Short story | Eating disorder | Running
Running was not a choice
Military school taught me I should run
--
I'm running up the street. It looks kind of quiet today. Maybe it's because of the time — 7:30 in the morning is not known to be a very busy time in this city. Nor was it a busy time in my home town, which was much smaller than this one.
Every time I exhale, my breath looks like a smoke. "I like that", I think, immediately focusing on how beautiful the smoke looks, trying to imagine how far it would go without condensing with the heavy winter air.
Our squad is probably in its fourth kilometer or so. Just a few minutes ago I almost couldn't move due to my set of frozen joints, but now, look at me: I feel nothing. Not a thing.
"I'm getting so much better", I praise myself as I realize how anesthetized I am from running. That's the goal. To completely ignore every feeling, every sensation, and every desire, and just run. Following the plan. The Sergeant's plan.
I still don't understand why we're running in such poor conditions, or at all, for that matter. Cold weather, light clothing, and with no particular objective, since the High School Military Olympic Games is over for a month now, but I stopped asking dumb questions weeks ago — Sergeant's suggestion. Now I just run.
The running practice ends the same way it always does: we get scolded for a random reason, like that one time I got shouted at because my blood pressure was low and, apparently, I shouldn't have let that happen. Or that time Mariana was sent to the Lieutenant's office (with a male Lieutenant, may I add) because she had menstrual cramps and couldn’t keep up with the squad’ pace.
I'm so numb I can't feel my hands. I look at them while Hugo is getting scolded for something I don't really care about, and wiggle my fingers to see if they're still functioning. They're purple. "My favorite color", I think, sarcastically.
The hallway to the changing rooms is my least favorite part of the school. It's always dark, even with the lights on, and it smells like the basement from my childhood house, which was filled with all sorts of creatures you shouldn't dare to imagine.
It's a 30 second walk from the school hall to the girl's dressing room, 40 if you're tired (and no one's watching). I have this voice inside my head that always awakens when I'm walking through the hallway. "Only two years, three months and 4 days left", she says.
"Yup", I answer. Only two years…
My body recovers its senses: it's freaking cold! I need to put my uniform back on, quick! I run to my locker, take all my clothes out and sit on the floor, since all the benches are full of other girls’ clothes. As I untie my shoelaces, I hear Laura D. talking to Sandy "…and I hate how round my waist looks. So I started this diet where I eat jello for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and I have lost so much weight!"
"Don't you feel hungry!?" Sandy naturally asks.
"Amateurs", I think. I have done that diet like… two years ago? Plus, of course you feel hungry. What a dumb question. "It really is effective, though…" I look at my belly. "Maybe I should try it again".
"I mean, you don't need any diet, you're naturally skinny", Laura D. says to Sandy. "Well, I actually am very mindful of my food choices", she replies with sympathy. What a sweet girl. I really like Sandy, though she's too innocent. She's actually kind of ethereal. And she looks good: tall, skinny and her hair is blonde. The boys at school have no interest in her, but none of us try to look skinny because of them. We do it because… we're supposed to. Right?
I undress quickly, and as I’m buttoning up my shirt, which is now covering my cold sweat, I hear a faded sound, coming from the boys' changing room: "she's hot, I'd totally bang her" followed by "Yeah, and I heard she's a slut. Redheads, am I right?". My body, fully recovered from the anesthetic effects of the run, is now shaking.
They are talking about me.
"Terra, sweetie, you're shivering!" Sandy approaches, picks up my socks from the floor and slides them into my hand. "Is everything okay?" I look at her, my eyes full of contained tears, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just cold…" She gives me a smile that says I understand you don't want to talk now, so I'll leave you alone, and walks away. I really like her.
I need to focus. I have a test in less than five minutes. It's time to get methodical: socks, skirt, boots, beret, jacket. Oh, and a quick look at page 55.
I'm reading page 55 but my reading gets mixed up with the conversation I just heard. Someone heard that about me. About ME! And now my stomach hurts, and I feel like I'm gonna throw up. What I need is to run. I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! But I can't… There are 2 more years left. And… three months till the summer. Plus, stupid three days till the weekend. F*ck.
I take a deep breath and remember there is one thing I actually can do right now: pretend that I don't care. I'm really good at it, a natural — I dare to say. So I go to my classroom, where I find the owners of the voices I heard, starring at me with disgusting smiles tearing their faces open, like monsters.
It doesn't matter.
I ace the test, as usual.
It doesn't do anything to me. I care for nothing.
My body feels numb again. Good.
I put my agenda on my lap, so that the teacher doesn't see it, and open it on today's page:
Tuesday
- chemistry homework;
I grab my pen, which is the only thing allowed on the desk till every student finishes their test, and add two more items to my list:
- buy jello;
- run 5 km.
