I ran today. Not a long, five mile, sweat inducing run, no, I ran to the mailbox. How many years has it been since I last ran?
A life of worry, worrying parts of me were going to jiggle that I preferred to be still, worried that people would look and laugh, there goes the fat girl, her chubby legs hardly making any time. The fat girl, how dare she participate in physical activity?
But as I stretched out my arms wallflower and Spier style, letting the air bellow through my extra large blue jean jacket, mom said to get the mail.
I took off.
I've missed the cold air shooting down my throat, filling my lungs, freezing my chest instantly. My legs, though large, hitting the ground, carrying me to my plus size freedom. I've missed the ache in my legs, I revel in the sharp pain assaulting my ankle, oh how I've missed running.
I didn't run far, just to the mailbox. Then back, and got into my car,
And wrote a poem, about how I ran.
This poem is about:
Need to talk?
If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741