Recently, I wrote about my love of running and being active, and shared some of my positive running experiences. There is another aspect of running, and perhaps generally being a woman, that I did not share at that time and would like to talk about briefly here. It is not so positive. That is catcalling (and worse things), cars, and men. Or, more to the point: men shouting from cars. The summer is particularly plagued by this disgusting, entitled behavior.
Even if you don't run, perhaps you can relate -- really, the issue at hand in this case is not so much running, as what one frequently encounters as a woman who happens to be running. If you can't relate, it is probably good information for you to know. I bring it up spurred by a string of recent and particularly frustrating incidents.
Even if you don't run, perhaps you can relate -- really, the issue at hand in this case is not so much running, as what one frequently encounters as a woman who happens to be running. If you can't relate, it is probably good information for you to know. I bring it up spurred by a string of recent and particularly frustrating incidents.
To begin, as you can gather from previous writing, running (and being active) is something I do for myself. To summarize: I like to challenge myself. I enjoy working to become stronger. I'm no all-star, but running is an outlet for me to channel that energy and that ambition, to stay healthy, and to feel strong. Sometimes, it is a method to find peace, and calm. It can of course be discouraging as well, or difficult, but so it is with most endeavors. You keep trying, and pushing yourself to improve. Regardless, it is something that I (usually) enjoy. That I do for me. A way for me to think, to feel good, to use my body in a way that is enjoyable for me. I think many people have similar hobbies or endeavors or activities that we enjoy for similar reasons.
In the summer, it can get hot. It feels nice to wear shorts and a tank top or t-shirt (or sometimes, if it is especially hot and I feel brave, a sports bra and shorts). The touch of warm air, of sunshine, of soft wind on your skin as you run feels good. It can feel liberating, even. When I wear these clothes, typical of someone exercising, it is physically comfortable. It is conducive to a comfortable run. It keeps me cool, it is relaxing, it helps me in the activity at hand. Sometimes, it helps me to celebrate the strength I am working towards, and to utilize what I have achieved. Generally, I run better when I wear clothes meant for exercise. Men run in shorts and shirtless all the time, and I can't quite do that, but I can come close and it usually feels nice.
It can also be terrifying.
Sometimes, I will be running along, feeling great -- feeling smooth, feeling strong, loving the feel of the air, reflecting, going over my own thoughts, and feeling good. Other times, I feel tired, but have pushed myself out the door and am trying my best -- I don't feel smooth, I feel self-conscious, maybe uncomfortable, out of shape, anxious, etc so I am extra vulnerable. But let us start with the first scenario. Perhaps it is sunny out, and the air is just right. The sky is beautiful, there is a slight breeze. I feel fresh, I feel happy, and I am enjoying myself. My steps are light. The leaves on the trees are floating gently, and the sunshine is glancing off of them prettily. Most likely, I have been working all day and this is my chance for a break. I am free.
Then, suddenly, the rush of a large vehicle. Swoosh.
"Suck my dick!"
As quick as that, they are gone. A truck of young men with the windows rolled down.
And my confidence? My peace? My feeling of safety? My hard-won happiness and focus? They are gone too, all in an instant, the turn of a dime, a split second. But the anger, the upset, the sadness, the fear, and frustration, the humiliation and embarrassment, the doubt -- they remain. A whole flood of emotions remain. Depending on the situation, depending on the incident, those emotions can be brushed off. Women usually have to brush off a lot. For me, though, incidents like the one I described are hard to shake off. At best, I can gather myself and salvage the run. I can re-focus and try to forget it. But at worst, depending on what is said or how, or how many times it happens during a run, I can think of nothing else. My run is consumed by that flood of negative and hurt emotions. I get home, not feeling relaxed and happy, but confused. Angry. Furious. Trapped. Defeated. Embarrassed. Used. Unsafe. Sometimes, sick to my stomach, even.
This is not a one-time incident. This is a recurring incident. A weekly, sometimes daily, incident. Myself and many other women hear all sorts of things. There are many other articles by frustrated women who have had similar experiences. Personally, I have gotten a range of catcalls and yells in my time as a runner, and as a woman in general. Sometimes, it is slightly more innocuous, though still upsetting, Things like: whistles, "yeah!", "wooh!", honks, all manner of noise, etc. Sometimes an unwelcome "compliment" or two. And I get that some men and some women consider these to be flattering. But these things, really, are meant to say: yeah, I like what I see. They are meant to say: you as a woman (read: object) are pleasing to me, and I am privileged enough to say so, and I am taking my enjoyment of the sight of you. That is what is at the heart of those statements. Sometimes, I can see it, in their eyes on me, and am disgusted.
