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Each year, I excitedly wait for the U.S. Open to come to New York, always making sure I attend at least one game. When it’s still months away, like right now, I enjoy keeping up with other tournaments around the world on television. I vicariously live through the players on the courts because even though I try to play at least three times a week (and despite how damn cute I am in a flouncy little tennis ensemble), I’ll never get to pro status.
Counting this past weekend’s ING New York City Marathon, I’ve now completed four of the 26.2-mile beasts and realize that I’ve covered 104.8 miles and 16-plus hours in doing so. It’s a lot of miles and a lot of time and quite frankly looks a little crazy to me on paper. But I have to say that there’s no other place I’d want to run the distance than New York City.
For a roller derby virgin, a double-header all the way out in Long Island is quite a commitment. And let me tell you, it was worth it. From the knuckle sandwiches served pipin’ hot to a ragtag group of skatin’ ladies to the jeerleaders and their ragamuffin mascots - a life-sized banana, an 11-year-old, skateboard-wielding derby son called “Jail Bait” and, of course, a wily leatherdaddy with signs reading “I been bad” and “Submit” - the bout-on-wheels was always entertaining, if not always a thrill ride.
Who had the best week ever? No, not Justin Timberlake. This September, Manhattan brought sexy back. The city became a magnet for anybody with fashion, music or sporting sense. This is the month you can’t believe that you don’t live here and the month that I can’t believe I do. The 2006 US Open powered through fall showers, Olympus Fashion Week revealed Spring dos and don’ts on the runway and the beats at the MTV VMAs could be heard from Radio City to Rockefeller Center.
I was a Yankee Game virgin. That is until yesterday. And while we’re all being honest here, I have to say that I haven’t been to a baseball game (of any league) in at least ten years. It has been far too long. My good friend Erica (what a fabulous name!) decided to deflower me by taking me to my first game ever at Yankee Stadium to celebrate my birthday. Boy, was it an awesome present!
There’s something liberating about legal public near-nakedness. Liberating in the physical sense—skin!—and liberating in the sense that it’s like you’re getting away with something that nobody else can get away with. Which is exactly how I felt when I ran the Nautica New York City Triathlon underwear run last weekend. Runners run through Central Park in essentially nothing all summer long, but striding along in actual under things is a whole different story. But my friend, who competed in the triathlon the next day in grand style, and I thought, What the hell? So we ran 1.7 miles through Central Park in our skivvies. In broad daylight. Completely sober.
