(Not Quite) An Autobiography

Sunday

As he hadn't closed the shutters before sinking back to a light uneasy sleep, Henry was awakened by the sun, shining low but hard through the unprotected window. He glanced at his digital alarm clock: 08:02. Too fucking early for a Sunday! He rolled over to the other side, grabbed his quilt and buried himself under it, convinced he could sleep at least three more hours. But it was too late. His brain was running already, remembering the pitiful afternoon and desperate evening before.

On a loud grunt of barely articulate blasphemy, Henry kicked the quilt away and sat on the edge of the bed. He messed his own hair absent-mindedly and aggressed his thighs standing up. He zombie-walked to the restroom and stayed there long enough to get rid of the two beers.

"Drink two, piss four" Henry said to no one and laughed alone.

His steps led him to the bathroom. He pull down his boxers, scratching his crotch like it was common masculine behavior and not a cliché. He was about to enter the shower stall when he caught his reflection in the mirror. He froze.

The man staring back at him was old, puffed up, with dark shadows under his eyes, a swollen belly and a flat ass. Who the fuck was that guy?

Henry was devastated. How could have he let that happen? The answer popped into his mind: June! Her absence, in fact. She was the one that had been obsessed with her body, her diet. Back then, Henry had to more or less follow her healthy lifestyle and he remained fit without thinking of it. And he enjoyed the results on her. Her toned body was firm and yet she had some evil curves where it mattered. Henry's brain went schizo, sending extra blood into his crotch while digging a hole in his chest.

Stop! No time for any relapse!

He closed his eyes, exhaled lengthily. When he opened his eyes again, the man in the mirror now looked resolved. Henry grab the floaty he didn't know existed above his hips and squeezed hard. A few seconds later, he was on all fours looking for the scale hidden somewhere in one of the bathroom closets.

*

Henry didn't take a shower after all. He had splashed cold water over his face to fully wake up and went rummaging in his messy wardrobe to find his long unused training clothes. Somehow, one day, June had managed to drag him into her running routine and Henry had bought tight shirts, light shorts and running shoes. All of it was way too colorful and bright for his tastes, but he had to admit it had done the trick. But at the time, his body had been glorified by the spandex. Today, it just highlighted the spare tire he was dragging.

But Henry had made up his mind. No more lazy fat ass sprawled on the couch. He tried to forget about the way he looked and what people would think of him, drank a big orange juice, grabbed Percival's leash and made his way to his car. He crossed the hallway with music in his head. Dramatic music. Micheal Bay movie music.

*

Despite the early hour, the Vincennes Park was packed with people. Some families already set up for a picnic or a barbecue, people of all ages walking dogs, young parents walking their offspring and many runners. So many...

Henry unleashed Percival who barked once and sat, tail swiping the sandy ground in anticipation. Henry petted his dog, smiling, proud to have done such a good job training him.

Here he was! Time to see what he still had in him. He had planned to run 3 miles this first time. The sooner he got going, the sooner it would be over. So Henry started running.