After a lengthy career in high school track and field, it took me years to repair my relationship with my body and start running recreationally. I replaced my old mindset – that I needed to run fast and beautifully at any cost – with one wherein I could run at any pace I wanted for however long felt good. This has been a godsend in my adult years, until yesterday, when I experienced true horror: Someone said they saw me run.
Stop! Look away! This is for me! It’s for me, goddamnit!
When I arrived at work yesterday morning, the coworker who lives around the corner from me gleefully told me that she had “seen me running up a hill” but didn’t interrupt because it looked like I was “really going at it.” This is obviously code for “appeared to be actively approaching death.”
What the fuck? You’re not supposed to see me run unless I see you first, so I can make a point of going a little bit faster and looking like I’m putting in no effort at all!
The reality is that I run slow as fuck, and I look like I am in a ton of physical pain. I run like I’m on hour five of fleeing a killer in a horror movie, just all slow steps and maximum effort. My back is hunched, my feet protrude at weird angles, and I sound like an undead squeaky toy.
Even the thought of someone seeing me run to catch the bus brings extreme embarrassment, but having someone see me run on purpose? For a distance? I would rather die. Too bad it’s too late for that now!
While it’s great to cultivate a healthy relationship with my body and exercise, no one was supposed to see me cultivate a healthy relationship with my body and exercise. It’s embarrassing! It’s passé! No one should see me sweaty at all except the ghost who lives in my closet (don’t ask).
Now, I have to continue to face my coworker day-in and day-out, all while knowing that she knows what I look like when I run. How is she supposed to maintain a working relationship with me now? How will she ever respect me again (not to assume that she respected me to begin with)?
I’ve decided there’s only one course of action that makes sense: I have to kill her. There can be no witnesses to my beautiful self-love journey. Wish me luck!
