Creep Alert!

There is an unspoken bond between runners.

A smile. A nod. A warm 'hello'.

Regardless of height, age, race, weight or fitness level, passing a fellow runner means you're passing a friend, and all normal tendencies go ignored as you and that person share a moment. A moment in which you know that regardless of his bulging biceps or her graying hair, you are kindred spirits.

So what happens when kindred spirits get creepy?

I heard the pounding footsteps approaching behind me. Staying to one side of the path, I continued my pace, unfazed. I had been passed before. Once, by an elderly Asian man, wearing brown denim and ankle weights. Once by a tall, dark and handsome. I was sure I could handle this heavy-stepped runner.

And then, his steps slowed.

I stayed my course, my eyes straining where my head would not dare to turn, yet he remained out of sight. We continued on for a second or two, before I caught a bit of movement. I turned, and as I did so, he came up beside me.

5'8"
Dark hair
Whiskers
White shirt
Blue athletic shorts
Glasses, maybe

I turned my attention back to running. He was nothing to be afraid of.

And then, he spoke.

"How you doing?"

I didn't know whether to answer. Sure, we were both runners. At times it can be awkward to pass a fellow runner. And yes, there is a runner's code that says we're to be friends and share in our secret knowledge that what we're doing is better than the walkers or the bicyclists or the golfers even if it causes a bit more pain, but THAT DOES NOT MEAN WE HAVE TO BE SPEAKING FRIENDS.

"Alright," I answered--my standard answered when I'm secretly annoyed. Then, because I live by the runner's code, maintained friendliness, "You?"

"Good," he said.

He lingered for a moment before taking off. Then, not 20 paces ahead of me, he looked back.

Now, he could have been being nice.
He could have been looking out for me.
He could have been double checking on whether the tree he passed a minute ago was truly an oak.
But my gut told me, he was being creepy....and it wasn't just the side stitch talking.

I followed him for a bit (there's only one path around this particular park). Then, after he again stole a lengthy glance behind him, I slowed to a walk. And when the opportunity for me to cross over into the bordering neighborhood presented itself, I took it. There was no way I was going to 'happen' to be in the parking lot at the same time as this guy. No way.

And that's my story. Was he a creep? Maybe. Maybe not. Did I get too freaked? Maybe. But probably not.

I'm trying out this new thing where I force myself to react as a normal person would, because the real me lacks a healthy dose of fear. The real me takes unplanned detours into the neighborhoods of Gary, Indiana, and the real me goes to the Shell station off of Pontiac at 10 o'clock at night.

While the new me throws up a red flag at 'hello'.

It's all about balance.

The real me lacks a healthy dose of fear.