6:56 p.m. - Saturday, Oct. 20, 2012
Story #19
The fog rolling in over the Hudson made it nearly impossible to see anything from the top of the Tappan Zee Bridge. They call it the Golden Gate of the East. Due to the high number of jumpers. I wonder what it must be like to be hanging over the edge . . .deciding to just let go. Maybe fear, maybe freedom, maybe regret . . .who knows.
I was bound for Sleepy Hollow. They have an annual 10k every year around Halloween. Runners follow the route the Headless Horseman chased Ichabod Crane. I've run in a few 5ks, but never a 10k. I know I can run the distance, but there's something about the pressure of a race that puts my stomach in knots. What if . . .
I had to remind myself to enjoy the run. To look around me. To just be in the experience. There's a challenge to not compare yourself to other runners. I need a t-shirt for races that says, "Back of the Pack and Proud."
There's something about running that opens the heart. They had a cruel hill at the end of the race . . .all the way to the finish line. I pushed up the hill and when I crossed the finish - five minutes faster than my goal, I started to hyperventilate. I was already breathing heavily from the climb, and then the emotion of having just run 6.4 miles up and down the hills of Sleepy Hollow was overwhelming. I gasped for air as my eyes filled with tears. I was on the brink of having an emotional breakdown right there on the finish line. How can a heart be more open than that? How can a person with an open heart function on a daily basis? One of the volunteers who had seen me out on the course, climbing a similarly daunting hill - came over and shook my hand. I held onto it. A connection. Brought me back to my senses.
They took me out for lunch after the race. Making comments about my boyfriend. That he's losing it. That he's irresponsible. That he's blah blah blah. They aren't really comments about him. They are comments about me. Poking and poking and poking. "That's enough," I said, finally. When I say "finally" - I mean it took me 20 years to say, "That's enough."
I didn't speak again until we were in the car. Then I gave a speech about respect. They apologized. Part of me felt like I was finally speaking the truth. I was a chronic liar. I don't know that I ever told the truth to anyone. I don't know that I even knew what the truth was myself. But I guess once you start telling people the truth, you can't stop.
Another part of me felt guilty. Like they had every reason to question my judgment, given my track record. Like I was being disrespectful . . .or hurtful. I exhaled the guilt and drove home.
It's amazing how a person can love and hate their body at the same time. This body runs. Long distances. This body bends and twists and balances. This body is 70 pounds lighter, and counting. But looking at pictures from the race . . .all I can see is the fat, distorted arms and legs . . .the fucking chubby face . . .I can't take it. I can't take it, I can't take it. After all this. The fast, the yoga, the running, the veganism. She's still here. Not. good. enough.
"That's enough."
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