I didn’t cry when Emma hugged me goodbye, leaning against my mom’s car in my driveway, even though she did, eyelashes wet and tickley on my collarbone. I didn’t cry when Marie came over after work, bringing pizza and then taking apart my bed for me. She TOOK MY BED APART FOR ME. Do YOU have friends that do that after they’ve worked the dinner shift in a hot pizza place on a summer Tuesday night? Who even does that? Who are these people I know? She and my mom made fun of me for all the messy rooms they’ve each helped me clean, I said she would make a better daughter to my mom, she said her mom had always appreciated me coming over to eat ice cream in their basement. I didn’t cry when I realized I wasn’t going to get the chance to say goodbye to Ariel before I go. But it all built up and my voice finally watered and broke in the car on the way to my mom’s house when I said, “I’m going to miss you so much,” and she reached over under the pieces of my bed frame that were between us over the center console and touched the inside of my wrist comfortingly.
I promised Marie that I’d visit, and she promised that when I do we can go driving on Sauvie Island at night listening to A Hard Day’s Night. I gave Emma my favorite croptop and Ben some books and chocolate.
My iPod is loaded up with songs that I haven’t been able to listen to until lately because they remind me of certain Subway stops or certain walks home up Fulton Ave, and songs with New York in the title. My fun-colored nail polish is removed and dress code compliant. My suitcases are packed and unpacked and repacked with what my mother calls “an awful lot of clothes,” and I don’t think is really that much at all for 4 seasons of work, running, and going out clothes. I found my retainer under my bed. I am, as usual, terrified to fly and have both Caroline’s and Emma’s permission to daydrink in the airport even though my flight is at 7 am. In my purse is one book from Caroline and one from Eleanor. The keys to Eleanor’s apartment are on the Yellow Submarine keyring that Marie gave me, tucked safely in the side pocket. I’m sad and excited and scared. I’m ready. Are you ready?
Caroline and I are going to see each other tomorrow! and many many days afterwards, but we have every intention of continuing to write each other letters.
— Michael Ondaatje, ‘The Cat’s Table’
I mean, things are only embarrassing if you’re embarrassed, you know?
Ok, dudes, can we talk for a sec? Like, just you and me and the internet? Like, ok, I know I’ve been doing this semi-performative sassy “everyone’s the worst” cunty braless misandrist pre-spinster-aunt-aesthetic, like, THING, lately, but in all seriousness: let’s talk. STOP. I don’t owe you anything, and I *certainly* don’t owe you anything if we met in a bar one time and you decided I was not like anybody else. I don’t owe you prettiness, I don’t owe you humor and I absolutely completely 110 percent do not owe you any authentic vulnerable part of myself that I don’t voluntarily choose to offer. I have things. I have a life. I have friends and jobs and dates and great hair and a full, interesting, difficult personality, I don’t have time or ANY desire to make you feel satisfied that you’ve gotten to the intimacy level you want with the imaginary person you’ve made in your head and pasted onto me. When you become boring and/or demanding, I stop talking to you. Period. I. do. not. have. time. for. this. bullshit.
My new goal upon my move back to the city—and I’m about 40/60 kidding/not kidding on this—is to sleep with as many people who have been featured or mentioned in New York Magazine as possible, so far I’m at 2. Feeling good about it.
I am undeniably a complainer, but I like to think of myself as a complainer with, like, a certain joie de vivre. Like, you can tell I’m really happy to be alive and complaining about it.
Been thinking a lot lately about how putting yourself down is p rude to your friends and family, like, they think you’re great and you’re basically like, “Y’all are either liars or you’ve got terrible taste.”
