Running For My Life Lauren Goodman ‘23

Running For My Life

Lauren Goodman

I’m in the subway station, running for my life—in heels, mind you. It looks the same as it did twenty-three minutes ago when I realized I forgot to get my morning coffee. I guess I could’ve waited to get it from the Starbucks by my office, but the barista gave my outfit the weirdest side eye when I had to get coffee from there that one time, and God knows I can’t handle rejection today. So I had to run down four blocks to get to Starbucks—the good Starbucks—and I waited there for however long just to get my hot grande mocha with two shots of espresso before speeding down the street—again, in heels—and finally making it back to the station. I missed the train I was supposed to take, obviously, but I know there’s another train that’ll take me to a stop that’s a ten minute walk away from the office. It would’ve been a two minute walk if I had gotten to my train on time, but y’know—barista, side-eye, ego death. I’m not having that today. So, I’m running in the station, hot grande mocha in hand, and I am really booking it because the bus is supposed to come in exactly one minute, no joke. I already see the train as I speed up, with the doors wide open, the waves of people going in and out. I’m the last one up, and I’m just running down the station like a maniac. It’s close, but I make it on. As I walk in, I raise my coffee in the air like I’m accepting an Olympic gold medal for most energetic running at 7:45 AM. Of course, no one cares. No one even looks up. It’s the subway, so it’s not like I expect them to. But you know what? I care. I care about getting my coffee right. I care about protecting my self esteem from evil baristas who think their green aprons are the pinnacle of fashion. I care about my heels, as inconvenient as they are to run in, because they’re my favorite shoes and they only hurt a little. And I care about myself, even in a train full of people who don’t. Isn’t that what matters? The little things, I mean. The hot mocha, the shoes, the gold winning sunrise sprint—all of it. I know I’ll be late. I know my boss will have something to say to me when I walk in. I know Brenda from accounting will make some backhanded comment at me about it because she’s just like that. But right now, that doesn’t matter. Right now, I have my favorite coffee, and when I get off the train I’ll make sure to walk nice and slow, breathing in the brisk morning air and taking in ten stolen minutes of the golden morning sky.