There has been some viral posts, mean post and stuff on the web but I saw this in bed this morning and it seriously got to me. I, heart of steel, shed a wee tear. Maybe cause it cuts close to home and it could be me running. I am so so dam slow. It's only week two and I am pretty sure I could walk faster than I run. The running style in this describes me to a tee. Saying that however something about it inspired me to keep at it. Running again tomorrow with my ever patient husband who inspires me and boots my ass out the door.
“To the fatty running on the Westview track this afternoon:
You, whose feet barely lift off the ground as you trudge around the track. You, who keeps to the outside lane, footslogging in the wrong direction. You, who stops for water breaks every lap, and who would probably stop twice a lap if there were bleachers on both sides. You, whose gaze drops to your feet every time we pass. You, whose sweat drenches your body after you leave, completing only a single, 20-minute mile.
There’s something you should know: You f**ing rock.
“Every shallow step you take, you carry the weight of more than two of me, clinging to your bones, begging to be shaken off. Each lap you run, you’re paying off the debt of another midnight snack, another desser, another beer. It’s 20 degrees outside, but you haven’t let that stop your regimen. This isn’t your first day out here, and it certainly won’t be your last. You’ve started a journey that lasts a lifetime, and you’ve started it at least 12 days before your New Year’s resolution kicks in. You run without music, and I can only imagine the mantras running through your mind as you heave your ever-shrinking mass around the next lap. Let’s go, feet. Shut up, legs. F**k off, fat. If you’d only look up from your feet the next time we pass, you’d see my gaze has no condescension in it.
“I have nothing but respect for you. You’ve got this.”
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