The Run to the Lighthouse

I decided I wanted to run -(slog)- up to the lighthouse. "It's three miles." says sis. I have been running (slouching along grimly) around Central Park which is about six miles and there are hills (many) so I thought 'Hey, piece of cake.' but instead of eating another piece of cake, early Saturday I set off for the Island's End.

My mistake was twofold, 1) believing in the accuracy of local distance reporting and 2) not planning for or taking any water with me. I decided I would run to the lighthouse,.... I ran for a long time.... then I decided I would run until I could see the lighthouse. It turns out neither is actually possible. The lighthouse is not on the same line as the roadway and is rather, tucked away to the left, where you can't see it from the Island until you reach this stretch of sand and dunes that unless you are a Humvee you are not going to cross. (Oh sure, I could have taken that other road that splits off from the main drag and takes you right up to the Lighthouse's stairsteps, but that would have been the easy way out.)

I took a picture.


Then I headed back. I run about twenty minute miles. You do the math. Oh, by the way, it's closer to four miles to the lighthouse than three.

Yes, they had sent out a search party.

I had a spa day after that. Drank a lot (water, juice, Diet Coke) Watched a cloud formation for close to two hours. Swam in the ocean. Listened to a book. (Bryson's.. wonderful) and laughed at the niece (four and half years old) learning to break eggs with her Nana.