I knew Wrigley Field was in the neighborhood when Ira told me about the vacant apartment in his building back in the mid-90's.
The baseball season doesn't start til next week.
Yet there was an unusual amount of traffic when I went outside this morning to find my car and drive to my home yoga studio.
It's the one time each week I practice with others -- and receive the occasional adjustment.
And yes, astanga police, it's on a SATURDAY.
But today, instead of empty streets, there was a lot of activity.
Traffic Management Authority minorities with neon yellow pinnies, flashlights and walkie-talkies were stationed at every intersection.
They seemed to be directing traffic away from the high school.
The streets were clogged.
I assumed there'd been a shooting.
After being diverted eight blocks (one mile) out of my way, I finally yelled out my window and asked one of TMAs directing traffic what the hell was going on.
Then I saw them, heading north on Ravenswood towards Irving Park Road.
Streams of white runners with numbers pinned onto their blue and white Cubs shirts.
Actually, they were more like joggers.
I looked for a way out.
A way to go around, and get to the yoga center.
There was none.
Because between the studio and me were hundreds of runners.
So I did what any law-abiding citizen would do.
I did a U-turn and headed back home.
On the way I saw many vehicles prowling, making U-turns, and honking in frustration.
As I drove I tried to come up with a plan.
It was drizzling and the radar had showed that more rain was coming. There was no way I was going to ride my bicycle -- even if I do have fenders and it's just ten blocks.
So I parked my car in the spot I'd just vacated.
I walked over to the nearest yellow-vested TMA and asked when the race is supposed to end.
When will this end?
"WHAT?" he yelled, and turned down his walkie-talkie.
WHEN DOES THIS END?
"I don't know," he shrugged.
So I went back up the three flights of stairs, said hello to the cat, and pulled out my mat.
Then I walked over the computer and started typing.
Now that's off my chest, I'm free to practice.
Photo by Caca, smapped while inside a moving train.