I went to mail a few things today and decided to go on a walk, as I was walking I decided that I wanted to run. I don’t know why. I mean usually when I go for a run I plan it all out, but today it was sporadic and spontaneous and unfortunately I didn’t have my i-pod. “Gasp! You reply. How did you survive?” I managed, I tell you, but it wasn’t pretty.
Not for the fact that music gives me a beat and helps me keep rhythm, or for the fact that it makes me forget that I could be breathing freakishly loud or that my muscles are bitching at me for making them work. No, it wasn’t because of those things even though the i-pod does help with those issues. What the i-pod is best at and what I use it for is a blockade.
When I have my i-pod on I don’t have to listen to the hootananey, the catcalls, the constant judgment of my woman-ness. Unlike my friend Kelsi who enjoys the encouragement from strange creepy men; I am disturbed that they aren’t minding their own business. I run for many reasons and though I would like to say that I only do it to be healthy I can’t because it’s not true. I run to be healthy but I also run to gasp! look good. I look good when I feel good and I feel good after I run so the cycle works for me. The problem is, I’m not trying to look good when I’m running; I’m trying to run.
I was perfectly complimented the other day when walking down the street some asshole yelled “nice rack” out of his car window. I replied with a simple “thank you”. I don’t know why I was so calm and so un-offended, besides the fact that my rack did look nice then and perhaps I am aware that one day it may not. But when I am running, especially without an i-pod to keep my rhythm or prevent me from hearing myself breathe then it becomes problematic to have the dogs bark unsweet advances towards my ears.
Especially homeless old crackheads who have whole conversations with me without me saying a word, for example, “Hey sweetheart, what’s your name? My name’s Scotty. Howsabouts you gives me something and I’ll gives you something in return” or something like that I was trying to ignore him and pretend I didn’t hear or see him though that often times does not work and I have to restore to the glare—which I have to admit I am a professional glarer—known to scare the bejesus out of my own friends-- imagine what I do to strangers. So in any case, it brings me back to my original point, which is sporadic runnings should not occur unless an i-pod is near or you’re ready to tell some old farts to booger off.
Which makes me annoyed that men can’t keep their stupid ass opinions to themselves. I mean really. Do they think I’m going to stop running, take off all my clothes and do them right there? What the fuck. It ain’t ever gonna happen. And you can’t keep me down my hitting on me cause I’m just going to keep running and keep looking good whether you’re getting any or not. Because men, you’re lack of confidence in you own masculinity and your constant need to attempt to put women “in their place” is no longer going to work. Catcall all day. We’re still going to go out and play. And we’re still going to ignore you and glare at your insecurities. Word.