I weigh a lot more than most people think I should. It’s been this way for a very long time. For years, and sometimes still, I thought that meant I couldn’t do things, lots of normal things.
No dating, no being successful, no being loved, no loving myself, no caring about myself, no having needs, no complaining about a world that values thin, no talking about food, no trying new things, no asserting myself, no confidence having, no trying out new fashions, no loving my body, no, no, no, no.
Yet there is a world of things I want to reach out and grab to take for myself and own and conquer and love.
And so I run. I run because I have legs that work and shoes that fit and a dog that loves it. I run because some genius made a Couch to 5k app for my iPhone and it’s the best thing ever. I run because there is something magical about being outside in the sun or rain or snow with my own soundtrack. I run because when I said I wanted to people said I should run on grass or check with my doctor because I might damage my knees (wait, thin people don’t have knee problems?). I run because it’s good for me. I run because I love my body and myself. I run because crossing the finish line at my first 5k was one of the best feelings in the world. I run because life is too short to care if my jiggling bits will offend someone. I run because I am strong and fierce. I run because not to do so would say to the oppressors of the world that their truth is Truth. I run because I have a story to tell. I run because I have my own Truth. I run because life is beautiful and so am I.