Chapter 1 #2
I clutched my phone, finger hovering over the Uber app. I could be home in five minutes, back in the safety of my apartment where no one could see me struggle and sweat. Where I could change back into my oversized t-shirt and worn yoga pants, the ones I lounged in but never actually did yoga in.
No. No more excuses.
I took a deep breath and stepped through the gates.
The crunch of gravel beneath my new running shoes sounded deafening to my ears, as if announcing my presence to everyone in the park.
I had to remind myself that no-one cared what I was doing.
I kept my eyes down, watching the white and blue Nike logos move forward, one after the other.
Left, right, left, right. The simplest action in the world, suddenly felt the hardest.
The path split ahead. One route headed toward a playground, now mostly empty as dinner time approached, the other curved toward a small lake at the center of the park. I chose the lake path, drawn to the idea of water.
I moved stiffly at first, hyperaware of how my body moved.
My thighs brushed against each other with each step.
My arms didn't swing with natural ease but hung awkwardly, as if I'd forgotten how to use them.
I imagined critical eyes on my jiggling thighs and arms, on the way my breasts bounced slightly despite the sports bra that had cost more than I'd wanted to spend.
Near the water's edge, where a mother duck was patiently guiding her fluffy brood, something bright blue glinted. A plastic bottle cap, discarded carelessly. My stomach gave a little lurch. I pictured one of the ducklings, curious and indiscriminate, trying to swallow it. The thought was a tiny stab of distress, sharp enough to momentarily pierce through my own fog of anxiety. Before I could second-guess the impulse or worry if anyone was watching me make an awkward detour, I veered slightly off the path, snatched up the offending piece of plastic, and shoved it deep into the small pocket of my leggings. I’d find a bin later.
A memory flooded back—seventh grade gym class, running the mile. I'd come in last, face flushed red not just from exertion but from the humiliation of everyone watching me lumber around the final bend. Jason Meyers had mooed as I passed. The teacher had pretended not to hear.
I shook the memory away. I was twenty-seven now, not twelve. Jason Meyers was probably bald and selling insurance somewhere.
The path curved gently, and as I followed it, the lake came into view—a decent-sized body of water with a fountain in the center, throwing a plume of water into the air that caught the last of the evening light. Ducks paddled lazily near the edges, unbothered by the humans circling their domain.
I checked my phone—I'd been jogging for seven minutes. It felt like an hour.
But something was happening. My breathing had found a rhythm, synchronized with my steps.
The initial stiffness in my movements was melting away, replaced by something that wasn't exactly grace but was at least functional movement.
The cool air filled my lungs, clean and fresh compared to the recycled air of the salon where I spent my days hunched over other women's hands.
My whole life, exercise had been punishment. It was what you did when you'd eaten too much, when your jeans got tight, when someone made a comment about your size. It was never something you did for joy or strength or the simple pleasure of movement. It was penance.
But as I rounded the first quarter of the lake, something shifted. My body—the same body I'd pinched and criticized in the mirror—was carrying me forward. My legs were strong beneath the softness. My lungs expanded and contracted efficiently. My heart pumped steadily.
This body that I'd spent so many years apologizing for was actually perfectly capable.
A group of power-walkers approached from the opposite direction, middle-aged women with visors and determined expressions.
I tensed, preparing for their judgment, but they were deep in conversation about someone named Brenda and her "disaster of a kitchen renovation. " They passed me without a glance.
I realized I'd been holding my breath and let it out slowly.
The lake shimmered as a light breeze rippled its surface.
The path ahead curved into a more wooded area where the trees grew thicker.
In the fading light, shadows stretched across the gravel, creating patterns that shifted as I moved through them.
At the halfway point around the lake, I paused for a moment.
My reflection wobbled in the lake's surface—distorted but recognizable.
I studied it, expecting to feel the familiar surge of criticism, but instead, I noticed how straight my shoulders were, how my ponytail swung with an energy I rarely felt.
For the first time in years, I felt something like pride unfurling in my chest. Not pride in how I looked or what others thought of me, but pride in what I was doing.
