I went into a depression. My mind and my body were living a double life. I was truthful on the inside, but now the way I presented myself on the outside wasn't honestly who I was.
My mother had been a marathon runner, and had always urged me to make running a part of my life. Then, I had laughed. I had told her drowning myself in so much physical pain was not going to be beneficial. Besides, I was lazy, and jiggled my thighs for emphasis. She'd ask about track. She'd use the manipulating tactic and complement me on my speed, and sigh wishing I'd use my potential. I'd argued against running in circles on a cement track with not a tree in sight, and she knew never in my rightful mind would I commit to such an antimyself sport.
Now alone, I searched for my new foundation. I talked to Ronny about it. Ronny was a cross country star, who ran track to stay in shape. He's the type of person who kind of appears in one's life gradually, and is always there, without a ripple as if he'd always been.
His arm around my shoulder, I was welcomed into the track family. I made track my overanalyzing-free zone, and it became the only place I could forget my guilt and smile. I liked the burning sensation in my calves, I felt closer to my mother. I liked running with all those poeple, and bursting free from them in the last minute because I always had one more strong streak up my sleave. I liked the closeness I felt towards everyone, and feeling a part of something that meant something to me.
And so I took away my self time, and replaced it with competeing. I began developing the mind set of being better than someone made me superior, and began comparing myself to other people. Then suddenly I didn't have enough contraining black clothes, and the only sane part that would see my downward spiral hide behind those aweful glasses that pretended nothing was wrong.
I spent more time with Jake, squeezing myself into more and more contraining black clothes, and working off the stress by pounding my new unenviornmental track spikes into the ground. I ran past the point where my vision was blurry, past the aches that shot up and down my shins and snapped through my sides, because I would not loose. I would not give up.
I made myself promise, no matter the pain, I would never show it. More make up, more fake smiles, and all the while I thought i was doing Ok. I hadn't said a single lie.