Sometimes, I suppose, these meaning are subconscious -- although I can only guess, not being a man and never having shouted such things -- and sometimes I am sure the goal is very intentional. And the "compliments"? I want to say in response: who are you, stranger, man on the street, to tell me what is or is not good about my body? To tell me to "work it off"? What right do you have to make that judgement? To speak that judgement? What right do you have to my body? "None!" I would say. . . but then I remember. Then I wake up. In this world, they have every right. That is the right that these men have been allowed. That is the right that our society, and that many societies, continue to grant men. Especially young men, who are rarely punished. Boys will be boys, after all. And they're just complimenting you! Why are you so worked up! People do not always understand why many women do not appreciate such things. (And sure, some women might not mind or might be flattered, but unless they literally ask you to catcall them, you have no business doing it.)
However, very often what is shouted is even more vicious. It is more calculated. It is meant to say: I see you, feeling strong and feeling free, but I am going to put you in your place. That falls into a different category to me. There is no room for doubt in my mind that men who shout things like "suck my dick", "fat floppy tits"(shouted at me when I was 16, and running next to my dad), "fat lady", are doing so out of malicious intent. The whistlers? The "compliments"? These are disgusting, yes, but at the very least there is the slim and perhaps naive chance that such men are unaware of the hurtfulness, the wrongness in their "harmless" or "fun" behavior and that perhaps, if informed, they would change. Unlikely, but possible. Many of them, after all, have been taught, have been indoctrinated to behave that way, to treat women that way. Which does not excuse them -- they could, you know, wake up and think for themselves and have some god damn respect -- but the system in the moment serves them and surrounds them. (Others are just scum, who refuse to learn, to change, to become better people).
But those who yell such things as "suck my dick"? They know exactly what they are doing. I have a deep-seated vehemence for them.
The more I run, the more these incidents occur. It is impossible to avoid. Men are everywhere, both good men and bad men. Scum. And unfortunately, good and bad is not always such an easy line to draw. There are "good" men who have engrained sexist mentalities, too. (Same goes for women, but they don't usually have the same privilege) Furthermore, this has happened to me everywhere. It has happened to me in my hometown of Minneapolis, it has happened to me where I am now in a decent sized town in Oregon, in urban areas, and in rural areas, in Australia, in Japan. Ask a woman, and I would bet she has similar stories.
Here in the U.S., I have found that it is often worse when there are cars involved. Why? My guess is because many of these men are cowards, and they seize the chance as they see it. There is 0 risk of consequence for them as they zoom past, even less than when standing on the street. They can startle me, they can shout what they want, and be on their way. Men on the street may throw a "compliment", but when they are in a car they become even more daring. Roads and cars are everywhere, too. Unavoidable. I do try to avoid busy areas -- and areas where there are likely to be young men, the most frequent offenders -- but that is not my responsibility. I don't like the abrasive noise of traffic anyways, so I naturally try to avoid trafficy roads if I can. Nonetheless, there are some stretches that are simply unavoidable. Roads/streets connect places, and sidewalks usually follow them. Even bike trails often follow roads, or vice versa. Unless I can get onto the forest trails -- which isn't always feasible during the week, and certainly something rarely readily accessible for most running women -- I am stuck with the risk of a car driving past the sidewalk I am on, or driving past as I am desperately attempting to make that stretch of road/street to a trail without incident. Even in the forest, I am not totally safe though I far prefer it. (And there are other fears to plague you, because you are alone, and you don't know who you might meet, and you've been taught your whole life to be careful. I'm not talking about bears or wolves or cougars. I would gladly meet these animals. But humans? Men? They are more deserving of your apprehension, and statistically far more likely to require it.)
The fear stays with you. The sound of a speeding car coming up along side me makes me immediately nervous. I tense. I brace myself for some shout. Then, if there is nothing, I feel a wave of relief. Until the next vehicle. This fear may sound like an overreaction. It is not. It is not unfounded. It is based on experience, for one, but it is also based on reality. I have been fortunate thus far in my life that I have not had to face a major incident. I have been fortunate in my life thus far that these men have left and continued fast on their way. That they have never turned back. That they have never parked and waited for me down the way. That they have (rarely) tried to hit me or to run me off the road. This is the reality that is attached to my anxiety over catcalls and shouts. (If you don't believe me, go look up some data about sexual assault of women. I'm far from a paranoid person, but I am not blind to fact.)
