CRUSHING
BLITZ 17
One tropical New York morning, I was shuffling home from speed work at McCarren Park when my neighbor H caught me on the stoop of my brownstone.
“Tell me, are there any interesting men in your running club?” she asked.
Men? I wondered if the concept of gender had become entirely alien to me.
“Yeah, like guys,” H replied impatiently.
It was hard to imagine that she, a woman of Eritrean descent with a bone structure that makes fashion photographers salivate, would need help in the department. My neighborhood Fort Greene is home to some of the finest models. Alek Wek lives here, so naturally, I thought she was a model. One day, as we shared an illicit glass of wine on the stoop waiting for Janelle Monae to appear at the artist’s entrance of the Brooklyn Academy of Music, I found out she's a software engineer who works in cybersecurity. She hates sports.
H just emerged from the trenches of dating apps, she confessed.
“I’m never going back there. The algorithms can’t deal with a black tech chick,” she lamented. The dudes that came on this swipe disaster were all clones of Zuck. Those she had met IRL had grown into chubby cookie monsters since Covid. She eyed me. “You’re in great shape, lady. Everyone can see that.”
I was flattered. Accepting my sweaty, scantily clad sports persona hasn’t always been easy. I used to avoid going public clad in running gear and apply lipstick to take the trash down. The pandemic has helped me become more comfortable with my athletic, unkempt self. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about my looks. I swapped the Chanel Rouge Allure with cherry-flavored lip balm and now wear Goodr, pink mirrored running shades to accentuate my minimalist all-black destroyer look. I emphasize feeling strong, no matter what others choose to see.
One of the many pieces of wisdom Serena Williams shared with me in an interview a few years back. As a Black woman, she had the white tennis nomenclature clutch their pearl necklaces with her fierce looks. Williams obliterated the stuffy ideas of what a female athlete’s body was capable of, what it was supposed to look like, and how we were to behave. She’ll be missed. I’ll miss her, I babbled on. A few runners like sprinter Sha'Carrie Richardson, channeling 80s idol Florence Griffith Joyner, keep pushing the envelope.
“Who are you flirting with?” H interrupted my digression into fashion history.
Nobody, I answered.
“Come on, you’re seeing a runner.”
I merely had a friendly rapport with the men on the team.
It was hard to muster the energy for anything other than running, let alone speak in complete sentences when doing intervals on the track. Plus, I wasn’t sure I’d feel comfortable if people started hitting on each other. It was almost an unspoken taboo.
H narrowed her eyes. “Never? I don’t buy it.”
Well, once this summer, my heart skipped a beat as I zipped down Williamsburg Bridge. A guy came towards me who seemed to be teleported from a different era. Instead of performance sportswear, he donned green terrycloth shorts, a Sailor Moon T-shirt, and colorful crew socks in old-school Nikes. His longish hair was half-heartedly tamed with a headband à la Björn Borg; the best part was that he was singing the opera Madame Butterfly. I had an instant crush. “He sounds gay,” H said, bemused. I later found out he reminded me of a childhood friend Roland Houben who wore nude shorts that he’d knitted himself and liked to sing.
Although the Williamsburg Bridge was not part of my route portfolio, I now went often and spotted him regularly. Every time he passed me, he grinned a little wider. In early June, he disappeared.
“He’s on holiday,” H said, shrugging. In September, she grew impatient. “Google him.” I didn’t know his name. “What’s wrong with you?”
I was not half as disappointed as her. His easygoing singing, the fun outfit, the joy of serendipity, and the whole encounter with this stranger, embodied everything I love about running. Few rules, many disciplines, nuances, and a space for everyone. The acceptance that the only thing permanent is change.
H sighed. “Ok, I get it. When do I start?"
September 2022
