How Becca Found Her Mojo (and Got Her Groove Back)

Nervously, and somewhat hesitantly, she put on a sports bra and purple gym shorts, debating whether to wear a t-shirt or a tank top; the latter would show every last hill and valley, including some best left hidden, while the former would shield her torso and upper arms from both the sun's rays and people's stares. It was her first time leaving the apartment in two days, and her first time running in weeks. Her self-consciousness was at its peak, in part because her nocturnal nature had kicked in a few days before and she therefore hadn't slept since 5pm on the previous day, and by now the sun was shining. Anyway, she slept better during the day.

She decided on a tank top, because her t-shirts all smelled like laundry day was still a few days out of reach. Purple socks and electric blue sneakers completed the get-up, as did keys and an iPod, white headphones fitting snugly headband-style over her ears.

Once outside she stretched for a minute, then began to run as the first song was ending and a new one was beginning. She ran up and to the right for two or three songs, then slowed to a dance-walk as she approached the park. All she wanted was to be in the sun, but close to shade for the security it held.
Settling on a spot by one of the slender trees which dotted the park, she began to stretch to the music. When the Backstreet Boys song came on her iPod, it was like she was transported back to her university dance aerobics class; the beat made her want to excitedly punch the air with childlike joy. Right-right, left-left, right-left-right-left. Double-punch, double-punch, single, single, single, single. It was one of those songs where the rhythm remained constant, save for a few disruptions which called for spirit fingers and lithe body-swishing.

While dancing and punching, she was delighted to recall that her fellow park-goers did not pay attention to anyone else, and all self-consciousness melted away.

The Backstreet Boys tune was replaced by a Kelly Clarkson hit, from the artist's phase as a jilted lover. The girl's body electrified, punching the air and swaying in the sunlight like the happiest and spazziest of cattails.
She stayed in the park for a few more songs, singing and dancing without a care in the world, continuing in a similar fashion on the walk home.

And that, my friends, is how Becca found her mojo (and got her groove back).