Yesterday I ran. WTF? This was unprecedented. I mean, there were those three times in college, but they were only for the sake of journalism. But this last run actually involved free will… and a staggering dose of Olympics Guilt.

I’m pretty sure I wasn’t alone. I’ve never seen more people exercising than I did yesterday. As I thundered my way up the Village/Chelsea-area piers, I saw plenty of people in as poor shape as me, trying and failing to role-play Olympic champions. Many even had Nike logos on their clothes, just like the U.S. track team. Coincidence? Not in my book!

Even though I have horrible form and a less-than-sleek physique, in my mind, for those 25 horrible minutes, I was an Olympic runner. Right? For all the people around me knew, I just barely missed the qualifying time to go to Athens. Lots of people look flabby despite their hard training, right? Blame the metabolism!

I even envisioned running fast enough for my facial features to do that scary thing where they jiggle violently, independent of the rest of the human being. Is this not the most fun element of slow-motion Olympics coverage? I say “envision” because I could never will my body to move fast enough for this to happen.

Key to my assuming near-Olympian status were my obscene red-and-gold sporty sunglasses. (Go Boston College! Um, no.) They were completely unnecessary, as the sun had just set. But in New York (and everywhere else, but especially here), when you exercise, people look at you. There’s no mercy whatsoever.

I think it’s assumed that if you work out in NYC, you do so in order to be stared at. During my very few jaunts along the Hudson River, I’ve noticed that almost everyone whizzing by me on rollerblades, bikes, foot, etc. is really, really attractive and fit (excluding Olympics Guilt Week). It’s almost like you need to be screened before venturing onto the pedestrian walkway (runway?). I feel like I just barely made the cutoff and am lucky I’m so tall and minimally chested that I could potentially pass as a really convincing transvestite who could F-ing POUND you if you tried to keep her from her daily jog because she still can’t shake the dead-giveaway manly strength.

I can’t stand stranger-to-stranger eye contact, especially when I’m groveling in a pool of city grime, tap-water-poured-into-an-Evian-bottle and, most importantly, my own sweat. Mmmmm.

Of course, I may resent the voyeurism, but I’m not above it. Hence the eyewear! The unnecessary glasses give me official license to stare at other people and hold the gaze longer than would be appropriate sans eyewear. I go all sorts of beyond the comfort level from behind those things - but it’s fine, because I’m cloaked by the shade(s) of my own creepiness.

And I’m no hypocrite - if someone wants to hold the gaze on me, I’m all for that, as long as I don’t have to watch it. I don’t mind if other sunglass-wearers stare at me inappropriately. It’s bound to happen, as I am rather striking and inexplicably dress in all royal blue to go running. (It clashes with the iSkin. It’s fun.) But please: NO EYE CONTACT. It freaks me out.

I’ve gotten over it to some degree, after realizing that as ‘not a gay man,’ I don’t hold the interest of anyone in my neighborhood. I actually love this. People blatantly sizing each other up - especially if only one person is doing the staring - is one of the most unsettling parts of society, along with McDonald’s Chicken Selects commericals and unattractive thongs on unattractive women peeking out of unattractive jeans.

Actually, it might be time for an official DR poll.

Which of the following is most unsettling about society?

a) Getting stared at (including eye contact)
b) McDonald’s Chicken Selects commercials
c) UTOUWPOOUJ

Take your mark… Beep!