I Own the Greenway

My biggest problems with physical fitness always stemmed from automobiles - I ride my bike, I almost get run down on my own street. People yell, throw soda cans and generally try to make your ride miserable, even if you stay within those rare bicycle lanes.

Running bore the same problem. You've got a little more leeway, but not enough to be carefree. It led me into a rut, where I just sank into my recliner and didn't dare to take on the streets. Crossing them was too dangerous a venture.

Then I wised up, and took to the Cumberland Greenway 2-3 days a week after work. Instead of worrying about cars zipping through red lights and stop signs as if crosswalks didn't exist, taking the car out of the workout equation was overdue.

The routine is almost too simple - I change my clothes at work, I drop them off in my trunk, then motor away under my own power for four to six miles. In effect, I trade rush hour for running.

Now, at worst I cross paths with a half-dozen walkers, occasional runners, two stoners burning through an after-work joint the occasional runner and the one yuppie doofus couple rollerblading behind one of those giant bubble strollers I adore. In two months of running there, that's my tally for humanity. People just don't use it, although many who don't swear a small homeless camp sits just beyond the abandoned railroad tracks. I've yet to see anyone I'd peg as homeless.

The only annoyance comes from strong crosswinds, barges churning up the river, and a new set of dull pains radiating from my left knee.

Even if I limp to the finish, ownership of the greenway is not in question.