running away from the anger
One spark is all it takes. It erupts in a fury of flame. Covering the village. Destroying everything.
They took away my compression gear. Then they took away my shorts. The guard standing up as I come back on my first day back to the great and illustrious country of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, to run. Four hours after landing. The guard standing up, belly wobbling, stretching out a hand, smiling as he tells me, “Sir shorts are not allowed.” And me, I’d thrown away most of my full length joggers. Ok, so I bought more.
I’ll tell the guard, unn darpkoun nou kahou, meray nal gal karein. But they’re women. I can’t really insult them that much. Otherwise they’ll bring their husbands and they’ll try to beat me to death. It is the great and mighty Islamic Republic of Pakistan, after all.
“Beta khulay kapray pehna karou.” An annoyed voice calls out from behind me. A male voice. I don’t turn around. I wish he says it again. I’ll stop next to him, and tell him what I really think of his kind.
Buzz . 9:39.8. Shit, two miles left. I can actually do this much faster than I’ve ever done. Fuck.
The anger doesn’t leave. I’ll tell him what I think of him. You people can’t afford to see anyone skinnier, or less ugly, or trying harder than you. It really burns you lot up inside, doesn’t it.
No, don't say ugly. That’s pride. That’s bad.
I’ll take him aside, “Uncle let’s go talk on the side.” If he asks why, “If I say anything and you get upset, I wouldn’t want to have it be in front of your friends.” I don't want to insult him in front of his friends. Is the message i’d be giving to him. If he laughs it off and says speak in front of my friends, I won’t hold off. “Your kind of people, these drawing room discussions where you blame everyone else in the world but you for the problems you have, and blame the Zionists and the Americans and the Indians for your country’s problems. What have you done in life? What have you achieved?” What if he’s ex army? “If bullets ever come raining down on this place, you and the great guardians that ‘protect’ this country will be the first to run. So what, you served? Two out of two wars you lost, and then claimed - only in this country can something like that happen - that you’d won them.”
Buzz. 9:37.8. 51 minutes in. Holy damn, dude. I could make this.
I feel slower, my heart isn’t racing, but it isn’t as measured as it usually is during these runs. But holy crap. My feet pound the pavement. If I weighed less, I would be less likely to get injured, I need to lose some more weight.
My mind abuzz still, with these thoughts. Please don’t get me wrong. I am not spiteful or hateful. I just really don’t like it when they dictate my thoughts, my actions. They took away my compression pants, they took away my shorts, now they want to take away my joggers too? I don’t like that people in this country focus more on other people than themselves. I’m running, literally, how am I harming you? Why do you have a problem with me.
10:03.1. Six miles. I stop, a smile on my face. I’m happy and still angry. At the same time. I walk the rest of the lap, and then exit, without saying bye to the guard.
Fire is a deadly thing. Repressing a mountain from exploding leads to destruction and mayhem.