The Early Bird Gets the Taxi

     I was all thrown off yesterday.  It all started off wrong when Rembrandt, our youngest dog, moved around like he wanted to start his day, and Edward rousted me out of bed to assist him in walking the three dogs.  Since we were in the city, we couldn't just open the door and let them out.  An actual leash, with me attached to Rembrandt, was required. 
     Bleary eyed and looking like crap, I made my way through the lobby, dragged by a dog.  As the doorman opened the door, he commented, "You're up nice and early."
     That was my first clue that it wasn't really 7 a.m., or even 6.
      Note to Edward:  when you tell time, pay attention to the little hand on the clock as well as the big one.    You may think you know the hour, but you might be wrong -- really, really wrong.  And Edward, trust me, you don't ever want to make that mistake again.
      Many, many hours later, at 1 p.m., we met Cheeks-A-Flying (CAF) and his lovely wife, the Queen of Jurisprudence, Mommy, to take a cab over to see "Good People," a new play by David Lindsay-Abaire about Margie, from South Boston, a struggling, single mother of an adult handicapped daughter, who, after many years, meets her high school boyfriend Mike, a doctor who escaped Southie.
      I loved the play, but CAF, who slept through the first act and seemed to be dozing in the second one, had a number of serious criticisms.  While I didn't agree with all of them, the more I thought about his critique the more I came to see that his points were meaningful and well considered.
      Could CAF do his best thinking asleep?
      There is further evidence to support this theory.  Back in his youth, when CAF attended law school, he worked full-time at night and went to law school full-time during the day.  Understandably, he was always sleep deprived.  Mommy and CAF attended a class together, which is how they met.  She sat in the back and he in the front.  He invariably slept through class with his head down on the desk.  However, the professor commonly peppered the class with questions and would call on people randomly by name.  When CAF was asked a question, he would wake from his slumber, provide the correct the response, and go right back to sleep.      
      Mommy was so impressed, she married him.  What a love affair!
      After the play was over, the four of us attempted to get a cab back uptown.  Since lots of shows were letting out at the same time, it wasn't exactly easy, but CAF spied an empty available taxi down the street and told me to run for it.
      Despite the fact that I had on my new Robert Clergerie sandals that I bought on sale at Neiman Marcus, I sprinted, yelling, "Taxi, taxi, taxi." The taxi as well as traffic for three blocks stopped dead still in response to my shrieking.
      We all piled in and everyone thanked CAF for finding the cab.  Really?  Who was it who ran for it?  Who shrieked for it?  Would we have that cab if it weren't for me, me, me?
       CAF, once a variety of food items was cleared from the passenger seat, joined Mr. Sharma, the cab driver, up front while the three of us got in the back.  Mr. Sharma, a 76 year old from a small village outside of New Delhi, told us a little about himself.  He had been driving a cab for many years.  He raised two sons in the United States.  One became a doctor and another a CPA.  He never gave up land he inherited in India and always stayed in contact with the village.  Most importantly, he wanted to do something to help the people of his village, and he realized that what they needed was a school for girls.  While boys attended school for free, girls did not have that opportunity, so Mr. Sharma took it upon himself to send money back to set up and sustain a free girls school on the land that he owned.
       Over time, Mr. Sharma was able to obtain additional donations, which he attracted through articles that have been written about him, including a long piece in the New York Times.  Additionally, there was a documentary on PBS that told his story and even a movie, entitled "Good Sharma," starring Joan Allen.  He was also awarded an honorary Ph.D. from Mt. Holyoke.
        Upon emerging from the taxi, after CAF paid the fare and but offered nothing for the school, some of us in the cab thought the story was untrue. 
        One of us went on Google to find out everything Mr. Sharma said was true.
        My day was right again.