In truth, it is part of what leads me to become apprehensive every time I see a man. Every time I encounter a man when I am on my own, when I run (or walk, for that matter) past a man on the sidewalk or wherever I happen to be. I have a moment of hesitation, of measurement. It is the same reason I am cautious about where I go, and what time. It is the same reason I, unlike most men, cannot go for an early morning run or a nighttime run without that fear stored in the back of my mind, and so avoid those times if I can. Without clenching my fist if I see someone along the way, and I am alone. Without holding my keys sharp side up when it is dark out, and I am unsure. It is for my self-preservation. And as I have stated, this is me speaking as someone who has been very lucky not to have experienced anything severe.
If you are a man reading this, you might not comprehend. (In which case, I might suggest this article) Very often, in conversation with men about trails or places to visit or travel, a woman might ask: "is it safe?" I have asked this. I have asked male acquaintances, male relatives, male friends. Usually, the man will not understand the question. Of course it is safe -- (for a man). You might not even be aware that women do these things out of concern for their safety. They do. And they are smart for doing it, although they should not have to. It is us women who are taught to be careful, that our safety is our own responsibility, and that it is our fault if we misstep and encounter trouble. It is the same reason my dad tells me he wishes I would not run close to evening, the same reason he says he wishes I would not run in the woods on my own. I cannot blame him for worrying, and it is because he loves me that he worries. Still, I feel resentment. Why don't you tell men to leave me alone? Why don't you tell men that a woman running, a woman walking, a woman going about her life should be respected and left alone. Why should I be restricted? (I read a great article by a young woman about this not long ago, actually). And he does not seem to realize that, frankly, the woods appear the far safer option to me.
A man can run without his shirt, he can run comfortably and enjoy the sun, and not be verbally attacked. Not be ogled. He can be large or out-of-shape, or fit and muscled. Yet, no matter what I wear, there are incidents. No matter what physical shape you are in as a woman, you are likely to encounter shouts or yells or catcalls from men. If you are a larger woman, these can be particularly derisive in nature and I can only imagine the hurt in those situations. You are out working hard and should not have to deal with that! As a woman, I have been bombarded with images and marketing and cultural/societal norms that seem to have it as their goal to cause low self-esteem, and through running I try to find strength and counter that. For me, while I still have my share of confidence issues about my body, an active life style has resulted in a more-or-less conventionally fit looking body (and fitness or contentment should always be the goal, not a size or number fyi). It's not perfect, it is not modelesque. It's pretty average. But it is strong, it is healthy, and for that I am always grateful to it. I love it. I fight with it and for it, I work with it and for it, and it takes me through life. It is me!
But it is very troublesome to counter those negative and oppressive societal norms and pressures, and for me when I hear a man shout things like "suck my dick" or call me fat, I have to work extra hard to recover, to reboot my confidence. These men are meaningless in my life, true, yet their maliciousness is a constant reminder of the world as it is nonetheless. Of their very real threat. Of the world that women continue to live in, where they are devalued, and put down, controlled, and derided no matter what they do and especially if they are happy or proud of themselves, or do something for themselves. Or do something well. Or do something poorly. Where they often have to fight very hard to feel comfort, or to feel free. When these men shout at me, whether they realize it or not (and I suspect that they do, and it is a power trip for them), they are trying to take away the freedom that I find in running. The freedom that I find in becoming strong. I have to evaluate in that moment, am I safe? They make me feel humiliated (when I have nothing to be humiliated for!). They make me feel shame for no reason but their own pleasure.
That hard work that is a part of running, or a part of any endeavor, it is not for them. It is for me, or for those that I choose. But society doesn't tell them that. It tells them that what they find attractive is theirs. What they don't find attractive, they can insult. What they don't like, they can quash and control or ignore or mock. If you are a woman and you seem too confident or too certain of your own worth as a human being, they can swoop in and try to snatch that away and make sure you stay where you should. And of course if you are wearing shorts or showing your stomach, or are visible at all, it is for attention.
So these experiences can make me feel trapped and restricted. It makes me seriously consider, on a hot day, if running in a tank top and shorts is worth the risk that day of being shouted at. Or god forbid, a sports bra and shorts. Or any day I go outside in clothes (and I can't go outside without them, so I am told). Or running in certain areas or on certain routes. And will I be safe? Do I feel like I can take it that day? Do I feel like I can handle being shouted at, and brush it off again? Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't, depending on how tough I am that day.
