Open Letter Week - Snide Commenters

This week I'm going to post an open letter a day. Feel free to write your own and let me know about it.

Dear Suitcase and Fat Old Man,

I haven't been running early in the morning because it is too cold, the snow would force me on some pretty busy roads and it is still too dark at 5:30am which is the best time for me to get out and run before the kids wake up. This has meant my running has dropped from 5-6 times a week to barely 1-2 times in a gym. Not good for my conditioning or endurance.

But great for my ego because I haven't had to deal with you, Suitcase.

You know who you are. You are the insanely skinny woman who is part of that group of folks who run early in the morning in our neighborhood. Some of us give resounding "hi"'s when we pass by, others nod or wave, others pretend to be so absorbed in our headsets that we don't notice the others.

You look great for a woman who is clearly over 50. Your hair is coiffed for an early morning run. Your running outfits are coordinated and your shoes barely look worn. You have the physic of a woman who plays tennis, doesn't clean her own home and probably didn't raise her children either.

So it probably shouldn't have been a shock when, while happily getting to the end of my run, and just down right pleased with myself to actually finish the damn thing, I heard footsteps clearly picking up the pace. I don't run to beat anyone so I didn't care that someone was passing me. When I saw it was you I was going to give a hearty "good morning" or some such greeting when you sneered

"Can't you go any faster?"

Your nasty tone and harsh words still sting, months later. But I do have something up on you.

You are of the generation that thought it was good to sunbath. A lot. So now you have the skin of a crocodile. A dead crocodile on a suitcase. So you may be 55. You may be 65. You have a body that is clearly in better shape then mine. But your skin, your skin looks gross.

Then you, Fat Old Man, decided to make some comment to me while I was running in Chicago. You told me, with your belly bulging over your shorts, as you moved at a snail's pace along the path, to "pick up my heels". I so wanted to turn around and yell at you. Ask you where you get off making comments.

But I just ignored you. You stupid fat old man.

But at least your skin was in pretty good shape.

In bitterness,
SMID