Running With XX

Now don't get excited. I have neither the personality nor the stomach for pornography. What I refer to here is the female chromosomal composition.

I have been thinking about the whole issue of being female lately. I mean, I have been thinking about it my whole life, but with the election of a proud misogynist who considers our White House a dump and pussy grabbing fair sport for all men, it has been on my mind more. Also, as the days shorten I face my yearly dilemma. How comfortable am I running in the dark?

My email feed fed me this story today, about a high school XC runner attacked. The response is the team will fight back, learn self defense. Turn off the music, remove the ear buds, be vigilant, etc etc

All good advice that I would readily give my own daughter but where is the strong and furious shout to men to "STOP ATTACKING WOMEN!" Granted, I don't worry about it as much anymore, as I am relatively old (yeah, I turn 48 this week, planning to ask for headstone for my birthday) and not particularly beautiful. But even today, I was on a walk during my break at work. The neighborhood I work in is pretty sketchy. I like to listen to my book on "tape" while I walk. I like to walk to get my ass off my chair. Anyway, this guy was acting sort of weird and blocking my way on the sidewalk. I considered a different route, but instead put my game face on and moved forward. He so completely owned the sidewalk that I had to step into the dirt and circumnavigate him. I was ready to kick his ass if necessary. But alas, he turned out to be not interested in me. But he was also oblivious to his power.

Men who might read this: please be aware that you have power, just being you, just walking on a sidewalk, just stopping in front of us for reasons we cannot fathom. I am sorry if this is a drag for you, but imagine how your friends of XX chromosomes, wives, daughters, coworkers feel. Every time we venture out into public space alone feels potentially dangerous.


Not long ago a runner fought off her attacker in a rest room during her long run.
Moral of the story: never stop to take a piss.
Moral of the story: take a self defense class because some men are really awful.
Moral of the story: Not today mother fu$%er.

Even that phrase, "mother fucker" is so awful. Violence against women made into a catchphrase. Now I love Miles Davis as much as anyone ever has, but his use of that word was excessive. I got to see him in concert once, and he just flung that word around on stage, like it was nothing.

I don't really get what it means, though I guess it might be considered praise. it might be that men are so intensely disempowered by their mothers that they had to think of a way to regain that power. Or maybe I am overreacting. Whatever. I will continue to enjoy Miles Davis' music.

When I was in elementary school, I could outrun all the boys. That is the beauty of pre-pubescent youth. The male-female thing does not mean much until the guys sprout density and the girls sprout softness. Even just a few years ago I could outrun a lot of men. But then age, health, gravity, and discouragement got the best of me. Which is not to ay I can never return to my prior prowess.

But in order to do so I need to run in the dark, because summer is short and I work long hours. I need to be able to go out in the wee hours of the morning and not fear for my life, except maybe a healthy fear of the mountain lions and tripping over redwood roots on the trail. I would like to think my advanced age and elder status is like an armor, so I no longer need to worry about creeps on the streets and trails. And maybe I do not.

Women are objects. Women cannot be president. Women are either beautiful or worth nothing.

Or maybe our president and his followers are actually mistaken. Maybe we are just people too, some of us fierce and powerful, some of us petite and shy, some of us goofy and nerdy, some of us gay, some of us transgender, some of us soccer Moms, some of us Paris Hilton, some of us just about to turn 48 with hopes of one or two more PRs in the marathon.

So what should we do about women runners? Should they just be able to run, whenever and wherever they wish? Without fear? Except the fear of their own limitations? Or should women be always on the alert for the next attack?

So, what?