Or should I just deal with the sweat and the heat instead and wear a t-shirt? But wearing a t-shirt does not stop them, I say -- I have been wearing all sorts of different clothes when it happens, or when I see it happen, or when it happens to friends, or when other women encounter similar incidents. So why even try? What's the point? I can't do anything. It doesn't matter what I do. I am made to feel powerless.
And then I become angry, and think why should I not be free to do this? Why should I not be able to feel comfortable and enjoy running as I want to? I am not hurting anyone! I am just enjoying my body, and enjoying the weather, and enjoying being alive in a way that suits me. So I tell myself to do it. Go ahead, enjoy your run. Be free. Then a voice in my mind reminds me, as I tie my shoes.... Remember what happened last time? Remember? Do you want that? I hesitate. I put something on and cover up. And then I still get shouted at.
Obviously, there are bigger issues than running shorts and tank tops. Still, I think that the implications of this topic are pretty insidious.
These days, as I get older and tougher and continue to encounter these incidents, I become bolder too. Not just in running, but in many aspects of life. Resentment and anger builds up in you, and you have to be vigilant to keep yourself balanced. To find peace, and to embrace compassion, even when there is so much hate and hurt. Still, I have now grown bold enough -- and perhaps foolish enough -- that I no longer stay quiet when these situations arise. I fight back. Maybe it is stupid. Maybe I should stay quiet. They probably don't even hear my furious shouts back. But I do shout back now. I give them the middle finger. Or two. I have come very close to carrying rocks or soft fruit but have had to restrain myself. If you know me, you know that I rarely curse. But I have taken up cursing in these situations. It's all I can do, besides take it. I tell them to go to hell. To F*** themselves, that they are trash. And I wish, I wish, I wish so badly to inflict the same hurt upon them. Yet it is futile, and deep down I know it. I know that even if they hear me, they are laughing. Or that if I do manage to rouse them, they could be dangerous. They could come back.
(In which case, I like to imagine that I could finally give them my two cents. And two swift black eyes, and a swifter kick in the groin. But in actuality, you never know what someone else might try and I might not get the chance to fight back.)
I also know, deep down, that I don't want to be like them. I don't want to hurt people. That I must find it in myself to be better. It just seems like, for once, it would be satisfying to see karma. To see those who are wrong and hurtful experience their ways, and to be defeated. Ideally, to change. To have some fleeting moment of vengeance for all the sexism and misogyny that exists, and which they support with their shouts.
So it seems like a small thing, you may be thinking. You are so upset over shouts and yells? Over meaningless jeers and leers from strangers? Yes. Yes, because it is all-consuming. Because it is inescapable, even when I am most strong and feeling most free. It wears you down, little by little, and sometimes you can't build yourself back up quick enough.
It is not just about running. It is not that simple. It reminds me of everything that is wrong in our society. It reminds you of all the little slights you face as a woman. It reminds you of things you don't want to think about, that you just want a break from, but you can't make that choice because you are forcibly reminded of it. It reminds you of the larger framework of oppression, of the things for which you are made to feel shame and guilt, the way your body is co-opted from you and dissected and controlled and objectified. The way you will never be able to be as free as a man. You will always be worth less than a man despite how you try. It reminds you of your doubts. It reminds you that your confidence, that your belief in your own self-worth and intelligence and strength and beauty are not recognized in this society, or at least they are cheap enough that a man's privilege to shout at you outweighs them. That sexism and misogyny are far from defeated. Not yet, maybe not ever. (Though I certainly hope things change, and I recognize that thank heavens things have improved). So take what activity you like in the place of running, most women probably have similar situations.
Here's the thing, though. I have it good. I live in a country where as a woman I can vote, where I can participate in athletics (even if it still means being derided or judged or insulted or threatened in certain cases), where I was able to finish school and go to college, and graduate school. I have more rights here than I might have in many other parts of the world. I can sometimes express my opinion. And because of the pale color of the skin I happened to be born with, in this country where whiteness is power, I have no illusions that I have more privileges than those of darker skin who face sexism combined with racism. No, I cannot deny the privileges of my skin color and have no doubt that I am in the category of white woman when it comes to that privilege. While I do not know how it feels to be a woman of color, even so it is very clear that a woman of color is less likely to be helped by the authorities if a situation such as I have described turns dangerous. Women of color are far less likely to be searched for, and many more have gone missing. (Consider, for example, the appalling number of missing indigenous women). Men can prey upon women of color more easily than they can prey upon white women, because of the additional system of racism. If a woman of color is attacked, or retaliates or fights back, there is greater risk to them of harm and less chance of assistance. The patriarchy clamps down hard. Or, for a woman who is trans. Or a woman who is gay. Or poor. This makes me all the more angry. I have this fear and anger and frustration as a white woman -- relatively privileged status, unearned though it is -- so how much more fear and anger and frustration women of color or trans women or marginalized women, who have so often been excluded from feminism, feel I can only imagine. And that system, frankly, sucks.