I photograph so inconsistently. Whenever there’s a good photo of me, I have to pause everything and immediately update all my social medias.
dolmache said: hi:) I have a really vague, rambly question that is sort of about running but also possibly about nothing so this will probably take a few messages, I hope that is ok... I started getting fit in March; I did Insanity and since then I've been going to the gym (usually 6 days a week, but less often the last 2 weeks 'cause I've been overtraining, shock) doing roughly 35% cardio and 65% weights (I mainly do want to be big and strong, but also want to be fit enough to run things...). In May, just 1/4
after Insanity finished, I ran 7k (2 rly big hills, not v nice ground, ~52 minutes, v tired, hip sore (joint) all the way and a while (but not days) afterwards). Then this Sunday I ran 5k (better ground, flat, ~34 minutes, but was Race for Life charity event so SOSOSOSOSO many “runners” (actually WALKERS) that it was impossible to actually run for at least half). My hip was a little sore whilst running, but down the outside of my hips was sore for a good few days (muscle sore, not joint sore but I do have slightly dodgy hips I think anyway? They clunk/jerk/pop awkwardly and uncomfortably when I try to do things like knee to elbow in plank and generally like, raising my leg to the side things). My ultimate goal for cardio/running was 10k, but my mum (who used to run) says that half-marathons are really nice so I’m sort of considering that, but also, I hate running? Like, I want to do it, but it’s SO HARD and I don’t know how to even think about running that far and obviously my hips are broken or I’m doing it wrong and I’m (wrongly/irrationally) paranoid about focusing too much on cardio and then not being strong/big (emphasis on big because if I can’t be skinny (just not my body), then I have to be as big as possible blah blah issues blah), but ppl seem to get SO much out of running and it’s sort of something I want to do but then also wah Idk. I’m so sorry to just rant this at u, but do u have any ideas/advice/anything? How do you run far and like it
UGH, I’m so sorry that question was so long and like, even just reading it would take up significant time and like, I just don’t know what I want/who I am! Do I run? Is that a thing? Is it a thing I’m capable of? Is it a thing I WANT to be capable of? Do I want it for me, or so other people can be impressed by me? I have no idea of anything. xx
Hi ok all right, I’m going to try to talk about this without sounding like The Worst because I get it, I swear I do, I’m well aware that the world is very accepting of running as a life choice and less accepting of not-running as a life choice, and aware that I’m lucky to enjoy this world-acceptable life choice and have a body that supports it fairly well (even though my college cross country coach once said to me, even harsher in her thick Polish accent, “You are big girl, lots of impact on the ground, I’m surprised you are not injured more,” and she can suck a dick).
So anyways, background: I ran track and cross country for about five years, and I worked in a running store for two years, so I have a whole lot of anecdotal information and literally zero technical/academic information.
I started running when I was about 15, because I thought I was “getting fat” (I was 15 please forgive me for not knowing that a) it was actually “puberty” and b) there’s nothing wrong with it). So that’s why I started running! I hated it! But then I started to get faster, and that was really fun. And I joined the Track, and later Cross Country, teams and I felt like I was a part of something! I haven’t seen most of my teammates in years, but I still feel forever comfortable with them and linked with them, and being a part of that healthy affectionate fun community was an important factor in me learning to love running. I wanted to hang with these people, and they loved running, so I kept doing it and eventually learned to love it too. The same with the running store. I started working there when I was 17—my coworkers were between 20 and 60 years old—and I wanted to be In On It All. I also met A Guy, or for me so far in my life The Guy, there and we went running together and he was tall and skinny and ran like a whippet and I wanted to go running with him in Forest Park and ride in his car with him singing along with the radio on the way to get to runs, and be able to keep up, so I kept running.
So for a while, I enjoyed the actual running part. Not the ‘having run.’ I enjoyed running. I often don’t, anymore. I’m pretty out of shape and it doesn’t feel as effecient and pleasing to me as it used to. I continue running for three reasons: the ‘having run’ still feels GREAT, I hold on to the hope that one day I will get “back in shape”—whatever that means these days, and occasionally very very rarely when the weather’s right and I’m well hydrated and I ate juuuuust the right amount I enjoy the running itself again. I chase those moments. Literally and figuratively, I guess.
Also, I always used to say, “I run when I don’t feel like it, so that I can run when I do.” That is, some days I didn’t want to get out of bed and do my workout, but I did it so that when The Guy came to visit me once and I hugged him goodbye at 6 in the morning in a wet parking lot in Philadelphia, I could lace up my shoes and run through the now torrential downpour until I felt whole again, and when my Senora’s son died in Spain and I couldn’t stop crying and it was indecent, I could go racing down the cobblestone streets until I had to stop crying to breathe.
