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Before I step out of the house to go for a run, I go through the list of things I need: man-repelling attire, check; f*ck-off face, check; stone inside my running gloves (in case I need to fling it at a man who doesn’t get the above two messages), check.
Most days, it goes as expected – a holler here, a whistle there, a “may I join you?”, a neck-craning driver risking a collision as I turn a corner. It’s annoying and, sadly, it’s something that I and many other women have had to learn how to handle.
But today was different. Today I was disgusted by the cowardice of the men I came across. The first few said nothing, just leered.
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In my old sweats, oversized hoodie and a mask covering half my face, there was nothing sensual about my dress, which means this had nothing to do with my physical appearance, just the power that being bigger than me gave them.
The next was an ambulance driver, another neck-craner. I gestured quizzically as I ran at a right angle past him.
Then came the biggest coward – across the street, doing construction work, he had all the space in the world to have a derogatory conversation about me with his companion and I would not have been the wiser had he used a conversational decibel.
Instead, he made a point of shouting his disappointment, loud enough so that I any other person within 100m of him could hear: “Lomfazi uyagijima kunokuthi ube uyasebenza ekhaya. Ubani ophekayo ma esenzenje? Ivila. Uzenza umfaz’womlungu. Nx! [This woman is running instead of doing housework. Who’s cooking while she’s doing this? Lazy woman. She’s pretending to be a white woman.]”
I thought about shouting back “f*ck off!”, but the street was fairly quiet and I wouldn’t put it past a man like that to be the kind who could butcher me and bury me under the hedges lining the property.
Past a homeless man and his respectful “sister” and down the street past a roadworks crew. Sandwiched between the thin pavement and oncoming traffic, I hesitated a moment before reinforcing the f*ck-off face and forging on. Never letting an opportunity to harass a woman pass them by, they whispered and air-kissed and one shoved his phone at me. To put in my number? Throw it at the cars going past?
Then the second-last assailant, who looked at me and began handling his leaf-blower like an extension of his manhood. Gross.
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Back the way I came and the last man to shove his cowardice my way – a hawker at a robot who cat-called me from across the street. I had a mind to march up to him and bash his crooked teeth in.
Resigned and infuriated, I made my way home to peel off my running gear, feeling like every one of those disgusting men had actually touched me. I guess I should be grateful that they didn’t today. Who knows what could happen tomorrow. Perhaps I should swap my running stone for a pistol.
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