So that is what I wanted to share. Obviously, there are larger issues to tackle when it comes to feminism. Nonetheless, it is a symptom of said larger issues, of a system of sexism and objectification and inequality, and it is not going away anytime soon (unfortunately) unless people reprimand those who exhibit such disgusting behavior. It is rarely as innocuous as it seems. I also want to encourage men to call out their fellow men when they start rolling down the window.
In the summer, it can get hot. It feels nice to wear shorts and a tank top or t-shirt (or sometimes, if it is especially hot and I feel brave, a sports bra and shorts). The touch of warm air, of sunshine, of soft wind on your skin as you run feels good. It can feel liberating, even. When I wear these clothes, typical of someone exercising, it is physically comfortable. It is conducive to a comfortable run. It keeps me cool, it is relaxing, it helps me in the activity at hand. Sometimes, it helps me to celebrate the strength I am working towards, and to utilize what I have achieved. Generally, I run better when I wear clothes meant for exercise. Men run in shorts and shirtless all the time, and I can't quite do that, but I can come close and it usually feels nice.
It can also be terrifying.
Sometimes, I will be running along, feeling great -- feeling smooth, feeling strong, loving the feel of the air, reflecting, going over my own thoughts, and feeling good. Other times, I feel tired, but have pushed myself out the door and am trying my best -- I don't feel smooth, I feel self-conscious, maybe uncomfortable, out of shape, anxious, etc so I am extra vulnerable. But let us start with the first scenario. Perhaps it is sunny out, and the air is just right. The sky is beautiful, there is a slight breeze. I feel fresh, I feel happy, and I am enjoying myself. My steps are light. The leaves on the trees are floating gently, and the sunshine is glancing off of them prettily. Most likely, I have been working all day and this is my chance for a break. I am free.
Then, suddenly, the rush of a large vehicle. Swoosh.
"Suck my dick!"
As quick as that, they are gone. A truck of young men with the windows rolled down.
And my confidence? My peace? My feeling of safety? My hard-won happiness and focus? They are gone too, all in an instant, the turn of a dime, a split second. But the anger, the upset, the sadness, the fear, and frustration, the humiliation and embarrassment, the doubt -- they remain. A whole flood of emotions remain. Depending on the situation, depending on the incident, those emotions can be brushed off. Women usually have to brush off a lot. For me, though, incidents like the one I described are hard to shake off. At best, I can gather myself and salvage the run. I can re-focus and try to forget it. But at worst, depending on what is said or how, or how many times it happens during a run, I can think of nothing else. My run is consumed by that flood of negative and hurt emotions. I get home, not feeling relaxed and happy, but confused. Angry. Furious. Trapped. Defeated. Embarrassed. Used. Unsafe. Sometimes, sick to my stomach, even.
This is not a one-time incident. This is a recurring incident. A weekly, sometimes daily, incident. Myself and many other women hear all sorts of things. There are many other articles by frustrated women who have had similar experiences. Personally, I have gotten a range of catcalls and yells in my time as a runner, and as a woman in general. Sometimes, it is slightly more innocuous, though still upsetting, Things like: whistles, "yeah!", "wooh!", honks, all manner of noise, etc. Sometimes an unwelcome "compliment" or two. And I get that some men and some women consider these to be flattering. But these things, really, are meant to say: yeah, I like what I see. They are meant to say: you as a woman (read: object) are pleasing to me, and I am privileged enough to say so, and I am taking my enjoyment of the sight of you. That is what is at the heart of those statements. Sometimes, I can see it, in their eyes on me, and am disgusted.
Sometimes, I suppose, these meaning are subconscious -- although I can only guess, not being a man and never having shouted such things -- and sometimes I am sure the goal is very intentional. And the "compliments"? I want to say in response: who are you, stranger, man on the street, to tell me what is or is not good about my body? To tell me to "work it off"? What right do you have to make that judgement? To speak that judgement? What right do you have to my body? "None!" I would say. . . but then I remember. Then I wake up. In this world, they have every right. That is the right that these men have been allowed. That is the right that our society, and that many societies, continue to grant men. Especially young men, who are rarely punished. Boys will be boys, after all. And they're just complimenting you! Why are you so worked up! People do not always understand why many women do not appreciate such things. (And sure, some women might not mind or might be flattered, but unless they literally ask you to catcall them, you have no business doing it.)
