Margaret Felice

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Blood, memories and shame (I can keep running)

September 3, 2012 · Filed Under: running, training ·

I never look behind me when I’m racing.

I made that promise to myself during my first half-marathon. Chubby, un-athletic, and clad in bulky winter clothes that didn’t do me any favors, I was terrified to come in last. All I wanted to do was check and see if there was anyone behind me. But I knew that was giving in to insecurity, making my run about them and not me. So I never look behind. I just keep running.

Some days I feel tough when I run. Some days the old embarrassment comes back and I hate myself, hate how hard this is with every footfall.

Today, a holiday, sunny and not too warm, was the perfect day for everyone to dust off their trendy running shoes and zip around the waterfront, passing me in their tiny coordinated outfits as I lumber on. Where were these people all summer? They’re probably the type that can just roll out of bed and run a 7-minute mile, I think.

Cut to a memory of my mother, telling me as I voiced my envy of the girls who were graceful on the basketball court “don’t worry, I bet those girls can’t sing a note.”

They’ve passed me. They’re out of sight. I comfort myself by imagining that they are only running a few miles today. I’m running over eight. Next week farther, and farther, and then another half-marathon, my yearly ritual of spiting this body that never quite did what I wanted it to.  They may pass me, but I can keep running. Even if I can’t catch them, I can keep running.

So I do. I run through the crowds to a quieter part of my path. There is shade and the sidewalk changes from a harsh concrete to softer asphalt, for which my knees are grateful. Pop music is blaring into my ears and my mind is lost in a daydream.

Suddenly the pavement is rushing toward me. I grunt an expletive before I hit the ground. I instinctively prop myself up on the heels of my hands and let out another cry. Even for a connoisseur of falling like myself, this one hurts. I can’t do the “clumsy-girl-who-laughs-and-gets-up” routine, so I roll over onto my back and bring my knees toward my face. I inspect the knee that recently made forceful contact with the ground. It’s mildly skinned, and my tights are torn.

I sit up. I have ruined everything again. My palms are shredded and crusted with gravel, leaving me with a poor imitation of stigmata. I’m about as far as I’m going to get from home today, and rather than running I am crying on the ground, embarrassed, hurting, and frustrating.

Standing reveals that my knee didn’t twist or otherwise lose its function. I can keep running.

Tears are streaming down my face, blood is pooling in my hands. I can keep running. The sprinklers are on at the JFK Library so I dash up on the grass and rinse my hands, but nothing is rinsing off because they’ve been skinned so badly.

I can keep running. At a remoter part of the waterfront there are no other runners, just a few people fishing. I try not to look at my hands. I’m remembering grade school, and failing at everything in gym class. I’m remembering high school, insisting on trying different sports while my coaches and teachers marveled at the apparent ease with which I humiliated myself. I’m remembering college, and all of the girls are so skinny and so are their moms and they dress so nicely and I all I can adorn myself with is shame.

Just like the women who run with ease, I’m not running from, I’m running past. My clumsy, awkward steps take me past memory, past shame. Tears and sweat are indistinguishable, and all the things I can’t change and can’t undo are lost in the reality of what I can do. I can keep running.

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10 Comments

Comments

  1. Jen says

    September 3, 2012 at 2:50 pm

    Aww. 🙁 Road rash frigging hurts, too. How’re you doing now?

    Reply
  2. Alison Simons (@alisonsimons) says

    September 3, 2012 at 3:36 pm

    Oh my goodness… thought I would never have come up with the stigmata analogy myself, I can totally understand where you are coming from. I hope you recover quickly!!

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. 7 quick takes, volume 9 | Felice mi fa says:
    September 7, 2012 at 1:23 pm

    […] shredding my palms Monday, I knew I’d be taking a chance trying to do yoga this week, but I toughed it out. […]

    Reply
  2. 7 Quick Takes, volume 19: Thankfulness edition | Felice mi fa says:
    November 23, 2012 at 6:33 am

    […] am grateful too for running! Running keeps me sane, challenges me, keeps me from weighing a billion pounds (see above), and gives me something to do on Thanksgiving […]

    Reply
  3. Why I Run: My guest post for Jennifer Luitwieler | Felice mi fa says:
    January 29, 2013 at 10:23 am

    […] if one post isn’t enough , you can read more about how poorly I run in bloody detail from a few months […]

    Reply
  4. Seven ways I’ve been fueling myself in 2013 | Felice mi fa says:
    May 31, 2013 at 5:54 am

    […] for many years, I only added yoga to my regimen in the last few years. I have written so much about how good it makes me feel to push myself in this way that I can’t even think of what I should say here about it. If you are not a regular […]

    Reply
  5. My first run back | Felice mi fa says:
    July 24, 2013 at 8:24 am

    […] The route I chose was a familiar one to me, down the quiet roads near my parents house. It’s a modest 3.25 miles I often “ran” long before I could call myself a runner, when I would shuffle off with my crappy sneakers and walkman cassette player and envy those people for whom it all came more easily. […]

    Reply
  6. Body and Soul | Felice mi fa says:
    August 15, 2013 at 5:14 am

    […] me delight as well as nourishment. That athletic exertion is renewing, even for someone like me who struggled with athleticism her whole life. And that smiling across a kitchen table at a workout partner while refueling with […]

    Reply
  7. 7 not-so-quick Hartford Half-Marathons | Felice mi fa says:
    October 11, 2013 at 5:51 am

    […] year the training was grueling, and included a mighty spill the likes of which I hadn’t had in years. The day before the race I was feeling symptoms and could […]

    Reply
  8. What no one tells you about pain says:
    October 10, 2014 at 5:17 am

    […] was the start: a truly miserable race that somehow made me want to do more. I continued running almost against my will. After that I started running the Hartford Half Marathon, which I would run each subsequent year. […]

    Reply

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