Usually I go running by myself and sometimes I go running with K. Usually when I tell people I go running looks of disbelief befall their faces. Women ask me if it is safe to run alone in Glenwood. Until this week I have always answered, "Yes it is, I have been running in Glenwood for 15 years and nothing bad has ever happened to me." I say, "sometimes if it is dark and I need to run, I take my dog, Lucky." I say, "my sister-in-law usually runs with a fork." And we all laugh, ha ha ha ha ha.
I tell them the story about when a man decided to run with me for some of the way, and although I was initially suspicious and not keen, there was nothing I could really do about it. I was actually grateful because when we got around a corner we faced a crowd of people seeming angry and singing Umshini wami. But no one brought them any machine guns, and the man eventually found my pace slow, and said goodbye lady, see you later.
I tell them that when I have got into bad situations where I have been scared of men, it has been of men that I know, and that the statistics support this. I tell them I have demons in my head and running helps me fight them. I seem to have a malfunctioning hippocampus, I say, that needs to be regulated. I am confused about what I am thinking quite a bit of the time.
I tell them about my forefathers and mothers most of whom were not strangers to institutions for the insane, or who have walked into the mountains forever, shot themselves, died of broken hearts. We must be careful in my family, and not neglect to run. You will find the same thing in your own families. You should run. Sometimes I need to be so tired in the day after running that I don't think about bad things, like Brexit. Sometimes its like the relief of putting your hand inside boiling water to get perspective when you feel you have done much more washing up and making school lunches than anyone else in the whole world.
When I run with K, we have the best time. We run faster because K has Long Legs. We tell each other things that we don't ever tell anyone else. Our secret crushes, our mistakes, our elaborate plans to save ourselves in the end. And we talk about how we are not ever afraid running around Glenwood.
We wonder together whether we are running in order to have better bodies and thinner thighs and wedding day arms and whether we are doing this for ourselves or for the ones that look at us. I tell K that she is a goddess and I wish I was her. She tells me about her aunts and cousins and friends and how they always notice if you have lost or gained 500g. I tell her that I am always in two minds about looking pretty, that even a necklace makes me feels too showy. She says, come on Jess, be more showy, be more flaunty. I would love to, I say, but I have reservations.
This week on my run, I stopped, because I was tired. Stupidly I stopped just where there was a man. And he called me over to tell me something which I could not hear. Stupidly I moved closer. Stupidly I was polite. Suddenly I was in a bad situation. I didn't have K, I didn't have a fork. I didn't have a dog. I pushed this man away with all my might and then I ran as fast as I could.
We went to watch the African Championships Athletics this weekend, to see the runners qualifying for the Olympics. I saw these incredible women sprinting their legs off. I saw Caster Semenye get three gold medals. I thought, I want to be like them. I want Caster's legs and the forearms of a shotputter. If I was them, I thought, there is no way I would ever have to stop on a run around Glenwood. There is no way anyone would ever catch me. I would have no boobs left, and lose my softness, but that would be a bonus. I give up the dream of less thigh and skinny wedding day arms, now I want more. More Muscles. 1000 lunges an hour and the hugest legs ever, to run and kick and stamp with. I wouldn't need a fork or a dog. Run even more, I reckon, do lots of squats.