These Boots Were Made for Walkin’

Filed under funner times on the bus, it's fun to be fat, why i'm better than everyone else

I do not run for things. Like, physically. This is perhaps the reason why the gym doesn’t work out for me. I would much, much rather be late to something than to hurry myself, to rush across the street on a flashing Don’t Walk sign to catch a fleeting bus or to plow down some station stairs to catch a train sitting with its doors open for an extra second. I think people who run for things look stupid. I hate people who are too eager. I hate people who care about things too much when they’re things I don’t care about.

Yet last Friday morning, I found myself turning the corner onto 42nd Street, seeing the bus waiting at the stop, noticing there was still a long line of people waiting to get on, and actually breaking out in a run. I have no idea why. I was running late, but why would I care about running late? Maybe it’s that I knew I would be getting to the stop just as the bus was pulling away and that everyone on the bus would know I had meant to get on it and that that would be more embarrassing that bothering myself to run for it. I’m irrational like that.

So I took off in the fastest jog I could in a pair of really rubbery flip-flops, and things were going pretty well. I probably could’ve walked just as fast if I really wanted to put in the effort of swinging my arms and rolling my hips and all, so I figured I was still looking fairly nonchalant to anyone who might be judging my eagerness, yet I hopefully looked like I cared enough about making it onto the bus that the driver would take pity and wait on me if everyone else loaded quickly.

But then, halfway down the block, the toe part of one of my flip-flops suddenly somehow doubled under itself and messed up my rhythm, and I had to stop to straighten things out. Just then, this beautiful brown-skinned woman went gliding past me in a summery black dress, her natural hair highlighted with a white faux flower. Her long, slender legs, fitted with soft black ballerina flats, flitted in front of her one at a time like those of a more-graceful gazelle. I somehow expected that she’d stop, that we’d laugh about me trying to run in my stupid shoes, and that we’d walk arm in arm to the bus. Instead, she probably laughed as my shorter, stouter legs, bound in too-tight, too-hot jeans pounded the pavement in comparison, and while she boarded the bus nimbly with a bounce, I hoisted myself up, out of breath and windblown with the entire bus glowering at me for making them wait.

That’ll teach me to try.


  1. bluzdude says:

    Should’a tripped her.

  2. Kinard says:

    ” Instead, she probably laughed as my shorter, stouter legs, bound in too-tight, too-hot jeans pounded the pavement in comparison…”

    oh, jeez. my heart wept in unison with yours when i read that sentence. probably needless to say, but i’m not a runner, either.

  3. If she laughed at you, then I hope she got a hole in the toe of her ballerina flats. (It’s amazing how fast one can go from insouciantly glamorous to janky-ass.)

  4. spaghedeity says:

    the title of this post is really clever. because, like, they weren’t made for running, evidently.

    oh, to be a beautiful brown-skinned gazelle in a flowing black summery dress!

  5. spaghedeity says:

    also, where did the homeless guy entry disappear to? i had a really clever comment saved up for it and everything.

    the embarrassing part, at least for you, is that the entry is still in its entirety on my friends page; i just can’t comment on it.

    • Tracey says:

      It showed up in my Google Reader, too, only to be missing when I came to the site to comment.

      You can’t hide from us, Katie!

  6. Stephanie Patenaude says:

    if you’ll remember-i also hate running. do you remember gym class? don’t know what grade, but instead of running, you and i would walk fast and complain about the stitch in our sides. and when all of the lucky limber and athletic kids were seeing how fast they could run a mile,you taught me that sex and candy song. why did gym teachers torture us like that?

    • Tracey says:

      Ugh. Gym was the worst.

      I remember walking the mile-run out of defiance every year. I didn’t care that the jocks and jockettes had run their 5-minute miles and were goofing off in the grass. I was all too happy to take 15 minutes or more to keep it leisurely, failing the President’s Fitness Exam miserably.

  7. Cristy says:

    That sucks so much a$$. I hate being trumped by gorgeous people. *sigh*