Barnie at the Zoo: She's no Sloth

      Now, if you've been keeping up with this blog, and who doesn't, you know that a very important event occurred yesterday.  That's right.  Friday was the Royal Wedding, which ended in time for the Bronx Zoo's 5k Run for the Wild on Saturday, in which I was an enthusiastic participant.
      I bumped into Athena, a fellow runner, the Thursday before the race and she informed me that it was necessary to get to the zoo close to 7 a.m., when registration opened, or else risk starting the race -- which began at at 8:30 -- at the back of the pack.  So though I didn't want to wake at the ungodly hour of 5:45 a.m., I did so for the sake of penguins, for whom we were racing to raise money to save them from extinction.
      Though Edward had no plan of rising at that hour, the alarm blaring shocked me into consciousness and caused me to knock everything off the bedside table, thus creating chaos and commotion.  Edward had no choice but to get up and give me the sendoff I deserved.
      So after stopping at the local Dunkin' Donuts for a small coffee to go along with my toast (I really wanted a large but didn't want to have to pee), I was on my way.
      I think I arrived at 7:02, which I thought would gain me primo parking.  But, no!  Those few of us who arrived early were directed to a lot called Asia Parking which I think might really have been located in Asia, it was so far away from the start line.  In fact, trams were provided to transport us early idiots to the race because we really couldn't be expected to walk there for fear we might get lost, like in Australia, or completely tired out.
      Though I had trained, I was shaking with nerves since this was my first race, and I worried I might make an idiot of myself and end up on someone's You Tube video. I headed to the tent to pick up my race bib.  I was handed #3036, a lovely number I thought, and proceeded to place the bib over my breasts instead of over my abdomen as others were doing.  Why give yourself more girth in that area when you can always use a bigger, loftier chest?
       Then the lovely Athena showed up at approximately 7:41:32, after parking next to the zoo exit and adjacent to the tent giving out the bibs.  She denied that she said I had to be at the event at 7 (liar) and pointed out that my bib was in the wrong place.  Oh, all right!  I moved the damn bib.  Now I risked having a large stomach in someone's You Tube video.
       At about 7:46:48, the runners were told to head to the start line for a stretch and Zumba (vigorous Latin dance).  Who the hell wants to do Zumba now?  But being the game, easy-going person I never am, I headed that way, which turned out to be a good move because now I was at the front of a pack that turned out to be over 6,000 people, if you included those participating in the walk that began 15 minutes after the run.
       Jean-Claudia, who got me into this mess to begin with, arrived with her lovely fiance, Mike, and they somehow elbowed their way through the crowd to join us.  She put on her electric orange head scarf (how does she manage to look so cute in such a thing?) and we started to warm up.
       Which was a good thing.  Because it was really, really, really cold.  I had left my jacket in the car, figuring that my tank and long-sleeved shirt would be sufficient, but now I was wishing that the car was not a train ride away so I could retrieve the jacket.  We stretched, danced, stretched again, and I felt a little better.
        Until the speeches started and went on and on and on and on.
        I yelled, "I need to dance!"  I said this only because I wanted to stay warm, not because I was insane, but Mike looked at Jean-Claudia with an expression that clearly communicated I was not on the guest list for the wedding.
        Finally, the race started, and I felt a sudden surge of exhilaration and adrenaline.  So, apparently, did a lot of other people, and there was a lot of jockeying for position.  I worried that I might be tripped, and I'd make a spectacular fall in the first few steps of the race.
       Somehow, I stayed vertical and averted yet another You Tube moment.  I found my stride.  When practicing, I absolutely hate running the first mile, but I practically floated and smiled as I progressed.
       Around a bend, there was a bunch of photographers, and I moved slightly away from the pack so that if someone wanted to take my picture, it was easy to do so.  Yes, that's # 3036.  Hey, this blog doesn't have the word Narcissism in it for nothing, folks. 
       Around about the 2-mile mark, I noticed that someone was holding a board with the name of the winner written on it.  The fact that I had more than a mile to go and someone had already won the race who knows how long ago didn't bother me at all (I'm sure he is not as smart or as nice as me).
       At the 3-mile mark, there was a group of runners who had already finished the race on either side of the course, cheering us on to the finish.  One guy had his face painted.  I wondered if he ran the race, drank water and ate a bagel, stopped to have his face painted and then came back out to the end of the course to do his cheering.
      Just how long was I taking to run this damn thing?
      I came around the bend and saw the timer.  I crossed the finish line.  The timer said 29:44.  A personal best.  I was so excited, I was teary.
      Where's a You Tube video when you need one?