Free to run

It’s hard to be a long-distance runner in the Midwest.

The humid summers are one thing, but worse still are the icy winters that preclude any hope of running outside. Believe me, there are few things more mind-numbingly boring than 10 miles on a treadmill. So when I found myself in a southern climate for a few days in January, I was most looking forward to running out of doors.

I was in a not-so-safe area of a big city surrounded by nothing but pavement, but that did not deter me. The friend with whom I was staying expressed his worry about my running alone; his roommate tried to suggest helpfully that I just run laps around the parking lot.

But it was broad daylight, the area didn’t look that bad to me and the temptation of the cool air and blue skies was just too great.

Mere meters into my run, however, I started to get nervous.

As I passed dilapidated buildings, men slowed their cars to crawls as they passed. I started to seriously regret the bright pink shirt and the short shorts. Cars honked and motorcyclists revved their engines, nearly giving me a heart attack every time. There were plenty of people around, but most were men, and nearly all of them had something to say as I passed.

I passed auto shops whose crews stopped what they were doing and called to me in a language I didn’t understand. I don’t know what they were saying, but I don’t think it was “Wow, good for her for making fitness a priority in her life!”

Of course it is fun to feel attractive, but it is one thing to feel like a pretty woman and quite another to feel like a vagina on legs. I began to get scared and started running faster. 

I looked straight ahead, ignoring every catcall and thinking powerful thoughts.

I made it home without incident, but I couldn’t help but wonder how many women who live in that neighborhood don’t go out running simply because they are afraid. I’m a pretty independent person and almost never balk at going places alone, but I know many women don’t feel so secure.

As I ran past, a young girl exclaimed to her mother, “Look at that girl running!” I gave her my biggest smile.  Behind me for many yards I could hear her saying over and over, “What’s up with that?”

I was saddened that she apparently doesn’t see women running very often, and I couldn’t get her out of my head for the rest of the day. I hope men don’t start catcalling her too soon. I hope she always feels like an attractive woman and never like a piece of meat. I hope she realizes what an incredible blessing her body is – but that it is paltry compared to her mind and heart.

And I hope that she always feels free to run.