A tentative smile played at my lips, surprising me with its appearance. I didn't fight it.
***
F orty minutes later, night had truly settled over Ironridge Park.
My face was flushed, heat radiating from my cheeks despite the cooling air.
My navy t-shirt clung to my back, damp with honest sweat as I finished my second lap around the lake.
The burning in my calves wasn't the sharp pain of injury but the warm glow of muscles that had finally been put to use, a sensation both foreign and satisfying.
I paused at the water fountain near the lake's edge, pressing the button with shaky fingers.
The water ran cool over my lips, and I gulped it greedily, some of it dribbling down my chin.
Two months ago, I would have been mortified at the thought of someone seeing me like this.
Red-faced, sweaty, drinking messily from a public fountain. Now, the embarrassment felt distant.
The park had transformed around me. The family-friendly bustle of early evening had faded, leaving behind a different energy.
The playground stood empty, swings moving gently in the breeze.
The grassy areas where picnickers had spread their blankets were vacant, save for a couple lying close together beneath a maple tree, their faces hidden in shadow.
My watch read 9:07 PM. Less than an hour until the park closed.
I stretched my arms overhead, feeling the pull across my shoulders and back.
The main entrance was a good fifteen-minute walk following the regular path.
I studied the park map illuminated by a nearby lamp post, noticing a narrower trail that cut through a wooded area, creating a shortcut back to the gates.
The sign said "Nature Trail - 0.4 miles" with a small icon of a tree.
Decision made, I veered off the main path, stepping onto the narrower trail that immediately plunged between dense stands of oak and hickory.
The ground beneath my feet changed from gravel to packed earth, softer under my shoes.
The light changed too—the glow of the streetlamps around the lake replaced by close, whispering darkness as the thick canopy above blocked what remained of daylight.
Five steps in, and the sounds shifted dramatically.
The distant voices of other park-goers faded, replaced by the rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a bird settling for the night.
My footsteps seemed louder here, each one a dull thud against the earth that announced my presence to the gathering shadows.
My eyes adjusted slowly to the dimmer light.
Tree trunks became distinct shapes rather than a uniform darkness.
The path ahead remained visible, though barely—a slightly lighter strip of earth cutting through the shadows.
The temperature had dropped several degrees in the shelter of the trees, raising goosebumps on my arms.
A flicker of unease passed through me, leaving a cold trail down my spine that had nothing to do with sweat cooling on my skin. I pushed it aside.
"Don't ruin this," I scolded myself, voice barely above a whisper. "You've finally done it."
I wasn't about to let a little darkness steal that victory.
Still, I quickened my pace, eager to reach the other side of the wooded area. The path narrowed further, forcing me to watch my footing more carefully. Roots crossed the trail in places, hidden hazards in the growing darkness.
An owl called somewhere nearby, its questioning who-who both beautiful and eerie in the gathering darkness. I jumped at the sound, then smiled at my nervousness.
The path dipped slightly, following the natural contour of the land.
As I descended the gentle slope, the trees seemed to close in further, creating a tunnel effect that made the narrow trail feel even more confined.
My shoulders hunched involuntarily, making myself smaller to fit the shrinking space.
I slowed to catch my breath, the combined effects of my earlier exertion and growing anxiety making me light-headed. Sweat had cooled on my skin, leaving me chilled. I leaned against a tree trunk, its bark rough through the thin material of my t-shirt.
The woods had gone unnaturally quiet. Even the owl had fallen silent. All I could hear was my own breathing and the soft brush of fabric as I shifted position.
Then, a twig snapped behind me.
The sound was close, too close to be anything but deliberate. I jumped, spinning around to face the darkness behind me, heart launching into my throat with such force I could taste its beating.
"Hello?" My voice sounded small and frightened, even to my own ears. No response came, just the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.
I fumbled for my phone, fingers clumsy with sudden fear. The screen's light seemed offensively bright in the darkness, momentarily blinding me. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, then activated the flashlight with trembling fingers.