identity

It is strange to perceive myself running on the Academy track outside, or to catch a glimpse of myself in the left-hand mirror while I pound the treadmill – minute after minute, mile after mile, hanging in there. I am clad in Nike sportswear (color coordination was crucial at the moment of purchase), I wear running shoes, my legs are tanned. This girl looks outdoorsy, you think fitness when you look at her, she’s running.

I know it’s me, but I never was this way – athletic, outdoorsy, running, into fitness. Never was this way, beyond the occasional high-school camping trip in the mountains, beyond a few swimming strokes in the Black Sea on summer vacations.

I never saw myself this way, biting hard on the task of conquering miles.

But at the same time – disconcertingly – it’s me. When I'm running I feel more real than while working, making dinner, even driving the car. I feel this is me, the real me, running.