My feet pounded on the pavement to the beats of Lily Allen as I rounded the curve into Cambridge, a wave of euphoria washing over me at the sight of the glowing Royal Sonesta sign. I grinned to myself; it was good to be back. I would miss the rush of adventure and infinite possibilities that constantly filled my head in Singapore, but for now, there were no thoughts. Just the river breeze streaming through my hair and city lights dancing across the midnight water. And easy running. Distracted by my self-absorbing content, I missed the hard left and ended up running towards Kendall Square instead of back down Memorial Drive. Bummer, this was going to cut down my mileage significantly. Hypotenusely, actually. Wish that was an adverb but I guess it would only be useful in distance situations. But metaphorical distance situations too…
I considered turning back to take the adjacent and opposite legs of the triangle-route. I rather needed it; Singapore had done awful things to my appetite. Namely, I had grown accustomed to overeating. Food was cheap, and anyway, how many opportunities was I going to get in this lifetime to eat stingray? And chili crab? And mee goreng? Besides, even though I was most likely consuming upwards of 3000 calories a day, I was probably sweating off at least 200 or so just standing around in the heat, right? That’s how the justifications went in my head.
The endless flashbacks of all the beautiful food I had gorged on in the past 3 months weighed me down, and the spring in my step bated as running became a chore again. Screw turning back–I was already on Main Street, might as well just head home. I could see the familiar “projects” growing bigger as my lead limbs clunked along. The cluster of low brick buildings wasn’t really “the projects” per se, but it was government-subsidized housing, and relative to the rest of Main Street, the sketchiest block. I liked the projects, for no particular reason other than they were a landmark reminding me where I lived.
I jogged past a tired mother pushing a stroller alongside an older girl of maybe 8 or 9, who skipped blithely in synch. As I easily surpassed the stroller, a black bullet shot out from behind me, streaking down the sidewalk. The girl’s braids flopped haphazardly in the wind, the plastic of her colorful barrettes knocking against each other. Ha. She was racing me. I kept my pace steady, knowing my longer legs would outstrip her once she could no longer sprint with abandon. As I came even with her, I looked down, and she grinned at me happily, not in the least concerned that she was losing, her arms flailing about without rhythm in perfect childlike form. I laughed. She wasn’t running to compete with me. She didn’t run to get somewhere faster, or to lose those extra winter pounds so she could feel comfortable with her naked body during sex with her boyfriend. She ran to be free. To have fun, and maybe play with a stranger.
I glanced over my shoulder, and saw her waiting on the sidewalk for her mother, bouncing up and down impatiently. She swiveled to look at me one last time, and I waved, silently thanking her for the reminder.
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