The annual Philadelphia Marathon had been on my calendar. I had done everything short of burn myself out. Stretching and pull ups and running at Stroud Preserve. Cycling on my bicycle because I could spare myself the stares from the machine at the gym.
My younger brother's girlfriend cajoled me into the high-tempo classes, filled with mirrors which was torture. Sweat ran down my face. Worse still, were the days when she led me to the rowing machines, the leg machines. All I could think about was my leg snapping in two.
She had to show me how to use it, and then I set the notch for weights, she wryly smiled and adjusted it.
The race itself was on a windy day. My younger brother's girlfriend competed not because she wanted to, but it warmed me that she joined. To the whistle, the crowd, the participants cheering on the side, and the burn in my legs and body, it was a while before I realised my younger brother's girlfriend was farther behind.
I did not expect to win. But I did not expect to finish in the league that I did.
Working and exercises and learning self defense and going to the gym. Still, the weight would not budge. The reflection in the mirror was torture. Some days, all I did was snap at everyone else for trying to stir up a conversation.
I did not want to hear their judgment.
The more I exercised, the more sensitive to people talking and staring I got. It was clear that my brothers were only becoming more popular. Guys with skateboarders, or girls humming the band's songs around the house, became par for the course. There was beer and cigarettes and sleepovers.
My parents stayed upstairs. I spent the nights aching for ice cream and with my Walkman earphones in.
I wanted my own place, but there was still my course fees to pay off. My parents offered to waive it. The temptation was strong. I had to keep going. Every day I felt more disgusted with myself - I was only getting bigger.