However, very often what is shouted is even more vicious. It is more calculated. It is meant to say: I see you, feeling strong and feeling free, but I am going to put you in your place. That falls into a different category to me. There is no room for doubt in my mind that men who shout things like "suck my dick", "fat floppy tits"(shouted at me when I was 16, and running next to my dad), "fat lady", are doing so out of malicious intent. The whistlers? The "compliments"? These are disgusting, yes, but at the very least there is the slim and perhaps naive chance that such men are unaware of the hurtfulness, the wrongness in their "harmless" or "fun" behavior and that perhaps, if informed, they would change. Unlikely, but possible. Many of them, after all, have been taught, have been indoctrinated to behave that way, to treat women that way. Which does not excuse them -- they could, you know, wake up and think for themselves and have some god damn respect -- but the system in the moment serves them and surrounds them. (Others are just scum, who refuse to learn, to change, to become better people).
But those who yell such things as "suck my dick"? They know exactly what they are doing. I have a deep-seated vehemence for them.
The more I run, the more these incidents occur. It is impossible to avoid. Men are everywhere, both good men and bad men. Scum. And unfortunately, good and bad is not always such an easy line to draw. There are "good" men who have engrained sexist mentalities, too. (Same goes for women, but they don't usually have the same privilege) Furthermore, this has happened to me everywhere. It has happened to me in my hometown of Minneapolis, it has happened to me where I am now in a decent sized town in Oregon, in urban areas, and in rural areas, in Australia, in Japan. Ask a woman, and I would bet she has similar stories.
Here in the U.S., I have found that it is often worse when there are cars involved. Why? My guess is because many of these men are cowards, and they seize the chance as they see it. There is 0 risk of consequence for them as they zoom past, even less than when standing on the street. They can startle me, they can shout what they want, and be on their way. Men on the street may throw a "compliment", but when they are in a car they become even more daring. Roads and cars are everywhere, too. Unavoidable. I do try to avoid busy areas -- and areas where there are likely to be young men, the most frequent offenders -- but that is not my responsibility. I don't like the abrasive noise of traffic anyways, so I naturally try to avoid trafficy roads if I can. Nonetheless, there are some stretches that are simply unavoidable. Roads/streets connect places, and sidewalks usually follow them. Even bike trails often follow roads, or vice versa. Unless I can get onto the forest trails -- which isn't always feasible during the week, and certainly something rarely readily accessible for most running women -- I am stuck with the risk of a car driving past the sidewalk I am on, or driving past as I am desperately attempting to make that stretch of road/street to a trail without incident. Even in the forest, I am not totally safe though I far prefer it. (And there are other fears to plague you, because you are alone, and you don't know who you might meet, and you've been taught your whole life to be careful. I'm not talking about bears or wolves or cougars. I would gladly meet these animals. But humans? Men? They are more deserving of your apprehension, and statistically far more likely to require it.)
The fear stays with you. The sound of a speeding car coming up along side me makes me immediately nervous. I tense. I brace myself for some shout. Then, if there is nothing, I feel a wave of relief. Until the next vehicle. This fear may sound like an overreaction. It is not. It is not unfounded. It is based on experience, for one, but it is also based on reality. I have been fortunate thus far in my life that I have not had to face a major incident. I have been fortunate in my life thus far that these men have left and continued fast on their way. That they have never turned back. That they have never parked and waited for me down the way. That they have (rarely) tried to hit me or to run me off the road. This is the reality that is attached to my anxiety over catcalls and shouts. (If you don't believe me, go look up some data about sexual assault of women. I'm far from a paranoid person, but I am not blind to fact.)
In truth, it is part of what leads me to become apprehensive every time I see a man. Every time I encounter a man when I am on my own, when I run (or walk, for that matter) past a man on the sidewalk or wherever I happen to be. I have a moment of hesitation, of measurement. It is the same reason I am cautious about where I go, and what time. It is the same reason I, unlike most men, cannot go for an early morning run or a nighttime run without that fear stored in the back of my mind, and so avoid those times if I can. Without clenching my fist if I see someone along the way, and I am alone. Without holding my keys sharp side up when it is dark out, and I am unsure. It is for my self-preservation. And as I have stated, this is me speaking as someone who has been very lucky not to have experienced anything severe.
