"My son, I keep telling him not to go after that woman—"
"You gotta put the potatoes in first, then—"
"The other day, Ling said I grew fatter. If that bitch only saw—"
I was jogging at the field near my house the other day and snippets of conversation pass me by as I ran past people. Depending on speed, I either heard just bits and pieces, or essays. As I was doing my share of mobile eavesdropping, sounds of rubber pounding the pavement caught up behind me.
A girl ran past, tight Nike workout gear gripping her curves. It was her again. She's a regular runner, and I see her every time I run in that field. She had a gait of a professional, and I felt a slight tingle in my loins, just a tad though, because the majority of my blood was allocated to my legs. I tried keeping up with her and she smoked me without so much as breathing heavy. I imagined myself sprinting past her in the final lap, with spectators looking on and cheering for me because I was the underdog. Everyone roots for the underdog.
But that wasn't going to happen. She was that quick. After I've racked up my miles, I slowed down to a walk to cool down. I noticed a couple of guys ahead ogling over girls in yoga pants. As I neared, Jock A said "Hey, check out that fat guy. Don't you think it's a little to late to start working out?"
They were making fun of a heavy guy, probably 200 pounds. He was panting from walking alone, and his knees barely looked like they could support his weight. The fat that sagged over his wrists and knees shook like vibrating jelly as he made his own attempt at brisk walking.
B chuckled. "Yeah, he should just stay home and forget about it."
Now I'd like to say that I'm a nice person, and nice people usually treat people like this with an upside smack to the head. It's just that there were two of them. I would've also appreciated it if they were at a height I could contend better with, say 5'1". I imagined walking up to them and putting them in their place.
"Why so disrespectful?" I'd say as the back of my hand crosses his cheek. Then they'd get up and proceed to beat the shit out of me. But everybody would cheer for me. Everybody always roots for the underdog. I gave up daydreaming and snapped back to reality.
I looked at poor Mr. Jelly. What more do they want from this guy? He knows he's fat and he's putting in the work. Why hate?
As I passed them I started to be more aware of the runners. Some people were there for their daily gossip. Some, like Ms. Gait are serious runners. Some were just enjoying the weather. Some probably thought they had one too many beers over the weekend and that five minutes of jogging would magically rid them of their belly. I was there because I love running. Everyone there had their own reasons.
Mr. Jelly was probably there because he was fed up of being fat. Or maybe his doctor said he better get serious about losing weight if he wanted to see past 40. Maybe his girlfriend just dumped him. I don't know, but it's unfair to laugh at him just because he looked different.
That field was like life. Everyone brought their whole life's beliefs and experiences along with their daily routine that there's nothing to compare them with. That old man who could barely walk two laps probably earns more money in a day than you do in a month. Ms. Gait could probably outrun you in a marathon. The jocks might have looked better than everyone there but might have nothing else going on in their lives. Couple the uniqueness of everyone to the different circumstances they're in, and there's nothing to compare. We're all the same, but totally different at the same time.
I then realised how that cheesy saying 'the only person you should compare yourself to is yourself' actually made perfect sense. I smiled at this thought, so wide that onlookers probably thought I was overdosing on runner's high.
Why bother how much that person earns, or how good looking they are? They're them, and you're you. You'll never be them, and they'll never be you. It doesn't mean you shouldn't be striving to be the best you can be. Just look at it this way. No one else can be you, better than you.
I mused on until twilight wrested its hold over the final remnants of sunset. Most people were making their way home, but not Mr. Jelly. I left the field feeling like I've learned a valuable lesson, and somewhere deep inside I was cheering for Mr. Jelly, because everyone roots for the underdog.
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