Ran to Queens this morning for my usual Saturday yoga appointment. Decided to traverse Central Park and the Queensboro bridge rather than the Triboro/Randall's Island route. Turned out there was a 10k race in the park, and it started just after I entered the main loop around the race's 1 mile point.
I've run next to races before. It's quite fun, really. You stay to the outside of the loop, outside the orange cones, and everyone's adrenaline fury in the inside lanes makes your weekend run feel that much more calm. (It is particularly entertaining to encounter men who do not climb the CP "hills" well, and they grunt and sputter and turn their faces beet red trying to keep up with the damn female that's not even in the race, but that is its own discussion of A-type New Yorkers.)
This time promised to be unique, in that I'd get to watch the local elites as the caught and passed me a few miles further. And, considering the timing, I thought I'd be able to see at least the first female as well. They
never get enough credit in smaller races like this since the men and women all start at the same time, so I always love to watch for them and scream out "FIRST WOMAN!" while encouraging them further. That was also the fun of the Bronx and Staten Island half marathon I last ran in 2010, since they each have an out-and-back route and you get to see all the elites heading back towards the finish before you make your own turnaround.
[For those of you who do not know, typing in all capitals equates to
yelling, even without the exclamation point. So good ol' Uncle Jim who
types
everything in all caps? Yup. He's yelling and he hasn't a clue.]
As I neared 72nd street four race-affiliated cyclists had already passed clearing the route from other park users and I heard the lead car coming up behind me. I turned to watch them pass, only to see an off-leash, overweight, waddling little daschund unknowingly tattering across the road mere feet in front of the lead car. The car stopped with plenty of space, but they assumed the dog would finish crossing the road or would get startled and go back to its owner. Assumed being the key word....
I and three other non-racing runners stopped to call the dog to us or even try to pick it up and carry it away. The poor little fella waddled 180 degrees and started zig zagging back the other way. The car thought the little fella was passed and out of the way, but really it was headed under one of the tires. The dog zigged (or zagged?) twice more. We at least made sure the lead runner -- who I can only assume was the ultimate winner Chase Pizzonia, considering how far he was ahead of the others -- could pass without hitting the dog, after which
finally got the little fella over to its owner who stood there dazed and hadn't helped a bit.
Hey you, mister careless owner, there are laws allowing leashless hours but they assume that
you are able to keep your dog out of trouble.
Let me put this another way -- it was not the fault of the little fella, a being that inately is without reasoning and does not understand the constraints of a human-derived race nor the imminent death associated with running in front of a moving vehicle. It was the owner's fault, which is the same way that many dogs and/or specific breeds get a bad reputation. F***ers. Pardon my "french"....