If you are a man reading this, you might not comprehend. (In which case, I might suggest this article) Very often, in conversation with men about trails or places to visit or travel, a woman might ask: "is it safe?" I have asked this. I have asked male acquaintances, male relatives, male friends. Usually, the man will not understand the question. Of course it is safe -- (for a man). You might not even be aware that women do these things out of concern for their safety. They do. And they are smart for doing it, although they should not have to. It is us women who are taught to be careful, that our safety is our own responsibility, and that it is our fault if we misstep and encounter trouble. It is the same reason my dad tells me he wishes I would not run close to evening, the same reason he says he wishes I would not run in the woods on my own. I cannot blame him for worrying, and it is because he loves me that he worries. Still, I feel resentment. Why don't you tell men to leave me alone? Why don't you tell men that a woman running, a woman walking, a woman going about her life should be respected and left alone. Why should I be restricted? (I read a great article by a young woman about this not long ago, actually). And he does not seem to realize that, frankly, the woods appear the far safer option to me.
A man can run without his shirt, he can run comfortably and enjoy the sun, and not be verbally attacked. Not be ogled. He can be large or out-of-shape, or fit and muscled. Yet, no matter what I wear, there are incidents. No matter what physical shape you are in as a woman, you are likely to encounter shouts or yells or catcalls from men. If you are a larger woman, these can be particularly derisive in nature and I can only imagine the hurt in those situations. You are out working hard and should not have to deal with that! As a woman, I have been bombarded with images and marketing and cultural/societal norms that seem to have it as their goal to cause low self-esteem, and through running I try to find strength and counter that. For me, while I still have my share of confidence issues about my body, an active life style has resulted in a more-or-less conventionally fit looking body (and fitness or contentment should always be the goal, not a size or number fyi). It's not perfect, it is not modelesque. It's pretty average. But it is strong, it is healthy, and for that I am always grateful to it. I love it. I fight with it and for it, I work with it and for it, and it takes me through life. It is me!
But it is very troublesome to counter those negative and oppressive societal norms and pressures, and for me when I hear a man shout things like "suck my dick" or call me fat, I have to work extra hard to recover, to reboot my confidence. These men are meaningless in my life, true, yet their maliciousness is a constant reminder of the world as it is nonetheless. Of their very real threat. Of the world that women continue to live in, where they are devalued, and put down, controlled, and derided no matter what they do and especially if they are happy or proud of themselves, or do something for themselves. Or do something well. Or do something poorly. Where they often have to fight very hard to feel comfort, or to feel free. When these men shout at me, whether they realize it or not (and I suspect that they do, and it is a power trip for them), they are trying to take away the freedom that I find in running. The freedom that I find in becoming strong. I have to evaluate in that moment, am I safe? They make me feel humiliated (when I have nothing to be humiliated for!). They make me feel shame for no reason but their own pleasure.
That hard work that is a part of running, or a part of any endeavor, it is not for them. It is for me, or for those that I choose. But society doesn't tell them that. It tells them that what they find attractive is theirs. What they don't find attractive, they can insult. What they don't like, they can quash and control or ignore or mock. If you are a woman and you seem too confident or too certain of your own worth as a human being, they can swoop in and try to snatch that away and make sure you stay where you should. And of course if you are wearing shorts or showing your stomach, or are visible at all, it is for attention.
So these experiences can make me feel trapped and restricted. It makes me seriously consider, on a hot day, if running in a tank top and shorts is worth the risk that day of being shouted at. Or god forbid, a sports bra and shorts. Or any day I go outside in clothes (and I can't go outside without them, so I am told). Or running in certain areas or on certain routes. And will I be safe? Do I feel like I can take it that day? Do I feel like I can handle being shouted at, and brush it off again? Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't, depending on how tough I am that day.
Or should I just deal with the sweat and the heat instead and wear a t-shirt? But wearing a t-shirt does not stop them, I say -- I have been wearing all sorts of different clothes when it happens, or when I see it happen, or when it happens to friends, or when other women encounter similar incidents. So why even try? What's the point? I can't do anything. It doesn't matter what I do. I am made to feel powerless.
And then I become angry, and think why should I not be free to do this? Why should I not be able to feel comfortable and enjoy running as I want to? I am not hurting anyone! I am just enjoying my body, and enjoying the weather, and enjoying being alive in a way that suits me. So I tell myself to do it. Go ahead, enjoy your run. Be free. Then a voice in my mind reminds me, as I tie my shoes.... Remember what happened last time? Remember? Do you want that? I hesitate. I put something on and cover up. And then I still get shouted at.
