So I (and have said so previously on what once were unequivical terms) hate running. So it is a mystery to me why I have started — and in the morning, too: a time of day reserved for runners whose legs look like they have run all their lives, who are unafraid of the dark pre-dawn pavement shadows, and who eat health sports bars religiously post-workout. (See powerbar, Lunabar, & clifBar.) And/or drink exclusive water which was ordained by St. Augustus himself and, since untouched by man, is now sold to you for a mere $1.69 in only every Whole Foods nationwide. None of this is characterized by me of course.. except I do drink Fiji. For some reason it DOES taste better.. Anyway.
Here’s my route: I leave my apartment around 5 or 6 in the morning, and somehow via the hills at UCLA manage to run/walk for a little over or under an hour. I don’t even know where the time goes. Today (this morning) was only my second time and I am not even that tired. I don’t know why I run yet. I didn’t get struck in a rainstorm and come to an epiphany to be healthier.
The first time I did it I was almost hungover on too much food and I couldn’t sleep at night, thanks to the billion calories of fat which were practically ju-jit-su-ing in my body, probably. Somehow in my crazy state at five I laced up a pair of sneakers (the ones I bought because they were on sale) and went out. Good thing I was clothed. The sky was this violent cloudy thing that felt like smog turned gorgeous: something you’d never know if you wake up after even 7 or 8. I was on the track during this one period and I saw the stadium lights before they were lit up against the fog. It felt like this giant still machine which didn’t move and never would. As though it would hover forever, like a giant (totally metal and electrically-powered) tree: I don’t know, but I fell in love with it, or something.
Today I went around the school and then did a mile around the track. I was never a fast runner when I was a kid. I was one of those slow kids whose “good” time would be around 9-10 minutes and “okay” time was around 11-12 minutes. Anyone who runs like it’s their business knows that those times SUCK. Which as a word deserves to be capitalized. I think I’ve gotten faster, but only marginally. Maybe I will chip away at it if I run more. I’m not fat: but I’m not tiny either. I’m one of those girls who probably wouldn’t put on weight THAT easily if she didn’t like to eat so much. Somehow at the gym I always end up feeling rather obese; I know this isn’t even remotely true. But running in the dark I somehow didn’t even think that. Maybe because I couldn’t even see anyone else to compare with; maybe because I couldn’t even see my own damn soles.
But UCLA really is damn beautiful. The photo doesn’t do it justice at all. I remember when I was applying for colleges; this was my back-up. All my other ones were Ivy’s or liberals on the east coast (read: UChicago) and I almost did go there, UChi that is — LOVE the Windy City. But due to reasons like finance (private v. public) and distance (I lived in the Bay Area, so SoCal was closer than the middle of the midlands) I ended up in Los Angeles. Of course I groomed myself to hate it. I almost did hate my first year: I put on weight, I failed some classes, I seeminly discovered a previously undetected proportion of people whose character could only be described mildly as “stupid”, etc. But I really couldn’t hate the campus. I think the college sometimes gets a bad rep among students for being Abercrombie and Fitch-like, but I think you’ll get that everywhere, especially because everwhere is the location of that naked A&F. Underneath, at six in the morning, it really is stunning. You forget you’re some number who’s struggling to stay awake in a lecture of 400. You’ll remember that you actually own part of this world.
(Metaphorically speaking. I mean.. you actually own nothing.)
I think I’ll go again sometime. Next time I hope it rains. That way I can expand my metaphor. Into what I guess I’ve got time to find out.
