Rage Running
Sometimes running is a release, a sense of freedom, a mental oasis.
I lace up my shoes most mornings and hit the streets with joy and a sense of purpose. Whether I’m training for a race or simply just running to run, I have embraced my relatively newfound identity of being a “real runner”.
I was first inspired to run when a friend invited me to do a 5k “Pride Run” in Brooklyn four years ago. From that point onwards, my running routine has been motivated by random races and benchmark goals I set for myself.
But, on rare days, my head goes to dark places.
I call these my “rage runs”. These are runs that feel necessary, but also a little destructive. I run with a fire in my eyes and a don’t-fuck-with-me attitude.
While I may look like your typical happy-go-lucky runner on the outside, inside, my mind is vividly fantasizing about pushing that asshole who keeps staring and smacking his lips at me into ongoing traffic.
I know, I told you, my head goes to a pretty dark place.
I don’t plan these “rage runs”, but rather, they are usually triggered by a series of small running frustrations built up over time:
- A car that stops short in front of me
- A dog that snaps at my heels and chases me down the street
- A group of teenage boys who yell at me to get my attention
- A man who stares at me a little too long
- A motorcyclist who rides up too close behind me
- A construction worker who hisses to get my attention
Suddenly the world is my enemy. I hate everyone and everything. I genuinely wish for someone to attempt to get in my face. I am eager to punch someone. Gouge out eyeballs. Rip out hair. Scream a litany of profanities. I make a mental note to look up self-defense classes when I get back home.
My fingers itch at the fantasy of grabbing a harasser by the collar of his shirt and beating him to the ground.
Full disclaimer: I have never been in a fight in my entire 32 years on earth.
I run from conflict.
I was taught to ignore mean people, turn the other cheek, take the high road.
Like a lot of women, I have been societally conditioned to prioritize my safety in threatening situations by simply walking away and not drawing undue attention to myself.
That being said, it makes me angry running as a woman on the streets of Cairo and having to be subjected to every Id-fuelled idiot's compulsion to yell, whistle, hiss, stare or talk to me.
Sometimes it just gets to be too much and these feelings of anger and resentment start seething within me, all the way down into my bones and I find myself blinded by fury. Blinded by the pain that men fear nothing on these streets and I have to constantly be on my guard for potential threats to my safety.
This is “rage running”.
Last year I found myself running alongside another female runner. We had a similar pace and stayed with one another for over 10 miles as our route carried us into downtown Cairo one Friday morning.
Maybe it was the heat or the physical exhaustion of a long run, but I opened my mouth and said to her, “do you ever have violent thoughts when you run”?
I could tell she was a sweet person. An elementary school teacher. She probably had no idea what I was talking abou —
“Oh my God YES! All the time!”
I was thrown by her enthusiasm.
“Like, wanting to punch random creepy men and smash their faces in”? I prompted.
“Yes!”
We kept running, only this time we were laughing and spewing out our innermost rage run fantasies to one another. It felt so good to tell someone about this dark secret of mine, especially someone who could relate and not think I was a sociopath. I was truly astounded to hear this fellow “sweet girl” runner also shared in this rage-fuelled running imagination fantasy game.
Most days, I love the world. I cherish the waves, thumbs up and smiles I get along my running routes in the city. I enjoy running with friends and I enjoy running solo.
Running gets me out of bed and makes me feel strong and empowered. The energy it fills me with gives me the courage to stand up for myself and speak my truth. Running gives me the ability to process my thoughts and then, if necessary, act on them. Non-violently, of course.
But running in a third world country has also opened my eyes to the rampant inequality, misogyny, and poverty that plagues our world. And if you ask me, that’s something we should all feel a little more rage about.
