It’s time to put on my muddy New Balance shoes and get out there. But maybe I should wait until it gets a little darker outside. Then no one will see me. I hate being seen while running. I am so self-conscious. But if no one sees me, I might get hit by a car speeding out of a driveway. I can wear a neon shirt, but that would negate the point of running in the dark in the first place. Maybe I’ll just wait until seven; dark but not too dark.

I am a curvy girl and like to feel comfortable when I run. So I run in my skinny clothes. My skinny clothes are the clothes that make me feel skinny while all my body-fat is flying around. There are three pairs of Nike shorts that are no too tight on my waist. In these shorts, if I need to take my shirt off (so as not to pass out from heat stroke), I don’t feel like the whole world is seeing a muffin. I have 4 sports bras in which I feel sufficiently supported. In fact, I’ve been known to wear them two at a time. And I have many men’s white V-neck undershirts. I like the white because it doesn't show sweat, and I like the v- neck because I don’t feel claustrophobic. After I have finally put on all my clothes, I have to jog in front of a mirror to make sure nothing that shouldn't move is moving.

I stretch to Beyoncé’s Halo. I like to run with music. Music distracts me and I don’t even notice how hard I’m working. It actually helps me enjoy the torture to which I am subjecting myself.

The last thing I have to do before heading outside is to make sure my neighbors are not outside. I like to avoid human contact at all times when I run (unless it is at cross country practice). Seeing people I know while out running inevitably leads to their kind, “Hi,” being followed by my sad, tired, breathless attempt to respond.

The warm-up for my runs is always the worst part. It’s like trying to get into cold water. Once I’m all the way in, it’s not bad, but slipping into the water one body part at a time is torture. But after the first five minutes, my pace is timed with the beat of the song and I am sweating. My thoughts even begin to wander.

I wonder what I look like. Do I look impressive? (“Wow, look at her stride!) Do people look at me and feel sympathy? (“Poor girl, look how her thighs smack against one another.) I hope I look impressive.

I feel a little hot. My ankles hurt. I might need to take a break. I didn't eat healthy enough today. I went to bed too late last night. School wore me out. Maybe I should stop. Yes, stopping is good. I’m too fat. I’ll just do this tomorrow. Keep going.

I love this feeling of my heart racing. I love the twinge of pain I feel with every step. I love the way my face turns into a tomato. I love the way my stomach sloshes around. I love the way that I smell. Not so much.

I’m a bank robber who is running from the police. I’m Lolo Jones. I’m Maximum Ride from James Patterson’s books, flying really fast. I’m Katniss from the Hunger Games rushing to save Pita. I’m Hannah K. and I’m really tired.