Obviously, there are bigger issues than running shorts and tank tops. Still, I think that the implications of this topic are pretty insidious.
These days, as I get older and tougher and continue to encounter these incidents, I become bolder too. Not just in running, but in many aspects of life. Resentment and anger builds up in you, and you have to be vigilant to keep yourself balanced. To find peace, and to embrace compassion, even when there is so much hate and hurt. Still, I have now grown bold enough -- and perhaps foolish enough -- that I no longer stay quiet when these situations arise. I fight back. Maybe it is stupid. Maybe I should stay quiet. They probably don't even hear my furious shouts back. But I do shout back now. I give them the middle finger. Or two. I have come very close to carrying rocks or soft fruit but have had to restrain myself. If you know me, you know that I rarely curse. But I have taken up cursing in these situations. It's all I can do, besides take it. I tell them to go to hell. To F*** themselves, that they are trash. And I wish, I wish, I wish so badly to inflict the same hurt upon them. Yet it is futile, and deep down I know it. I know that even if they hear me, they are laughing. Or that if I do manage to rouse them, they could be dangerous. They could come back.
(In which case, I like to imagine that I could finally give them my two cents. And two swift black eyes, and a swifter kick in the groin. But in actuality, you never know what someone else might try and I might not get the chance to fight back.)
I also know, deep down, that I don't want to be like them. I don't want to hurt people. That I must find it in myself to be better. It just seems like, for once, it would be satisfying to see karma. To see those who are wrong and hurtful experience their ways, and to be defeated. Ideally, to change. To have some fleeting moment of vengeance for all the sexism and misogyny that exists, and which they support with their shouts.
So it seems like a small thing, you may be thinking. You are so upset over shouts and yells? Over meaningless jeers and leers from strangers? Yes. Yes, because it is all-consuming. Because it is inescapable, even when I am most strong and feeling most free. It wears you down, little by little, and sometimes you can't build yourself back up quick enough.
It is not just about running. It is not that simple. It reminds me of everything that is wrong in our society. It reminds you of all the little slights you face as a woman. It reminds you of things you don't want to think about, that you just want a break from, but you can't make that choice because you are forcibly reminded of it. It reminds you of the larger framework of oppression, of the things for which you are made to feel shame and guilt, the way your body is co-opted from you and dissected and controlled and objectified. The way you will never be able to be as free as a man. You will always be worth less than a man despite how you try. It reminds you of your doubts. It reminds you that your confidence, that your belief in your own self-worth and intelligence and strength and beauty are not recognized in this society, or at least they are cheap enough that a man's privilege to shout at you outweighs them. That sexism and misogyny are far from defeated. Not yet, maybe not ever. (Though I certainly hope things change, and I recognize that thank heavens things have improved). So take what activity you like in the place of running, most women probably have similar situations.
Here's the thing, though. I have it good. I live in a country where as a woman I can vote, where I can participate in athletics (even if it still means being derided or judged or insulted or threatened in certain cases), where I was able to finish school and go to college, and graduate school. I have more rights here than I might have in many other parts of the world. I can sometimes express my opinion. And because of the pale color of the skin I happened to be born with, in this country where whiteness is power, I have no illusions that I have more privileges than those of darker skin who face sexism combined with racism. No, I cannot deny the privileges of my skin color and have no doubt that I am in the category of white woman when it comes to that privilege. While I do not know how it feels to be a woman of color, even so it is very clear that a woman of color is less likely to be helped by the authorities if a situation such as I have described turns dangerous. Women of color are far less likely to be searched for, and many more have gone missing. (Consider, for example, the appalling number of missing indigenous women). Men can prey upon women of color more easily than they can prey upon white women, because of the additional system of racism. If a woman of color is attacked, or retaliates or fights back, there is greater risk to them of harm and less chance of assistance. The patriarchy clamps down hard. Or, for a woman who is trans. Or a woman who is gay. Or poor. This makes me all the more angry. I have this fear and anger and frustration as a white woman -- relatively privileged status, unearned though it is -- so how much more fear and anger and frustration women of color or trans women or marginalized women, who have so often been excluded from feminism, feel I can only imagine. And that system, frankly, sucks.
So that is what I wanted to share. Obviously, there are larger issues to tackle when it comes to feminism. Nonetheless, it is a symptom of said larger issues, of a system of sexism and objectification and inequality, and it is not going away anytime soon (unfortunately) unless people reprimand those who exhibit such disgusting behavior. It is rarely as innocuous as it seems. I also want to encourage men to call out their fellow men when they start rolling down the window.
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