Fast Girl Read Online Free PDF

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    ONE NIGHT IN HIGH SCHOOL, I was babysitting for a single mom who lived nearly two miles from me. She was friends with my older sister Carrie, and the two of them were out together that night. The baby was little, and soon after I arrived he fell asleep.
    The mother had assured me that she would be home by ten, which was important to me because I had a big regional race the next day. My dad was the meet promoter, and the event was a huge deal in our small community of twenty-eight thousand people. It was my hometown. My dad was hosting the race. I had to win. Around nine thirty, I stretched out on the couch. The next time I looked at my watch it was ten thirty, and the woman wasn’t home yet. My brain went to the dark place. Why aren’t you here? I’m going to lose tomorrow because you said you would be home at ten, and I’m not going to be able to get my sleep, and I’m going to lose. My father will be mortified. My whole town will be angry. I forced my eyes shut. I felt guilty, because I knew I shouldn’t go to sleep when I was supposed to be caring for a child. But I needed my rest for my race in the morning. I must have finally drifted into sleep. Somehow, while I was sleeping, I got off the couch, went to the door, and opened it; I had a very clear vision of my hand on the knob.
    The next thing I knew, I was running. It was like I woke up, and my legs were already flying beneath me. The night was dark and hazy, with the shadows from the streetlamps suddenly coming up on me, then falling away behind me, as I ran faster and faster. I felt like I was sprinting through a nightmare. I was washed in waves of panic, but I couldn’t stop my legs. They were moving of their own will. Oh my god, what did I just do? I left that baby all alone.
    I wanted to stop. I wanted to turn back. All I could do was run. By this time, I was about half a mile from my house and nearly hysterical. I ran in the door and burst into my parents’bedroom. I leaned down over my mom, in tears, and woke her up.
    â€œMom, I left the baby,” I said, crying hard.
    She sat up, surprised.
    By this point, my mom and dad were both fully awake. My dad got dressed and led me to the kitchen. He told me to get into his car so he could drive me back to the woman’s house. I was petrified that we’d discover that something terrible had happened to the baby. As soon as we parked, I raced into the house, my dad close behind me. I opened the door as gently as I possibly could, my hand shaking, and peeked in: the baby was asleep in his crib, just as I’d left him earlier in the night. My dad then left me sitting on the couch, placing a book and a glass of water near me. The baby was safe, but I couldn’t calm down. I felt terrible about what I’d done, and my heart was pounding. When the mother came home a few moments later, she was concerned when I confessed to what had happened, but relieved that her son was safe. Needless to say, that was the end of my babysitting for a while.
    Finally, I made it home and climbed into bed. I got up the next day, and I won the race.
    Feeling out of control, I found one thing I did have power over: what I ate, or more accurately, how little I ate. If my parents pushed, I ate even less. Between the minuscule amount of food I was eating and the excessive training, my body was starving itself. But I didn’t think about that. I was running faster by eating less. I liked the results.
    At this point, my biggest goal was to get into a college with a great running program. The college-level runners I saw werefar thinner than I was. They all looked anorexic, and I wanted that for myself. I tried to starve myself completely, but with all my training it just wasn’t sustainable, so I became bulimic instead. I worked out a complicated system, where I binged on a whole tray of brownies or a bunch of pasta—I think my body craved sugar—and then I purged. Right