Running With Robin Williams

If you've ever lived in New York City, if you've ever been to Central Park, if you've ever seen When Harry Met Sally, you know it. You know that sense, that prayer, that any dream can come true, any problem fade away, in this tangle of woods and lawns and people of every shade and size, all bathed in the gauzy light of summer. That feeling that the twinkly lights of Tavern on the Green will cast a spell, insulating you from whatever weighs down your heart.

That magic was what I was seeking one Sunday afternoon.

After eighty hour work weeks for months on end, a run in the daylight was a luxury. I entered the park at 72^nd Street and Central Park West. Wandering through Strawberry Fields, among the familiar oaks, I headed for the drive closed to pedestrians on weekends. The waning afternoon sun cast a downy haze over the young lovers and families sharing the lawn in Sheep Meadow, and my feet felt like wings.

I turned south for a counterclockwise loop on a path I could have run with my eyes closed. After a few seconds, I sensed someone running on my left shoulder. Like any good city dweller, I didn't turn around to look - that would have required direct eye contact. Instead, I flashed a disinterested sideways glance. A hairy man. Clip clop, clip clop. His footfalls mirroring mine. I sped up and so did he. When I slowed again, he was right behind me like a leech.

Man! This guy smells awful!

And so it went. Clip clop, clip clop.

Rounding the southeast corner of the park, the man ran up even with me, but still we ran on in silence.

Unable to restrain myself any longer, I turned to see if he was some kind of weirdo, or if he was simply a runner in search of a rabbit.

And that is when I saw Robin Williams.

To avoid reacting in a hugely embarrassing, celebrity worshiping way, I bit my lip. But this was Robin Williams!

Just do what you can count on most. Keep running.

As we passed the Carousel and then the Boat House, Robin slowed, looking at the children, all cotton candy and smiles. And he smiled too. It was the kind of smile where your eyes crinkle and shine, where the corners of your mouth elevate as if pulled heavenward by a divine force.

We ran on. Clip clop, clip clop.

Finally, perhaps feeling as if we had shared something, like runners everywhere do every day - a few steps on a beautiful day in a beautiful place - I said “Mr. Williams, I love your work. You make me laugh.” I hadn't thought of what to say or how it would sound. It just came out.

He stopped and faced me. He didn't smile. He didn't crack a joke. He didn't do one of the outlandish physical comedic movements he would do to make us all believe he was other than himself.

“Thank you so much. That means so much to me,” he said.

“Wanna keep going?” he asked.

And so we did. At the bottom of the hill atop which sits a bronze sculpture of a panther at the edge of the Ramble, Robin said, “Damn, I hate this hill.”

“It's short,” I said. “Over before you know it.”

“I'm too damn old and slow for this hill.”

“No you're not. We'll just take it one step at a time.”

He nodded and then, as fast as he turned from man to Mork, took off, sprinting up the hill, legs like pistons. At the top, he raised his arms skyward, parading around like Rocky, even singing the theme song from the movie at the top of his lungs.

I bolted up after him. “You snaked me! You sandbagger!”

I laughed so hard I got hiccups. Robin clapped me on the back before putting both hands on his knees, head bent over to catch his breath.

“I get off here, at 79^th,” he said, as I rubbed the tears from my eyes. “Thanks for the run.”

And when I looked up he was gone.