Improvised maracas

Have you ever run with a bottle of pills stuffed down the back of your sports bra? I have.

 I know how that sounds like I've joined the cast of "Breaking Bad." I haven't.

It's New Yorker improvisation. You see it a lot here: A guy with a full-size ficus tree strapped to his back on the train. A lady with her plastic Target bags knotted at the top and slung over the shoulder like a hobo bag. A musician strumming a guitar, keeping time with cymbals latched to his knees.

I'm one of these improvisers. But it doesn't usually work so well for me. One time I was moving apartments probably the fifth time out of 8 when I needed to move a small cabinet with wheels. My back was already laden with bags, so I decided to push the cabinet ahead of me with one hand down the street. This worked for a block and half. Then the first wheel clunked off.

And then the second.

By the next block I was wheel-less and laughing my head off at my misfortune. It was right there on Fulton Mall, people walked past probably wondering why anyone would pile all of her worldly goods on her back and expect such a cheap set of Tupperware-esque drawers to stay wheeled.

But I have to say, I've gotten better at this stuff. I once carried three full-size kitchen chairs home from Columbus Circle. I sat on one in the subway and thought I looked very smart staring at the tourists like, "What? You forgot to bring your own seating? Amateurs!"

So I thought pills wouldn't be too tough to deal with. My pharmacy couldn't take my prescription card information over the phone, so I had to stop at the pharmacy, give them my card, and then, running short on time because of all of their checking that I was actually due the benefit that I had the card for, had to rush off to the park to run. My migraine pills were coming with me. With no bag, I was kind of in a tight spot, but I'd figure something out.

And I did. Down my back the bottle went. I felt a little illegal, but it was all legally prescribed, so I promptly forgot about it. I usually walk briskly to start my workout. I forgot about the prescription, and the fact that I probably looked like I had some kind of bulbous growth on my spine, and got into the zone of sweet workout pain.

I decided to start running by taking a hill.

I turned around, looking for the man with the maracas. No one was there.  Then I remembered. I improvise.

The pills shaking in their little bottle actually turned out to be a comforting tune that helped me keep tabs on my breathing. Shake, shake, shake. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Shake, shake, shake. Breathe. Breathe Breathe. I ended up running almost a full 5K complete with a momentous hill that any Prospect Park runner knows and dreads, pills shaking audibly the whole way. I imagine the people passing me (without headphones) thought I was a nutter transporting prescription drugs across the park. Or, if I'm being generous, I thought they thought I was trying out some new runner gadgetry that helped me manage my stride. 

To keep up the facade of the last idea, I looked intense and kept on sweating. Improvisation.