So there I was blissfully* running during the late March weather event when, after topping the Prospect Park Hill (which I maintain is much harder than Cat Hill that all the Central Park runners are always griping about), I heard two men behind me, rapidly approaching. I figured they must be on bikes. I figured correctly. Given that it was windy, and they were on the move, some of what they were saying was a little garbled but what I heard was something along the lines of
…blah, blah, blah…I would love that ass for Christmas…blah, blah, blah…so hot.
Obviously, I was annoyed. Also, my ass happened to be the only ass in their line of vision and it was, at that moment, safely nestled inside a pair of CW-X compression pants.** Anyway, it was only for a split second that I thought they might have been addressing their comments my way. More than likely, they were just talking bullshit (albeit offensive bullshit) and my presence was completely coincidental. Either way, I wasn’t planning on saying anything at all and instead had resigned myself to just rolling my eyes aggressively and angrily mumbling to myself when I saw who one of the cyclers was. It was the Skeezy Cycler. I have intended to write about this guy forever because he has been pissing me off for years, literally. I bet other women who make a habit of running in Prospect Park know who I am talking about. He rides around with big groups of other cyclers, wears a red and black tri-suit, has longish brown-grey hair and looks to me like he might be Argentinian, of the Italian variety. Skeezy Cycler checks out nearly every female runner he sees looping the park, multiple times if you are out there long enough and he happens to lap you. He has been doing this to me for-fucking-ever and I have been holding a grudge. Well, when I noticed that one of the dudes was none other than Skeezy Cycler (which I knew because he obviously checked me out for the millionth time), I literally could not help myself. My mouth went off before I knew what was happening and I said, somewhat loudly,
You guys are assholes.
They then slowed down their bikes, looked over at me and exchanged a perplexed
What did she just say? Did you hear that?
and then, thankfully, rode on. I was not really up for an altercation right then seeing as how it was snowing and I was cold, but I would have finished what I started had it been necessary. Anyway, once it became clear they weren’t coming back I came to the realization that the man who had secretly been my nemesis for like half a decade, was now actually my real life nemesis, like, out in the open. And he would know it was me in the future because I, like him, am hard to miss. I am not distinguished by my leering but, instead, by the hair that goes down to my ass. Not common. So I thought to myself why not go stealth and get a hair cut? But then I was like, why let the Skeezy Cycler win? Don’t cut your hair to hide from the likes of him. But then I thought, yeah but what if he calls me a bitch next time he sees me. Or, worse yet, what if he spits on my when he passes me by! This might seem an outlandish fear except that it has happened to me before. Not by him but still. Once you’ve been spit on (twice, in my case, and by the same guy) you are never really the same. Anyway, ultimately I decided, no, maybe he would be an adult about it and ride up alongside me and say, kindly,
Was that you who called me an asshole the other day?
And then I would say the following:
Yes, it was me who called you an asshole the other day and here’s why. I have been seeing you for years around the park and I have noticed that you skeezily check out most female runners as you ride by and you know what? That is not flattering. That is rude. We are not out here to impress you. We are out here clearing our minds, getting in shape, training for a race. We are working hard on our bodies to feel good and to look good, mostly for ourselves but also for our partners. Maybe you think it is harmless what you are doing, over and over again, but let me tell you it isn’t. Some women might not notice, but for others of us, it pisses is off and insults us and makes us feel slightly less human. We deal with it out on the streets all day, every day, so let us have the park as a zone of safety. So yes, that was me that called you an asshole and I meant it, I just feel a little bad I caught your buddy in the crossfire. So, next time you see me, you can wave, or say “hey Rebekah” or “nice pace” or whatever encouraging comment you come up with and I will wave back and return the favor, but for crying out loud stop making me refer to you in my non-running life as the Skeezy Cycler. Stop making me dread seeing you. In short, stop being such a dick. For crying out loud, stop staring. Staring is rude.
*Actually, it was hailing so not-so-blissfully
**That picture is provided so you can understand why I might have felt slightly uncomfortable about their comments. Furthermore, at this time I would like to point out that I bought my pair of these pants on sale and they were worth every penny. I would even pay full price for them! To be honest, I used look sideways at people who wore them but they are oh so awesome for cold weather running.
franklyrebekah 