Running over George

A few weeks ago, a co-worker mentioned that he and his daughter walked over the George Washington Bridge. It occurred to me that I had been living within 30 miles of this huge, iconic river crossing for 20 years and I had never thought to run over it.

I immediately began planning that weekend's 19-mile run to include the bridge.

After exploring a few options that involved crossing the bridge at the beginning and end of the run or crossing after running a few miles in each state, I decided to to the bulk of the run in New Jersey and cross the bridge at the midway point.

Part of the reason for this was that Hudson Drive along the Palisades seemed enticing. Though open to cars, my research showed that it was used heavily by runners and cyclists, as it offered access to parks, trails and picnic grounds. And the fact that it starts way up over the Rockland County, N.Y., border and continues all the way down to Edgewater, it offered an excellent straight line to the bridge.

What I had not expected were the long, huge hills. The whole nine miles from my starting point in Alpine all the way to the bridge was nothing but a series of rolling hills. At no point was there any flat ground. In fact, it seemed at first that the first half was much more uphill than downhill. "Good," I thought, "I will have more downhill in the second half when I need it."

The constant pushing up the hills, the blazing sun and the 80-degree heat had already taken a toll on me when I got to the bridge. But once I hauled myself up the huge hill leading up to it in Fort Lee, I got a second wind from the excitement.

On the giant span's pedestrian lane, I encountered walkers, cyclists, and other runners. It gets pretty narrow in spots and it can be a little scary because the fence is not that high and the water is a long way down. No wonder people commit suicide from up there. It is just so darn accessible for anyone who wants to do so. Getting close to that fence to let cyclists pass gave me a bit of vertigo.

But what an exhilirating experience and a fantastic view!

As I approached Manhattan, I got caught in a bottleneck of cyclists as the path narrowed to allow only one person at a time to exit onto the street. After only a few blocks, I turned around and headed back over, this time facing the stalled traffic coming into Manhattan and feeling a little more comfortable being away from that rail.

Once off the bridge, the excitement quickly began to wear off, and there were still about nine miles to go.

I had no markers and no stopwatch, but I figure it was about the 12th mile when things started to get bad. It was also around that time that I realized I was not getting the downhills I had been expecting. How the hell could this road be uphill BOTH WAYS?

I crested hill after agonizing hill as the two-hour mark came and went. By that point, I figure I was doing an 8+ pace. By the time I got close to the Alpine area, I was trudging along at what had to be 9:00 or slower.

By the end, it had been about two hours and 32 minutes, an 8:02 pace. The sun had been unrelenting and the temperature was well into the 80s. I tried to do a slow cooldown jog that ended up being little more than a pained shuffle. I walked a little, then felt dizzy. And then the urge to vomit. Dehydration. Heat stroke could have been next.

Though I did not puke, I had to sit on a bench for a while before attempting to drive home. When I finally got home and out of my car, I felt so dizzy, I almost fell over. I plopped onto my bed and passed out for an hour.

I guess I picked a tough route and a bad day (and time) to do it.