I don’t really remember running.
I’m sure I did as a child, and was forced to during the annual fitness test, and for certain gym class activities.
But you know your brain can block out traumatic experiences, so I’m sure that’s what happened.
I always saw it as something only ‘skinny’ people could do, so why bother?
I walk at least an hour every day now and it never fails that I see at least one person running.
For a second, those old feelings hit me:
You can’t run.
You’ll never be able to run.
You’ll never have a runner’s body.
On and on they go.
Lies that I tell myself that I’ve collected over the years – I don’t even think half of the statements are true.
So, I called bullshit today.
I’ve known since last night that I was going to attempt to run today, so I stalled all day.
Around 5p, I was hitting the – yeah, I’m tired of working out every day, mood, y’know – good old self-sabotage.
Then I walked half a mile to the Elementary School behind my house – skinny women in sports bras, flat stomachs showing, everywhere on the track.
The Universe must hate me.
And then my feet hit the pavement, and something happened.
I ran.
I really believed that I couldn’t – wholeheartedly.
Like I really thought I’d make it about 5 steps and pass out. Roast in the Texas sun like a glazed honey ham – only to be found in the morning by a bird taking a shit.
I ran a total of .75 of a mile.
Something big happened.
Something shifted in me.
I thought of every time that I said NO to something because of my weight without even trying, but today I said YES to a future of trying.
I’m not a runner. Nor am I skinny. Nor do I have a runner’s body, whatever the fuck that is, but I ran today and felt alive.
–S.
The Messy Middle 🖤 