ANYWAYS, sorry, a lot of background. Just want to explain where I’m coming from because I’ve been told I can sound like kind of a dick when I talk about this. I think your question has a few parts. Firstly, NO you don’t have to run. You can. You absolutely can if it’s a thing you choose to want to do. You may have distance or pace or weight gain and/or loss limitations, we all have the bodies that we have, but it’s absolutely 100 percent a thing you can do. And there are a lot of reasons to want to do it. If you can eventually enjoy the actual running? AWESOME. v zen. If you decide that you enjoy the feeling of ‘having run’—whether the sweaty endorphins or the satisfaction of completing it or the mastery of your body and mind or WHATEVER—more than you dislike the actual running, cool, also good. But you are absolutely totally completely in all ways entitled to be like, fuck. this. Fuck running and fuck y’all for making me feel like I have to do it. You should exercise. It’s good for your body and mind, your physical emotional spritual intellectual wellbeing, for you to move your body in some kind of way with at least middling frequency. But there is no dictate on that way. Walk, bike, yoga, Zumba, regular not-Zumba dancing, those weird pole-dancing exercise classes, CrossFit—ugh don’t do CrossFit, rowing, jump-roping, surfing, skateboarding, just find some way of moving your body that doesn’t make you totally miserable, it doesn’t have to be running.
I mean ugh I’ve run so often to impress People but whatever don’t run to impress People don’t try to impress People at all People are The Worst. Ugh People can suck a dick, and you can tell People I said so.
So ok but let’s say you decide on running because it can definitely be a rewarding form of exercise, so let’s say you decide that’s a Thing You’re Gonna Do. I tend to think you’re right—although see above re: lack of actual qualifications—that if your pain after completing a run is muscle soreness and not joint pain then you’re probably ok. Listen to your body. Take a day or two off if you need to. I promise promise promise you can’t lose any important fitness in a day or two. Don’t follow any training plan that doesn’t allow for the occasional body-mandated day or two off (I would also not suggest ever running every day anyhow. It’s pretty hard on your body. All but the most elite runners—and sometimes even those guys—take at least a day off each week.) If you’re trying to decide on a distance to run, go with what you feel like you can and want to do. If running a half marathon is something you want to do, you can. But if it’s going to leave you in constant semi-pain, don’t just arbitrarily decide you’re not a Real Runner until you’ve run 13.1 miles. I think that People—fucking People again—tend to think of 5ks and even 10ks as little things and they aren’t they can totally be goals in and of themselves you never ever in your entire life have to run more than that and you’re still a runner. You don’t have to run further than 100 feet out your door every day, you’re still a runner.
Basically, I don’t know: DO you want to be a runner? Cause you totally don’t have to be a runner, or have to want to be a runner, but if you DO want to be a runner then you totally can! Please do keep an eye on your body pain, though, and if it gets bad talk to someone whose expertise doesn’t come from having pulled EACH hip flexor several times.
Also in terms of enjoyment: 2 things. 1)get fitted for moderately expensive running shoes, at a store that watches you run and makes recommendations. The shoes should not cost less than $90, I know how that sounds but the extra cost is for quality of the ingredients which provide you with shock absorption and gait correction. 2) Run outdoors/on unpaved trail as much as possible. It’s good for your mind—oh my god even when I was in shape I couldn’t do more than 2 miles on the treadmill without wanting to DIE—and anything that isn’t pavement is SO much easier on your body.
Anyways, that’s all a lot, far more than you could ever want to hear from me, I’m sure. But I hope you find something that makes you feel healthy and fulfilled and like a true, full inhabitant of your body. Also, fuck People. xoxo
— Sam Cooke
I’m pretty sure it’s “patty cake patty cake wit no hands, got me in this club making wedding plans,”
But I also like, “if I take pictures when you do your dance, I can make you famous on instagram,”
and, “Cadillac cadillac pop that trunk, let’s take a shot alley-oop that ‘donk,”
and, “hot damnit, your booty like two planets,” and “go ahead go ham sammich,”
and of course, “you know what to do with that big fat butt,”
and the conclusion, “damn baby, you got a bright future behind you.” I mean honestly that whole song is just a gleeful delight.
I also can’t stop singing, “Been around the world don’t speak the language, but your booty don’t need explaining,” at intervals.
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- We Lie the Most to Ourselves
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