04.03.20 | 10:42 pm

"i'm going for a run," i told you. "it's cold out. i probably won't last long."

but once my feet hit the pavement, once the music was in my ears, once the cold air was filling my lungs, everything felt possible.

four miles. thirty-eight minutes. a nine and a half minute average pace per mile. all much better than normal, all better than i can normally do.

i only stopped when it started raining, drizzling slightly, the sky a deep gray.


thinking about it now, it reminds me of when i was in college, a sophomore, or maybe a junior, and i was in my first real short story writing class. and i wrote a story where a girl broke off her engagement (that was foreshadowing for my own life, of course) and the end of the story is simply her, by herself, on a run.

after he read a bit of the end out loud, the professor turned to me and said, "you're a runner, aren't you?"

and i smiled, shyly, and nodded my head.

it was the first time i felt validated for something i enjoyed physically doing, something i enjoyed doing with my body.

this man saw in my words how i felt when i moved in this way, and he saw it as truth.


once, when matt and i were together and were around a few of my friends (in kentucky, i think, back home), i was telling the group about how i was running at the time.

"well, it's not really running, is it?" matt said.

"what do you mean?"

"well... you're slow. you jog. you don't run. it's not actually running."

i remember feeling my face go red, being slightly taken aback, but quickly recovering and moving through the conversation.

but it felt like: look at your body. you aren't a runner. this isn't a runner's body. that isn't what you do.


i am allowed to move my body in the ways that feel good.


i am also allowed to feel the things i am feeling.

i told a friend yesterday, "well, he told me in december that he didn't want anything romantic, so it's fine." and my friend said, "tia, it's march now. you've both talked to each other nearly every day for two months."

but i like the idea of having this in my back pocket, knowing my own feelings, and deciding it doesn't have to be serious. this doesn't have to be something worth dwelling on.

i can enjoy the feeling. i can let it roll off my back.

i wanted to tell you about the run once i got into my apartment. i wanted you to see what i'm capable of.

but i didn't. we talked about cholula hot sauce, ghost busters, english phrases.

it's good, what we have. for now, it's good.

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