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This story first appeared in The South Street Star
in June of 1984 and is being used with their permission.
Some people will do anything for a story. Me, I jogged
the Ben Franklin Bridge.
I was asked to do a story on the obtaining of permits by those interested in jogging over
and back across the bridge. Since that angle vanished because permits are only necessary for group runs, I decided to jog
it myself to try to salvage a story. Mistake #1.
Not being a jogger myself, I asked a friend of mine to accompany me
on what I was sure would be a painful undertaking. For my buddy, Bob Weiner, who has run 10 kilometer races, it was a new
challenge. For me, it was a challenge to my ego. The Blue Lady, as Bob called her, was majestically laying there, daring us
to accept her challenges. We did. Bob succeeded.
Without much of a warm-up, mistake #2, we began our journey with
me asking Bob if I, being the writer and all, couldn’t just wait for his return and interview him. You can guess what his
reply was.
The run begins up a steeper than expected incline, along the concrete path, separated from and above the
automobile traffic. It was really windy on Saturday so we were both glad to see four to five foot barriers on either side.
Almost immediately my legs seemed to tighten up but Bob said to keep running and as I did my legs began to feel better---I
would have stopped had they not---and I actually began to enjoy the feeling of freedom that I always enjoy in any athletic
endeavor. You know, you’re on your own.
The rest of the first quarter of this trip, the uphill, went so smoothly that
I began to feel confident about the entire run of approximately three miles. This lady was easy. Mistake #3. I even told Bob
that we should maybe pick up the pace. He said yes, but didn’t. Then I said that this job wasn’t hard at all and that I felt
great. The fact that he didn’t answer bothered me, but I shook it off. I was feeling good.
I doubt that it is true
but the air seemed cleaner up this high and looking out over the river gave me a rush until I noticed how dirty it was. When
we reached the peak of the bridge and began to descend the hill toward Camden. I felt like I could run forever. The feeling
that is known as “runner’s high” played with my head. I was going to make it, no question about it.
As we approached
the bottom, I noticed a very large group of people on the street below marching and carrying signs. I just had to stop at
the bottom to find out what was going on. Mistake #4. As Bob turned around and headed back across, I stopped for a minute
or so to look at the signs that they carried.
It was a Nuclear Freeze March. Wow, another story, or better yet, a
story. But, alas, one thing at a time.
I had told Bob when I stopped that I’d catch up to him. I did as I turned
on the afterburners. Mistake #5. Then the Blue Lady had me for breakfast.
When you first run uphill, then downhill,
and then turn around, that downhill becomes, you guessed it, an uphill. I just kept jogging, as I had when we first started
but this time it was different. My legs screamed for mercy with every step I took. My side cried in anguish and my head was
no longer “running high.” It wasn’t running at all. I was forced to stop. No mistake here.
As I lost contact with Bob,
I could only think that if I hadn’t stopped at the foot of the bridge to watch those damn marchers, if I hadn’t taken the
way back so lightly, if I had stayed in bed….I began to jog again very slowly, I think I got my second wind because I began
to find my stride and was doing O.K. for a while when my side suddenly yelled halt. Of course, not being a total ass, I listened.
Here I was, near the top of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge, in the jogging path, with no other way home. What if there was a
bridge opening? I began to run once more.
I was tired and I was hurting, but I also became more determined than ever
to finish this run and finish it running because right at about this time I passed two police security officers who told me
that Bob had referred to me as though I were a small kitten, adding that I was buying the beer. “He’s as good as caught,”
I answered in making mistake #6, as I sprinted to the top. I slowed for a few hundred yards and then with all I had I sprinted
the final quarter mile or so.
I never caught Bob. And while beer seemed to defeat the whole run, I did buy him an orange
juice. I had a YOO HOO.
The Blue Lady had been conquered, and had conquered, both at the same time.
CP
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