The R in ‘Celena’ stands for running
I ran the Harbourfront 5K the other week, which is not as impressive as the half-marathon or even the full, but my family thought it was a pretty big deal. The race started at Princes’ Gates at the Exhibition Place and ended at Nathan Phillips Square. It usually takes me 30 minutes or so to run five kilometres, but on that day, I shaved off three whole minutes. The entire time I was running, I thought back to this one time my doctor told me that my “body was not made for sports.” This was after my mom brought me into the doctor’s office because I kept getting leg cramps after going on long walks. TO BE ENTIRELY FAIR, I WAS LIKE SIX YEARS OLD. My body was “not made for sports” because I was too small or something weird like that. He never explained it to me, but I’m pretty sure that day was the beginning of my villain origin story. What was that supposed to mean? That I’m a dainty little porcelain doll that is never to do sports? Are my bones too brittle to go for long walks on the beach? This has never left my brain.
As I was running along the Harbourfront, I remembered that I started running in elementary school when I joined the cross-country team. I only really did it because of my friends, and you didn’t need any actual skills. I liked it because it felt like I was competing against myself, but mostly, against the doctor who told me that I couldn’t. In middle school, I continued doing cross country. At one of the meets—I am so serious, you guys—I came in 69th place. If you want proof, I still have the little placeholder ticket they gave me. Guess what sport I did in high school? Just guess. Soccer—kidding! I did cross country. And softball, and ultimate frisbee, and curling, and badminton. Was I actually interested in these sports, or was this a big “fuck you” to my doctor? Yes. But hey, I was pretty decent at these sports. For like two years, I could say that I was the best female long-distance runner in my high school. But that’s because I was the only female long-distance runner. The entire team consisted of me and this one other guy. Shoutout to Tom!
I think all hot people are cursed with really good memories (me). When I turned the corner on Bay Street towards Old City Hall, I remembered what my doctor told me. But I also remember little me not giving a FUCK. Like yeah, he might have a PhD or whatever, but I have gusto. I remembered I joined the cross-country team anyway. I remembered spraining my ankle and thinking that I would never run again. I remembered recovering and running again a few weeks after that. My friend said that maybe it was a little bit of reverse psychology. And maybe it was. But at least it helped me realise something. Living out of spite is probably one of the funniest things you can do. Oh, and that running is good for you or whatever.