I haven’t been able to get my Garmin to “talk” to my computer today yet. I’m not willing to fight technology today. But I’m willing to bet that the graph for the run will show increased speed right around the 2.25 mile mark. I struggled to slow my pace down after the encounter.
I should be happy that after logging over 2,950 miles (the majority outside in my hometown) that I rarely have to deal with encounters. Men (I wish I could say it were always boys, but it often isn’t) in cars, while irritating and juvenile, are not frightening. They are unlikely to stop and comment to my face. The anonymity of the car protects them. Men walking on the street are far more frightening. One could probably easily overtake me if they wanted. Luckily, I was on a well-traveled thoroughfare when this happened.
Why do men believe that it is appropriate to tell a stranger that she is beautiful? I’ve been trying to think of a way to convey in the written word what he communicated through the tone of his voice. It was not a complimentary tone; it was this tone of what I can only describe as hunger that scared me into a tempo speed on my long run. I felt objectified and this scared me. He continued to talk after me but I turned up my music, so I wouldn’t have to hear what he was compelled to tell me. He started, it seemed, to tell me what he would like to do with me. I ran and focused on listening to Peter Sagal and Wait! Wait! Don’t Tell Me. I figured I couldn’t be attacked while NPR is playing. Right? Peter Sagal could be my patron saint of running. His voice could form a protective bubble around me.
So, if you know of a muscular, mute male in need of a job. Send him this way.