A symptom of obesophobia(the fear of being fat) less talked about, from a sufferer’s thoughts. Sometimes it’s not the media that sets an unachievable benchmark for beauty, it’s people themselves.
I could start my story by describing the reddish-pink sunset, or the hint of the crescent already visible in the evening sky. I could describe the sleepy calls of the unnamed birds flying around, and the slow lull in the air that draws your brain to thoughts of a warm dinner and an undisturbed night. I could draw your attention to the dogs and puppies I ran past, straining against their leashes and begging to be released. I can make you smile, with descriptions of lovers exchanging stolen glances and kisses stolen.
But that’s not what this is about, no – the surroundings are never of immediate concern. On hindsight, if I had took a little more notice, maybe I should have learn appreciation and contentment a little earlier, and realise how many beautiful things I’m missing out. As my heart and feet pound, one against my chest and another against the pavement, all I am aware of are the beats of my inner music, acting as metronome to each breathe and every step.
Fat. Pound.
Me in the mirror. Pound.
Extra luggage. Pound.
Muffins top. Pound.
My round face. Pound.
Jiggly bits. Pound.
Gap between the thighs. Pound.
My less-than-perfect arms. Pound.
Skinny girls. Pound.
Me in bikini alternating between looking fat or gorgeous. Pound pound pound pound pound.
And the cycle go on. Images of my less-than-perfect body, and my ideal image, provides a metronome that pace my running. Running becomes a way of achieving dreams and each pound moves me a step closer to my ideal body. It was all good. Running is my best friend, and the “ideal” my lover. I turn to my best friend ever so often, seeking advice to please my lover. I kept them side-by-side with me, 24/7, till it very nearly becomes an obsession. It eventually did.
No, I did not stop eating, despite how it seems like the natural way to go. Nearly anyone obsessed with their weight goes that path but no, I love my three proper meals, despite everything. There is just this insatiable need to exercise till my legs give way. The feel of my entire burning from overworking it, the feeling that I felt feverish enough to melt the fats away – that gave me the “high” I need to run and push myself even further. And so I persevere, wearing out my hips, toning up my whole leg. I will run any chance I have, just run and run and run and run.
Heyhey! That’s a good tribute to running. Good use of words. Surely though, there is some tone of pessimism. On being a piece on obsession, the writing sure sounds obsessive, and excessive. It reads like a never-ending thing, like how someone would just run non-stop. And the number of things that flashes across your head when you run. Just so true huh? Keep writing! 
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