"God's Gift"

This last weekend was the Race for the Cure. It was an emotional weekend for me, as I got some very upsetting family-related news the night before. I didn't even want to run the race, but knew I had to do something to keep my mind busy, so I went. It was hot and soupy. I mean really hot. And really soupy. Even though it was only a 5k, I knew it was going to be a challenge. I did a quick warmup and realized that I was never going to make it wearing the shirt I brought (there is a reason I'm nicknamed "grodiemonster"), so I stripped down to my sport's bra, felt much better, and took off.


The race was terrible, I'm not going to lie. Aside from the heat issues, my mind would drift back to my family and I would start crying. Crying while running = difficulty breathing. No good. I came across the line at a depressing 24:30-ish (I didn't even run that when I was a lazy high school freshman) and just cried and cried. It was a pretty sad sight. I hung around at the finish waiting for the friends I had come with, but after about 30 minutes, I still didn't see them so I started walking, very slowly, to our designated meeting point. I felt completely spent, emotionally and physically. Depressed about my performance, depressed about the turn of events at home, depressed about the lousy weather, I felt it would be a miracle if I even made it down the mall to the Washington Monument, our meeting point.


I was so lost in my thoughts I didn't notice that two African American ladies came up on either side of me. They walked alongside me for a moment until I registered I had company. I looked to my right, down into a smiling face that said, "Hi, we're sisters and we're hijacking you." Her sister, who was on the other side of me, started laughing. I looked past the sister and saw there were two other ladies walking with them but apart from us, pretending to ignore them out of embarrassment. I tried to muster a smile and forced a little laugh.


"Hijacking, huh? What for?"

"Well," the shorter sister on my right said, "we just HAD to ask you"--she glanced across me at her sister who gave her an encouraging look--"what did you have to do to get that shape? Or is that just God's gift to you." She was dead serious. The storm cloud over my head parted briefly and I burst out laughing. Now you have to understand, I have been picked up on by Black men my entire life, in ways you would not believe (cars pulling over in the middle of the District, men following me into bookstores, cars full of men playing "I like big butts and I cannot lie" full blast as I've crossed the street...the stories are endless and ridiculous). But never have I been approached so bluntly by Black women. Sure, I've had plenty of girlfriends who have told me it's just not fair that a white girl like me got such a skinny waist and a butt like mine, but never a perfect stranger.


She was clearly waiting on an answer; it wasn't a rhetorical question. I laughed and said that I ran and swam and did a fair number of situps each day, along with some weight lifting, but that mostly it was just, ahem, "God's gift." Groans of disappointment followed as they realized there was no magic formula to acquire the way I was naturally built. I told them that as a white woman it was not always a "gift" (I've never met a white male who says outloud, "I just want a girl with some bootie") but that I've learned to embrace it. She clicked her tongue at my apparent ingratitude and told me that if she looked like me her husband would be counting his lucky stars. Everyone laughed. Then one of the friends suggested they cut across the mall to their car, the sister on my left told her taking shortcuts is why they will never look like me, more laughter, and then they were off. My cloud slowly settled back in, but their little ray of sunshine was the brightest spot in my weekend.


Here's to God's gifts...