It's 7:30, 15 minutes on the bus, 30 minutes on the train, I should be to work by 8:15, just in time for the morning meeting.

Okay. Deep breath. I must get to the crosstown bus by exactly 7:45 or I'll have to walk over to the D line on 125th Street. The bus will get me there at least a few minutes faster. Walking up Seventh Avenue towards 125th Street, I see the bus pulling into my stop. Running, I make it to the corner, only to be stopped by the oncoming traffic. I stare at the light, willing it to change. No luck. The line of people trooping on the bus one by one, swiping their cards or searching for change, gives me a few extra minutes to get myself across the street. Another deep breath. I take the risk. Zig-zaging between cars like Pac-Man across the crowded street my life is saved only by the fact that several cars are waiting in line to make left turns. Finally I make it to the other side. Running to the bus stop a few feet away from the corner, I feel my bag and flailing arms bumping into people. I become aware of an odd a twinge of guilt from some human part of my conscience; however, the subway rider in me has taken control and any sense of sympathy for the victims of my rush towards the bus is taken over by annoyance that someone was in my way in the first place. I reach the doors just as the bus driver draws them to a close. I bang on the door and then hold my breath until I hear that familiar sigh of the doors reopening to let me on. Still panting from the run, I stumble up the bus stairs and fumble for my metro card as the driver rolls her eyes, closes the doors, and pulls off.

Today, like any other weekday at 7:40 am, there are no seats to be had. While the crowd on the bus is the usual diverse mix workers, there is one element that is unique to this particular time of day: school children. I can always expect to sit through the dissonant tones of school bus chatter as middle schoolers take public transportation to public and private schools throughout the city. For a second my timing angst melts away as I reminisce on my own middle school days when the bus ride was a social situation, when everything from where you sat to who you sat with and what you were wearing were all- important, the bus's destination being a distant thought. Unfortunately those days have past and I am jolted back to the present as the bus jerks to a stop. A new group of children file onto the bus. Although there is clearly a plethora of space in the back, everyone seems to be clustered around the front as if, like me, they plan to bolt off the bus as soon as it creaks to a stop. The bus driver makes several annoyed announcements asking people to move to the back, but the most anyone does is shift their weight from one foot to the other. Frustrated, she asks the children who are left standing in front of the white line to hold on and then pulls off shaking her head.

All of this has delayed the take-off time for the bus and I spend the ride to the next stop wondering if it would have been faster if I had walked. As the bus pulls up to my stop I get up preparing to get off as soon as the doors open; I need to make up the time lost by not sitting near the back door which would have let me off closer to the subway entrance. Beginning the bob and weave motion that I have perfected over the past few months, I duck and scuttle around people who obviously have more time to get to work than I do. I rush up to the turnstile and swipe. "Please swipe your card again at this turnstile." Damn. I can see people starting to walk up from the platform. After two swipes I finally get the go ahead to rush through and make a dash for the stairwell leading towards the downtown platform. Awkwardly clopping down the stairs in my work shoes, I bend my head to see which train is at the station. I can just make out the orange curve of the D train sign. Perfect. If only I can make it down in time to get it. Just as my feet hit the platform ground the subway doors shut. I run to the train and stand there looking back and forth hoping that the conductor will see me and reopen the doors. No luck. Instead, the train heaves and begins to chug out of the station. Deflated, my shoulders sag. I can't believe I missed it, I could have left sooner, maybe I should have walked, if only those people had moved to the back of the bus. All of these thoughts run through my head as I make it to my usual position on the platform. At least I can be in the right place when the next train comes.

The platform begins to rumble and I hear some woman announce something barely intelligible about a train approaching the platform. I peer nervously down the tunnel hoping it's another D. I can see the light and try to determine whether the train is coming down the express or local track. The rumbling becomes slightly stronger in my left ear. It must be a local line. A few seconds later the B train pulls into the station. Another crucial decision: do I play it safe and take the B, a longer ride, or do I chance it and wait for another D train that may take up to 20 minutes to come? My mind flashes to thoughts of a friend's New Year's resolution to leave early and avoid what she termed "express train anxiety." I unfortunately had yet to develop such a policy and was left with a few seconds to make a decision. The D was too risky. I step onto the B just as the train doors begin to close.

