i cannot grow old in Salem's lot

by Rachel Lynch in

67 miles in thirteen days. That's a lot of time on the road, a lot of time to think things through. A few days ago, morning broke and the winter sun peeked through the northern clouds. My father and I went out to do what we do best. Run. We went up and down the streets in his old neighborhood. Houses boarded up, sunken roofs, broken windows, broken homes. My father came from nothing. He told of the night he used to leave the house and just fucking run for miles and miles through the streets of Detroit. He dreamed of being more than just another factory worker on the Ford line like his father. He learned that hard works pays off and pulled himself out of an early grave and left Detroit as soon as he could. Running through here on this cold December morning reminds me of everything I come from and everything my dad has taught me.

With an average of 4,000 views a day and a handful of nasty comments now requiring two hands, I feel I should say something. And I'm not one to feel the need to defend myself but for all those younger girls out there and my little sisters looking at my blog, I'm going to defend myself. I run every goddamn day I can. And no, I don't run to be "skinny". Of course, I love my flat stomach and tight ass just as much as the next guy (it's true what they say, runners really do have the best buns!); but running is about more than that. With each mile, you secretly hope it makes you better and stronger. I know I started running to become a better person. So no, I don't stay skinny for "modeling". I'd rather qualify for Boston than grace the cover of Paper magazine. I'd rather be in a pair of Nike racing flats that a pair of Jeffery Campbell wedges, because that's just the kind of girl I am.

As we ran over the highway sky-bridge into Detroit's city limits, the grey sky broke and I could smell the finish. "This once used to be one of the greatest city's in the world," said my Dad as we had a clear view running straight into downtown. I could see the devotion and connection he felt in his eyes. Detroit had raised him into the strong man he his, and he has in turn raised me into a fighter. So for all of you haters out there, with your negative words and eating disorder comments: You can gladly taste the dust off my shoes as I blow right by you.