(this is me jogging in Bali. I posed for corbis, too)Wow! So tonight I went jogging (don't feel ashamed of yourself. I don't do this often). I'm going to be honest, it was about 1:50 am when I went. It's not a safe time and it's really late, etc etc. I know all that. But I had just got done with round one of homework and after several computer cowlicks and other rat's nests in the head of hair that is my homework, I was really uptight and really, not in a good mood. (I don't do this often either, by the way). So I had to go jogging. And my body needed it anyway.
I trudged to my shoes, pulled on my shorts, grabbed my keys, my ID, and my iPOd, and set out on my fitness excursion.
So it wasn't the best run. As soon as I took two steps, my iPod died, for one. I was just getting in to Boston's "More than a Feeling" (you should try jogging to it: you can't help but air guitar that raging chorus) when it shut off, leaving me to hear the silent whoosh of stuffy night air past my slowly bobbing ears. I fit my keys in between my fingers like a claw (in case I get mugged) and took a turn down a new street toward the nicer and hopefully safer houses. It was one of those jogs where when you start, your body feels like Archie's old jalopy and it's just not going to make it. Things are falling off and its chugging like mad just to make 2 mph-that was me, but I told myself to just keep on keeping on-it'd get better. I'd reach that "runners' high" part where you just glide along (I've been there once or twice...) soon enough, I thought. Needless to say, that never happened. It was just a rough time the whole way physically, but luckily the night air smelled wonderful and I was privelaged to see the icy course of a huge shooting star! So it was all in all a rough jog but a great night. But you know, I did it. I needed to, I just went, and I did it.
This is my point then: Later on I was changing clothes and I looked down at my shorts in the process. Now I bought this swimsuit a long time ago because it was grey, nondescript, and covered my knees (I was a teenager, you know?) and they became my everything-physical-plus-occasional-swimming-suit. I didn't and don't now really care about the brand of them. They work, they were cheap and there. But lo and behold, they're Nikes! So looking down, sweat dripping from my face, my muscles burning with gratified aches, I saw that swoosh and felt in the club, the runners' club. You know the Nike's running commercials where the devoted runner is out there jogging, be it the apocalypse or rain or what have you-that's the way I felt. I felt like I was a part of that world. I had done it! I just did it! And I don't even care about owning a brand name but still the power of that swoosh really got me. I smiled to myself and felt quite proud and accomplished: I am a runner now (for tonight, I mean).
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