She flagged me down just before the end of my run. I was fiddling with the Pandora app on my iPhone, skipping “Every Breath You Take” (great song, but not high tempo enough to power me through my final five minutes) and settling on “Where the Streets Have No Name” (maybe not fast enough either, but I would never skip U2; it’s a matter of principle). I lifted my eyes and my hand to offer my usual “Good morning!” and wave when I saw her come to a stop, looking like she had something to say. So I pulled out my ear buds and stopped too.
“Hey, have you heard about the guy on the trail by Lanman Road?” she asked.
“No. What guy?” I replied as my breath started to slow.
“There’s a guy who’s been flashing women. He just jumps out of the bushes when he sees them approaching.”
“Oh, that’s awful,” I offered, suddenly aware of my heart beating in my chest: was it the run or this news? “Have you seen him?”
“No, thank God, but someone reported him to the police. One woman’s seen him twice. They say he’s clean cut, about 5’10″, wears jeans, more weird than threatening,” she explained. “I wasn’t sure if you run that far, but I’ve seen you out here before and I wanted to let you know.”
“Wow, thanks. I had no idea.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
“Anyway, a bunch of us are getting together to start running in groups. If you want to give me your e-mail address, I’ll add you to the list,” she said, offering me her phone. Then a mischievous smile twinkled across her face: “It’s not like we’re gonna let this creep rob us of our fun. I mean, it’s our trail, right?”
“Yeah, sure, that would be great,” I smiled back while I’ll plugged my name into her contact list. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Absolutely! Strength in numbers, you know?” she called over her shoulder as she jogged away.
I’ve written before about the camaraderie among the walkers and runners on the trail near my house, about the strangers that become acquaintances as we move through the seasons together. And I’d seen this woman many times before. She’s about my age, but much fitter. Last week, she was just starting her run as I was finishing mine and then I spotted her again, about an hour later, running by while I, long since done, sat eating a cinnamon roll with a friend in a coffee shop downtown.
I’m not sure which feeling is stronger: my annoyance that some jerk is making me think twice about a solo running routine that helps bring peace to my days or my gratitude to this familiar stranger for offering me a new direction to go.
A note to my mom and other interested parties: I’m going to run in my neighborhood – even though the hills will kill me! – until I hear from my new friend about running in groups.
Edited to add (9/19/12, 10:02 a.m.): I just got back from a run in my neighborhood. I survived the hills…mostly. (That last one on the final half mile kind of kicked my butt.)
{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }
What a pervert. I hope that they catch that guy.
I’m glad that you “ran”…sorry lack of a better word…into that woman. Wouldn’t want a dinger flung in your face.
Be safe out there!!!
I have never understood this whole flashing thing. I mean, why? What’s the point?
Oh, well, at least you made a new friend out of it.
Yeah, I don’t get it either.
To be honest, it isn’t really the idea of running into a flasher that scares me, it’s the reminder that, as much as I don’t like it, I am vulnerable when I’m out running by myself.
What a kindness! I don’t think there would be that kind of neighborliness here.
I recently had a chat with the cashier at my grocery store after a series of strong storms passed through our town. Dismayed that no one on her street seemed to be checking in on one another, she remarked, “People don’t seem to know how to neighbor anymore.”
I really liked the way she used “neighbor” as a verb, even though her sentiment made me sad. It’s nice to know that my new running buddy still knows how to neighbor!
I hope she calls. I don’t want you running into that whack-o. But I’m glad you aren’t letting fear win.
What does it say about me that I am not scared of a flasher? I should be but he’s not dangerous right? Just weirdly compulsive. Now if he flashed my kids, I would kill but me? I don’t care, dude, just get out of the way so I can run.
I hear you. To be honest, when she first told me what was going on, I kind of giggled. (What am I, a 7th grader?!) But the more I thought about it, the more unsettled I felt: not scared of him, really, but scared of that bigger category of bad guys that I know exist.
What I also know is that the odds that I can run alone every day of my life and never come to any harm are definitely in my favor. I know that rationally; I’m just not there in my gut yet.
Glad you survived the hills, but I do hope you get to run your trail again with a group or alone! I have always felt nervous about running on trails, and it stinks that this guy only reinforces my nervousness. I hate the reality of our vulnerability. I like to think of myself as a woman running strong.
I like to think that way too. It really frustrates me that something as basic as my gender makes me a possible target. As my boys would say, “It’s not fair!”
In college I once chased a flasher away. It wasn’t much trouble, kind of hard to run when your pants are around your ankles.
I think you need to join our running group, Jack!
I love this image!
I think any reminder of our vulnerability can leave us a little breathless – at least momentarily – with or without being on a running trail.
I’m glad your fellow runner stopped to exchange numbers. It’s what my mother would have called the “buddy system,” though I understand how its necessity feels like an encroachment not only on one’s freedom, but for some of us, most necessary “alone time.”
You know me well, D. I cherish my runs as time to be alone and clear my ahead. The idea that I can’t have that time in the way that I had gotten used to is deeply frustrating to me.
The past couple of mornings, I’ve run alone in my neighborhood. I’m grateful to this woman for her efforts to organize running groups, but I think I’ll stick to my solo runs – just in a different setting.
That is an awesome idea…much safer even if the creep isn’t there!!!
I know you probably don’t want to go into this subject, but it reminds me of how much women have to carefully consider their every move. It’s frustrating that you can’t just enjoy a run without having to worry about a man flashing you.
But this story warms my heart. Your friend is not letting this man win by forming a running group. And, more importantly, it’s made of women for women. Something about this just makes me smile. A big, fat smile.
Obviously I want you to be safe. And, speaking to the bigger picture, I want all women to feel safe running solo. It’s just not the same when you have to run in a group.
The “good” thing is, most flashers are very passive and they’ll just flash you but you chase you down the trail. It’s the ones that lurk in the bushes until you run by that are the most worrisome. It’s always smarter to run with at least one more person. I walk with friends often but not often on my own, depending on the place. My town is pretty safe but I’ve seen suspicious people enough to use a safer way.
Do flashers just have a very high need to be SEEN?
I admire you for running alone. In umpteen years of track and cross country, I always tried to run with someone else–it just lessened the pain to run tandem. If you’re with someone and you do see this creep, the two of you laughing at him would probably put an end to his career.
I envy you for running alone. My running partner moved to another neighborhood and we try to meet up every few weeks to do a long run.
I hate that the safety of your run might be threatened because of this flasher. Glad you have the option of joining a running group to protect yourself.