DAY 79: RUN…

CW: Weight loss, shitty relationships

When he went all quiet and sulky on me for three hours, and I begged and pleaded and cried at him to tell me what was wrong, what I had done, what could I do, he eventually told me that he thought I was getting too fat. So then after I cried and sobbed a whole lot more and told him I would do better that I would change for him* then I stopped eating meals and instead I started walking a lot more then that walk turned into a jog and then that jog became a run and well that was how I became a runner.

And I ran and ran and ran, every morning and every night. Before work, after work, lunchtimes and in the weekends. I fed my eternal hunger pangs with laps around the park. I dealt with my feelings of hurt, insecurity and fears by stomping at them under my feet. And with every kilometre I ran I felt like I lost a kilogram and got inched closer to his undying love and approval.

I was never a fast, lithe, or elegant runner. Every step was a clunky pounding on the pavement. My knees hurt. My back hurt. I was not a natural in any way shape or form, but what I lacked in skill I made up for in an inclination towards obsessive compulsive behaviours.

So I ran and I ran and I ran and then one blistering hot morning in January I ran an entire half marathon.

And he was there, waiting for me, as I limped across the finish line with my busted, swollen, knee. Me, the last across the line by a good twenty minutes.

He hugged my bony body tight and told me he was proud of me.

In eight years that was first time and last time that he ever said that.

In the car on the way home, I ate a single green dinosaur lolly, and promptly vomited.

He never asked if I was okay.


* OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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