I immediately walk to the opposite side of the train and turn to face the platform so I can see if the D train passes. The train pulls off and for the first time all morning I begin to relax. Looking around I notice that there are actually seats on this train. I sit down and lay my bag at my side with a sense of joy. There is no one to squeeze in between, no sitting on the edge of the seat, no worry about sitting on anyone's coat or someone stepping on my toes, no standing with my feet open shifting my weight with the train preying not to fall because I refuse to hold onto the handrails. I take out Sunday's paper, open it and leave it at nose level so I can periodically glance up to see if the D train has passed us by.

Around 81ststreet I hear rumbling on the track. No train is passing by and I turn my eyes back to my paper thinking it must be a train on another platform. A few seconds later the rumbling becomes louder and I shift my eyes back up just in time to catch a stream of silver and yellow flying by the subway car window. Staring as hard as I can, I finally get the confirmation I was dreading: the orange circle flies by letting me know that I made a mistake. Shit. The last car of the D train flies by as the B pulls into yet another station.

I hate mistakes on my morning ride. Everything should be perfectly timed and now something had gone wrong. Deep breath. I was only a few stops away from the 59th Street stop; I wouldn't be too far off schedule. Too impatient to read, I wait at each stop for everyone to file in, for the doors to slowly draw to a close, and for the train to sit a few seconds more than necessary before the train pulls off. By the time we reach 59th Street the D is gone.

After the train pulls out of 59th street I get up and wait by the door. I need to be the first one out of the door at the Seventh Avenue station to beat the crowds down to the E train platform. Slow-movers had caused me to miss this crucial connection one too many times. The doors open and I immediately step out beginning my fast paced walk towards the stairwell. I always make sure to get on the car that opens right in front of the stairs so that little time is wasted trying to get down to the platform. Shuffling down the stairs, I peer down to see if there is a train at the platform. Nothing. I continue down the stairs and make my way, along with several others, to the end of the platform. While at the other stations I often feel as if I am the only one with a plan, by the time I get to the Seventh Avenue station almost everyone is on the same page. We all ready ourselves to board the last car on the train. Once I have reached my position I have a few extra moments to breathe. I'm in position; all I have to do is wait. Checking my watch it is now 8:05. Ten minutes to make it to my building. There is only one stop before mine so if the train were here right now I would definitely make it in time. The train is not here. Nervously tapping my foot, I peer down the tunnel into darkness. I try to pull my paper out to read but can't concentrate. Glancing at my watch, I begin to pace back and forth between the platform edge and my place behind the orange line.

Finally I see the lights. A few seconds later the E train pulls into the station. Everyone crowds around the doors waiting impatiently as a few people push their way through the crowded car to the doorway. Finally we board. Everyone pushes their way in, shoving themselves on top of one another. I hold my purse above my head in order to fit myself into a tiny crevice between a man and a woman. When the car seems like it cannot possibly take another body and the doors begin to close, a man comes running up. Stopping the door with his hands he wriggles and squeezes his body into the last inches of space between the crowd and the doors. Everyone rolls their eyes and looks. He is shot daggers from everyone but no one dares to say anything, knowing they would do the same. The doors make two or three failed attempts at closing until we all suck in one last time allowing them to shut. The train sighs as if it can feel the pressure of its extra load as it strains to pull us out of the station.

On the train, no one talks and no one is able to move. The usual slips and stumbles that happen in sync with the jerks and shakes of the train are now prevented; there is no room for slips, no space to stumble. All of our bodies just mesh together and sway with the rhythm of the train. I have someone's hair in my nose. Turning my head away, I observe the others on the train. Everyone is looking in different directions. Some read the subway ads while others observe their fellow riders, each with different expressions of exasperation, amusement, fatigue, and some with no expression at all. One or two people will get on or off at the next stop, but for the most part the final destination is 53rd and Lexington Avenue. Everyone is facing the far door. We all know the routine. After we pass 5th Avenue and a few people get off the train, there is more room to shift around. I try to position myself as close to the door as possible.

The doors pause for a few seconds before opening onto the Lexington Avenue platform. There is a rush for the door. I see a small man standing in front, one of the few people who is not getting off. He tries to stand in the doorway but the force of the crowd is too much and he steps out of the car after several shoves and more than one nasty comment about moving out of someone's way. By the time I am out of the door the line leading up the escalator is already long. Having taken this ride for almost a year I know what to do. I cut around to the front of the line and manage to squeeze myself into the space right before people get onto the escalator and follow the line of people walking up the escalator stairs without looking back. I glance at my watch. 8:27. Close enough.

As I go through the turnstile, out of the subway and back into daylight, I try to straighten my jacket and collect myself before I walk in the building. As soon as I step into marble lobby I start to smile and say good morning to the doorman. I am human again. Until tonight.