a running story

It was just warm enough for me to wear my spandex black short shorts which hugged my upper thighs at just the right point, not too revealing, but short enough to provide me with the air I needed in order to run 6 miles on an abnormally warm January day in Malaga. My white cotton tank top was loose, the arm holes hung down a bit lower than my support system underneath and the bottom of the tank fell to just below my waist, the soft cotton gently rubbing against the top of my backside, my shoulders, collar and neck were exposed to the warm air. The comfortable running clothes matched my cola. A few stray strands of my dark wavy hair fell and blew over my eyes and mouth, but nothing distracted me from what I noticed to my left.

My feet sunk into the sand, my thigh muscles in constant use pulling me out of the sand every step I took. My arms were strong, moving back and forth almost in a rhythmic robotic motion. To my left, on the paseo was a guy.

I didn’t notice him until I saw him from the corner of my eye turning his head to look at me down on the beach with the Mediterranean Sea as my backdrop. Usually I dismiss these guys, it happens a lot, after all, running with running gear seems to be a very sensual sport, especially in the heat. The strong sun gleaming down creating glowing skin, producing the slightest hints of sweat on exposed shoulders and legs. The hair in my face created a mysterious feel and the rhythm and breathing involved in running creates something uniquely appealing.

I only saw his upper body, a fitted light blue t-shirt, dark hair, deep-set eyes. He was handsome.

We continued with this back and forth exchange, for the next two miles, me on the sand, him running parallel to me along the beachfront street. I was completely aware of him, thinking of playing with him a bit by running faster to see if he kept up. At one point, I ran behind a sand hill, we lost sight of each other for a few seconds. I emerged to see him glancing over to find me again.

We reached the out-door gym where the machines are laid out back to back along the sea, the machines are fit for two people to use at once. I followed him to the shoulder machine. Back to back we sat, our skin almost touching, only a slab of hard plastic separating us, our breath still strong and deep. We started working on our bodies, 3 sets of 12. The whole time I was imagining what he might be thinking. It was strange, being so close to someone, and knowing that there was something there but no words spoken. After my sets, I got up, stretched on one of the huge white rocks which separate the sea and land. I saw him watching me so I took advantage of the situation, holding my stretches longer than normal, reaching my toes, pulling my arms behind my waist, rolling my neck, elongating my inner thighs, lower back, I stretched it all; it felt so good.

Then I started back. I didn’t wait for him. I took the experience as it came, I kept it for what it was and I was ready to move on, to start on my 2 ½ mile run back, following the same path I took to get there, feeling good, feeling sexy, feeling strong, feeling frisky. Two minutes into my run, there he was. He ran in front of me. Now I was able to see it all. He wore black shorts, they seemed as though they were swimming trunks. I had the sudden urge to go swimming, but didn’t.

I hopped the barrier and continued along the beach, in the same fashion as before, parallel to him— him on the paseo, me on the rich tan sand. We repeated the same pattern, only this time, we were faster, our breathing was heavier. The sea breeze did not provide enough relief from the heat. It was HOT!

Then I got to the end of my run, ready to head away from the beach up into the city and back home. I paused for a second, he did too, I faked another short stretch. Then it came:

Him: hola, ¡eres una buena corradora!

Me: ¿Mí? No, pero gracias, pero tu eres.

Him: Gracias, corro casi todos los días.

At that point, I cant even remember what was going through my mind. We stopped talking for a split second, things got awkward, I forgot all my Spanish, I was uncharacteristically nervous.

Then...

Him: Me voy a Malafama (A bar in the center) esta noche a medianoche , vamos a encontrar.

Me: Bueno, hasta luego.

(the short conversation was a bit of a blur to me, but it went something like that)

And I was off. I never met him there, I don’t know why. I wanted to keep the experience as it was, who knows, maybe I’ll see him along our path again. This time it’ll be different; the wall has been broken down. Our breaths and voices exchanged, it was a sensual experience, unique, cherished.