Mean Streets*

Today is our first sweltering day of summer. The kind that makes you think of black-outs, fist fights and gushing fire hydrants. The stuff of movies and TV of a New York where 8 million souls have had enough of the putrid smells of garbage on the streets and subway stations that double as stem baths, but instead of the aroma of lavender and sounds of chimes, you get a certain funk that smells like the basement of a frat house, combined with the ear-shattering squeals of subway brakes.

Give this to me any day over the frigid cold, combined with brutal winds blowing down the canyons of buildings that make up Manhattan. At least I get to wear a cute sundress when the temperatures rise!

Seriously, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we get around the city. What it takes to perambulate, flaneur, or just move around here and it’s not for the timid. Last week over 48 hours, my friend K and I walked a total of 77,000 steps, (that’s pretty much a marathon) around town. We started from West 71^st, and over the course of her visit went to Central Park, 5^th Ave, the New York Public Library, Times Square, the Highline, the 9/11 Memorial Fountains, Brooklyn Bridge, Wall Street, the Met and dozens of places in between. Yes, she’s still talking to me, and no, we didn’t see the whole city. But as we pushed through crowds, ran through turnstiles, up and down stairs, and jumped off too-high curbs, I was constantly reminded how bloody hard it is to get around. When it rains, literal lakes can form at intersections and indoor waterfalls have been seen at subway stations.

There are elevators at a number of subway stops, but I don’t trust that they work, so never use them. Unlike D.C. there are few escalators inside stations and while we do have a ton of taxis, Ubers and other rideshares, this just isn’t a city created for cars, which is what I love most about New York. I do see differently abled people, yet most of them seem to be locals who have figured out how to get around.

My body has changed while living here. It’s not just weight loss, which I’ve had since leaving Portland, but it’s gotten stronger and more flexible thanks to the hours of Pilates, Barre, Dance and now Boxing** classes that I’ve been taking. I’ve never identified as particularly athletic, I think thanks to childhood malnutrition, my coordination has always been lousy, but I’ve always done some sort of physical activity (horse riding, vaulting, ballet, downhill skiing, and taekwondo) as a kid and sporadic classes (Zumba, NIA, Jazzercise) or personal training as an adult. But here I have a membership to the JCC just two blocks away and have been piling on the classes, sometimes two a day, not only because they’re fun, but as I get older all I want to do is feel strong and be able to MOVE. One of the things that Andy and I have realized after living here is that we’re glad we could do it while we can still get around because existing here can feel like a full-contact sport. Not everyone barrels down the sidewalk like a possessed bowling ball, but most New Yorkers think nothing of walking 20 blocks to get somewhere.

There’s huge room for improvement for granting more accessibility at subway stations, (which have just faced a huge set-back, thanks to the Governor nixing congestion pricing for cars coming into the city—the fees were supposed to help pay for upgrades to the city’s transportation system) and while distances are what they are, life here is lived on the streets.

*Are the streets really mean? According to recent statistics, violent crime in the US has gone down 15%. So with any luck, the meanest thing you’d encounter here is a muttering 50-something Korean swearing at the tourists insisting on walking 3 abreast, with their arms linked, creating a literal barrier across a narrow sidewalk plugging up traffic. Can you blame me?

**I am loving boxing because where else is it socially acceptable to punch other people or a bag and channel aggression in a healthy way, (see above). Plus, my instructor is adorable, and he has a sick playlist.