No one blinks an eye.

See? These guys are fast and I use them to see just how slow I can go and still not fall over. Central Park at dusk is a moving place. The last of the cars and taxis are headed for the exits and the bikers and the runners and the skateboarders and the rollerbladers (hey, wasn't there some big deal a few years ago made by the makers of RollerBlades that if you used the word rollerblade or rollerblader you had to use the copywrite thingie??) ok. @. No. That's not it. um. Never mind.

The thing is about running in Central Park is that no one notices you. Did I mention that I run (ha.... jog) wearing a ten pound Fanny pack? I didn't? Well, I jog wearing a ten pound Fanny pack. In it are an extra shirt to wear on the freezing ass cold subway on the way home, a bottle of water (yes, there are fountains all along the route, but I don't like to stop.) my gym lock, some sunscreen, some lotion, (ok, at first I was worried about my thighs rubbing together- a common fat runner problem) and extra batteries for the Muvo. I also carry my Palm, which is where the photos come from, and my phone and my wallet and my keys. Every day in New York City is like a hike in the woods. You must carry what you will need.

So you are running along with six or seven hundred people every night, sometimes more, and no matter how many come running towards you on the road or over on the bridle trail. Oh god, I forgot to add the horse people to the list!! No one makes any eye contact. None. Not a nod, not a grimace, not a grunt. A woman gave me a fierce look one night but I was in what she thought was her lane... So, you are pretty invisible, just like in the rest of the city.

It's the part I like the best about being here. I run to music that I put on the MuVo back before we went to the beach, Gypsy Kings and Paul Simon, some Bob Dylan and a bunch of Marvin Gaye and Peter Gabriel. Van Morrison's Into the Mystic is the perfect slogging song because I have to sing along. That's the secret to burning fat while running, you have to run slow enough to be able to talk or sing. I run alone amongst seven hundred or so people, so I sing. "Diamonds on the soles of her shoes" "Everybody must get stoned."
"It keeps you running" which is a much sadder song than I ever thought it was.... What's your hurry to be lonely one more night? Wow. And Simon's Graceland is a masterpiece... 'losing love is like a window in your heart'... The inspiration for the title of these pages. ah, I've said too much.

So there's the scene for you. A fattish man wearing a ten pound Fanny pack barely putting one foot in front of the other while bellowing lyrics from some obscure Spanish song. And no one blinks an eye.