I am yet to find the words to accurately describe the way I feel about Roosevelt Island. So close to the city, yet worlds away. Gray, ominous, even a sunny day on the Island feels like prison. Manhattan, just out of reach.
Its quiet and save, good for kids, in a way. I'd never take a child here, for fear it may burn something dark and awful into their mind.
The upshot is a four-mile loop, mostly away from cars with a new park at the southern tip. My last run before the race, I took it truly easy, doing my best not to dip below eight-minute miles. 48 hours to race day, I'd be taking tomorrow off.
Conscious thoughts dripped out of my mind, my imagination drifting to what it would be like. Running through Brooklyn, the crowds, up 1st Avenue and into the Park. All these places I had been, but never like this. And plenty of new territory -- I'd be running lost, winding through the city where I transitioned into adulthood.
Given the road I took to get here, limping around the Mission, the ice and rest, I was thankful just to be running. To be running without pain, strong legs and a strong mind. I was ready -- as ready as I could be.