It’s the Little Things

Sometimes being a woman in New York is exhausting.  The hooting, the hollering, the cat-calling, the whistling, the honking.  I tend to get the most harassment when I am on the run.  I can’t even count the number of times I have heard the comment

“Can I run with you, baby?”

“No.  And you couldn’t keep up if you tried.”

I’ve never had anyone take me up on my challenge and I hope that I don’t.  I’m fast(ish) but put me up against someone who does a few speed repeats and I’m toast.  Because of a vast amount of past experiences, when I run I tend to expect the worst from (male) passersby.  Every now and again, though, they surprise me in a good way.  I have been living, and running, in the same neighborhood for 7 years now.  I know all the neighborhood characters by face and some by name.  I pass the same people day in and day out.  For some reason, though, it never occurred to me that these same people notice me, too.  Today, I left my house with my gym bag, resigned to running on the treadmill because the prospect of 95 degree heat plus humidity plus a blazing sun seemed a little too much to handle, especially when I have to work until 4am.  On my way to the gym I caught sight of this guy who I have seen for years now but never spoken to.  He seems to know a lot of the old school people in the neighborhood.  He has a gravely voice and he oftentimes walks down the middle of fourth avenue rolling a shopping cart full of what appears to be sheet metal.  He curses a lot for reasons I have yet to figure out.  Call me an asshole but I never felt compelled to stop and have a conversation.  Today as I walked to the gym he caught my eye and in that unique voice he said,

“You can run, baby.  God bless you.  I seen you and damn, you can run.”

I smiled, thanked him sheepishly and went on my way, a little spring in my step.  Mostly, I run for me but every once in a while it is nice to be noticed and appreciated by a pseudo-stranger for the things you work hard at.

Tags: New York, running