Free Running Like a Girl by Alexandra Heminsley

you seen what I can do now?” was all I ever wanted to reply.
    My perspective on exercise shifted. It was no longer about getting fit or reaching aesthetic perfection. Now I was enjoying the thrill of setting goals and sticking to them, of developing the kind of mental discipline only sports could inspire. I saw that competitiveness and sweat needn’t be unfeminine or aggressive qualities. They could be attractive.
    My goals and challenges weren’t all Pollyanna-ish either. I cherished the simple childlike glee of shoving on weird, bright stretchy clothes and going outside to leap around to loud music. I let my mind float off, pretending to be whichever rock star I was listening to, or imagining I was running from certain peril, or simply that I was winning a race I’d never entered. I chuckled inwardly as I wondered if passersby could see me nodding to a particularly juicy bass line. I felt my face soften as a song appeared on my playlist that had been sent to me as part of a flirtation. I grinned as a song that reminded me of a particularlyhigh-octane party appeared out of nowhere. I was getting little extra bursts of living out there with my music, the intensity of each emotion heightened by the fast pumping of my blood.
    My confidence, which in the past had been battered and bruised by romantic and career endeavors, felt as if it had been given emotional Botox. Boosted from within, it felt plumped up, more delicious than it had in years. Running around meant that I saw more people, my place in the world felt a little sturdier, everything felt a little less of a catastrophe and a bit more like the natural ebb and flow of life. It became harder to scuttle home from a bad meeting or an awkward date, head bowed over my phone or a magazine, then stay in and sulk for a weekend: There was a running plan to be dealt with. I couldn’t stay in, or marathon day would catch me out. Once I was out of the house, I felt my gaze shift outward again. A granny struggling with some shopping that I could help with, my arms stronger now. A couple squabbling on a park bench, reminding me that being in a couple wasn’t an automatic pass to happiness. And then the warmth of a bath and the sofa as a reward, rather than the fetidness of having been in one or the other for forty-eight hours.
    Running ceased to be about what others might see when they looked at me. It became about what I saw when I ran. I started to find the change in the seasons more interesting than the changes in my body. This weight was the heaviest I could have shed. I was no longer running to prove that I could finish a marathon, or to impress my dad, or to sound good on dates. I was using these runs to give me clarity and focus, to remind myself of what I was capable of, and to spur me on in all areas of my life. I felt unstoppable.
    Until one day I had to stop.

5
Injury
    Everyone who has run knows that its most important value is in removing tension and allowing release from whatever other cares the day may bring.
    â€”Jimmy Carter
    I knew it would be a cold January run when I set out from home to Hampstead Heath. I had on my new thermal leggings and a pair of gloves. After half an hour, I was coping pretty well. The tip of my nose was as ruddy as ever, but my eyes were not watering too much, and my feet were surprisingly warm. For reasons I didn’t fully understand, my hips were taking the full blast of the afternoon’s icy winds. Each stride felt more like a stinging slap than the last. It had happened once or twice before, but the winter had been long and cold, and I assumed that this was just a weak spot of mine.
    Stopping to cross the street, I tried lifting my heel up behind me and grabbing my foot to stretch out my hip flexors. I slapped the tops of my thighs on either side, trying to get the blood circulating, anything to warm up. It was no use; the pain was gettingworse. Eventually, I decided that I wouldn’t run as far as I had