I went for a jog tonight. I really went for no purpose in mind other than to stay awake a few more hours. So I’m running, and I come to the four-way stop just outside my sub-division. I get there first (and don’t forget, pedestrians always have the right of way), but a half-second later a diesel-engined pick-up truck pulls up to cross against me. Well, he has to wait another half-second for me to finish crossing the street, so he proceeds to start into the intersection and rev his diesel engine at me.
Now mind you, I used to drive a diesel. I’ve grown up around diesels. I’m not intimidated by anyone’s stupid diesel engine in my face (no, that is not euphemism). As I’m running, I give him a slight glare, fight the urge to flip him off, and mutter a****** under my breath.
I’m not sure what it is when I’m running that makes me slightly mean. Maybe it’s because I feel so good about myself that I know I don’t have to take any trash anyone throws my way. Maybe I’m jaded by all the stupid drivers who don’t yield to runners. Maybe I feel empowered by the honking cars that pass me (there’s an excellent article in Women’s Health about all that). Regardless, I’m not going to stop running because I don’t have to and no stupid diesel-engined men are going to get in my way.
“If I’m free, it’s because I’m always running.” — Jimi Hendrix