That's What You Think:
Young hearts run free. And then get passed.

Published 10.16.01 in The Heights, Boston College


By Annie Barrett

It wasn’t meant to happen, and it probably won’t last. It’s so weird, seriously. But lately, I’ve been running.

We’re not exactly sure why. The That’s What You Think Fitness and Wellness Branch (which meets daily at the Rat over fries) thought it appropriate that since I can’t come up with column topics on which I have some authority (dancing, sweating, eating), I might as well tackle a topic about which I know very little: jogging.

A lot of people jog at this school. It’s really annoying, particularly on sunny, warm Saturday afternoons when your entire suite settles down in the dark common room with multiple boxes/bags of food and ’80s movies (courtesy of cable’s Big Three: TBS, TNT and USA).

Staring out the window at a hyper-energetic, spandex-clad figure racing by your dorm and then looking down at your gross conglomeration of cookies and gut is probably the worst thing you can do for yourself at this point. The Jogging Zealot (JZ) won’t stop, you’ll keep eating, and a profound sense of absolute disgust over the entire situation will ensue.

You glare at the JZ. I hate you. You’re running and I’m not. Stop it. Here, have cookies. Well, not these exact ones. Get your own. But honestly, just stop.

After one too many of the above incidents, I suddenly jumped up, brushed off the crumbs and just ran off. Just like that. My roommates waved and cheered from the sixth floor as I thundered by on the ground. They then realized that according to principle, they now actually hated me and so pelted me with the cookies, which was great because I’d meant to take some along.

So, throughout my countless (three) jogging endeavors around the Chestnut Hill Reservoir, I have concluded three things:


1. Autumn produces some lovely outdoor color-changing schemes.

No, really. The first time I ran by that bitten apple wedged into the rock wall, it was red. But last night, I’m telling you, it was brown.


2. I am the sorriest, slowest jogger out there.

My initial “free as a bird” impetus for jogging (incidentally, "Freebird" is a great song to jog to) was viciously shot down as every single runner in the greater Boston area proceeded to pass me during one lap around the Res. I actually thought I was going fast. Major downer.

The self-esteem is depleted further when people have the intestinal fortitude to pass you twice. Who exactly do they think they are, passing you? That means they’re on their third lap while you’re still plodding pathetically through your first.

Then there are the passers who make the being-passed experience even worse by informing you of their plans to pass you.

You can’t even hear them coming because your music, at deafening volumes, drowns out any sort of connection with reality (including your perception of approaching cars and your knack for seeing huge, jagged rocks before you trip over them). So, when the passers actually scream into your ear, it’s really rather shocking.

Watch out, here comes a JZ in fluorescent jogging gear.

JZ: “ON YOUR RIGHT!” You’re really slow and I’m quite fast.

You: “Aggghhh!” Damn you! I get it. I suck. Whatever. Your shorts are ug-LY.


3. Running = Excuse to eat more.

The above is an actual equation, established by the TWYT Bogus Digital Images Branch (see graphic) and recognized by … well, anyone who wants to believe it.

You’d think such a draining activity as jogging – or even ‘taking the stairs instead’ – would make you want to eat less, so as not to render your efforts useless. But such logic wasn’t exactly exemplified during a recent post-jog display in which I walked inside, noticed a large calzone-like structure intended for at least three big eaters, and devoured the entire thing.

No, that’s not extravagant. I went running, so I could do that. Plus, since when do we have calzone look-alikes, anyway?

I didn’t even bother to turn my Walkman off – or even notice it was still on. That’s pretty bad. You shouldn’t do that, because then you’ll be that girl or guy who, due to self-inflicted hearing loss, always has to do a character-check or ask about previously mentioned details during stories. I hate that girl. I am that girl.

Or you could just do what I’ve been doing since 1999 during situations in which I can’t hear a damn thing: just give up, sit back and act interested or disinterested, depending on the speaker. But I think this column was about jogging.

Everyone’s invited to the first annual That’s What You Think jog-off this Saturday at 8 a.m.

I’ll be in bed, of course, but if jogging’s your thing, go for it. I’ll throw you some cookies.

Next TWYT: Designated Rememberer