wondering what my story is. I'm not looking at what other people are wearing and I'm certainly not trying to guess their story. It's me, the feeling of fresh air in my lungs, my quads gently pulling me forward, a clear, calm mind and that magnanimous, grey sky. 

Cash Cash's "Take Me Home" broke my hypnosis and the urge to pound out some sprints overcame me. I probably took four loops around the track and would sprint on the stretch featured above. 

This is how my body feels about sprinting at 6:10 in the morning. 

But this is what I got out of it. 

There's something about clouds that make everything seem so much quieter. I could barely hear the early morning traffic over the GW bridge. 

And when I finally couldn't bear the sound of silence any longer (and the mosquito's discovered how delicious my skin tasted), I gathered myself together and found the road to take me home.