When I signed up for the Seattle Hell Run this summer, it was the first time I ever considered running as a form of exercise. Up until that point, running had been my only tool if I was about to miss the bus and I needed to gallop my way in front of seven million pound moving vehicle so it stops and I get to work on time.
But running as exercise was always intimidating, something I felt was beyond my skillset. I would look like a lumbering grizzly bear on its hind legs, trying to figure out what incline to set the treadmill to but I can’t get the setting right because I only have big bear claws and wow, this quickly turned a stupid and confusing analogy.
I run at night because the gym is mostly empty, the after-work crowd is gone. There are no women in the locker room taking up the entire bench with the contents of their bags, oblivious that other people might need any space. Because there are fewer people in the locker room, I don’t have to witness women doing all their primping while naked or poking their heads out of the shower to ask me to get them many, many towels.
I’m a little over three pounds away from my goal weight, the number I decided upon back on January 1. It feels like these last pounds are the most stubborn. They stick and cling to me even though I run so much that my heaving scares everyone on the treadmills in my row.
But I’ve lost enough weight that this weekend I was able to wear this Halloween devil costume pulled together with a Charlotte Russe skirt, vinyl corset, and sheer hope that no one snicker that since I wasn’t in hell at the moment, there must be so much room there. Here you go with a requisite bathroom shot: