Something happened to me while I was running yesterday.

I went out yesterday evening for a quick run between work and my Thursday evening TV addiction. The weather was gorgeous, the river was beautiful, I was feeling good, and the stage was set for an amazing run.

Until. Until. Just slightly past my turnaround, I ran past a gaggle of teenage boys. They were in full force: baggy jeans, swaggers, pathetic attempts to look older than they were. Just as I ran past, one of them said, "And she's fat, too."

Here's the thing: I'm not entirely sure he was talking about me. But I was the only woman on the path, period. And it was said conspicuously loudly. And in my experience, teenage boys turn into rude bastards when they're with their friends. I turned, glared, and yelled some things that are inappropriate to be set into print.

Just as I was feeling slightly good about myself, along came this douchebag kid to ruin it for me.

How I look when I run.

I don't like to talk about body image stuff on this here blog. I like to talk about running. For some people, they go hand in hand. But they don't have to. Runners come in all shapes and sizes. And that's cool. Thing is, I used to come in a slightly smaller size. So maybe this is something I'm sensitive to.

I don't talk too much about the Bad Time, when I "got sick." I'm not afraid to talk about it - ask me a question in person, and I'll talk your head off. But basically, I was a normal, thin girl and an average runner who woke up one morning unable to breathe deeply. It took the doctors two years to figure out that I had most likely had a blood clot in my lung, and they only figured it out when I got a second one. That was two years of not being able to run because of pain.

How I feel like I look when I run.

Not being able to run - I mean it. At first I tried valiantly to maintain my fitness, but the pain was too intense. Soon, my weight crept up. By the time I moved to NYC, two blood clots later, I couldn't get out of the subway station near my house without taking a break midway up the steps to catch my breath. This was not for lack of trying. This was not because I lacked fitness. This was because HALF OF MY LUNG WAS DEAD FROM TWO CLOTS THAT TRIED TO KILL ME. So yeah, I gained weight. No, I'm not happy about it. I've lost a lot of the weight I gained, but I'm still sensitive about it. I'm not actively trying to lose weight, but I am trying to get back to the runner I was before. She was thinner... so I guess I sort of am actively trying to lose weight.

Every time I go running, I'm aware that I'm not the same person I was before. Every race I do, my slower times remind me that I'm not the same person I was before. Every night when I take my blood thinners, I know that my medical needs are different now. Every visit to the doctor (and I go at least three times a month) reminds me that my life is different. Not bad different - I'm alive and healthy. Just different.

I had to cut my run short, not because of the jackass kid, but because I had to get to the pharmacy before they closed. To get my medicine - you know, the one that keeps me alive. My hematologist says that if I stop taking my blood thinners, I'm at high risk for a third clot and - as he's told me with every visit - that one could very well kill me.

Do me a favor. If you want to comment on this post, don't bother telling me that I'm not fat or that you're sorry about the blood clots. Tell me that you won't let your kids, your friends, your family, your colleagues be assholes. (Or tell me to find a new color combination for running clothes, because that orange and purple is not working for me.)
____________
Now to end with something more pleasant: by the time you read this, I will most likely already be at the NYC Running Show. Check it out! Should be fun! Today and tomorrow! And, just for an added "how to stalk me" plug, I'm most likely going to be running the Easter Marathon (the half) on Sunday. Say hi if you see me. I'll be the fat one, evidently.