Typically, I'll run an out-and-back hugging the Hudson River, a meandering and flat route with million-dollar views of Manhattan's skyline. But last night, I felt a need for a lift, literally. So three miles into my run, I made a sharp left turn and climbed a rather ominous 150-foot-high hill to the top of the cliff-like overlook on the edge of West New York. Completely engrossed in my run (and still recovering from the climb), I continued to keep my eyes trained in front of me. But suddenly, I felt the urge to peer to my left. And this is what I saw:
|A fireball over midtown Manhattan. 7/25/12|
It was at that very moment that the sun began its final descent beyond the horizon. I reached for my phone, snapped the shot, and ran along. No more than 45 seconds later, I looked over my shoulder and the fiery sun had slipped out of view, leaving only a dazzling golden light in its wake. I ran home feeling lighter, refreshed, my mind disposed of the clutter I'd been carting around all day.
After five years of living on this side of the city, I have yet to be anything but awed by its panorama. And it's these moments--these fleeting images of the day turning into night--that inspire me, take my breath away, and keep me motivated to keep chasing those sunsets.