Your weathered Nike cross-trainers bounce off the broken concrete along a two-mile stretch of battered sidewalk. Your heart beats rapidly, you take deep breaths, and your legs churn hard as you race along vestiges of Miami's past and future. Old structures such as the Bacardi buildings hark back to a day when the boulevard was a desolate landscape. But farther south, gleaming glass condo towers such as 900 Biscayne Bay and 10 Museum Park herald Miami's new era. Shadowy silhouettes of homeless vagrants, drifters, and crack hoes have been replaced by 20-something hipsters dining at outdoor tables at Bin 18 and Bengal Modern Cuisine. You jog into the heart of downtown, past more shiny buildings, marveling at the number of units that remain unoccupied. You reach the foot of the Brickell Avenue Bridge, make a U-turn, and head back toward NE 36th Street. You make a brief pit stop at Mr. Lou's Food Store, a tiny market that has outlasted storefront churches, an IHOP, and the real estate crash, for more than two decades. Lou is not around anymore, but his son Junior still knows how to turn on that bodega charm. This is Miami, son, and after this jog, you feel like you own the city.