Eat Drink Run Woman

As a woman runner, I put my safety and well-being at the forefront. I never run at night unless my darling accompanies me, and I’m even leery to run alone early in the morning. I stay on well-traveled trails, and though I often run with my iPod, I am always aware of my surroundings.

While all of my precautions are common sense stuff, the true test comes when running in an unfamiliar city. This past weekend I was in Philadelphia for a personal chef conference, and I was also scheduled to do an 8-10 mile run. After consulting the GoPhila website, I decided the Schuylkill River Trail would be ideal; not only did it remind me of our local Burke-Gilman — a well-traveled, runner-friendly trail offering incredible views — it appeared to be within a couple miles from my hotel.

Although the route certainly looked safe, I emailed a local runner’s group to ask if there were any concerns (call me Nervous Nellie). I never got a reply but figured I could ask the hotel concierge. I also decided to run sans iPod.

Due to a travel snafu I didn’t arrive in Philly until 2 a.m., which meant I’d be starting my run late (the weather report said the humidity would be in the 80s, so I had wanted to get an early start). But by 9 a.m. I was ready to go and stopped at the concierge desk for directions. Seemed simple enough: turn left outside the hotel, right on 17th, follow 17th until the Ben Franklin Expressway (the only diagonal street), which would take me to the Philadelphia Art Museum and the Schuylkill Trail — an estimated 2 mile trek. He asked if I wanted to take a map with me but I declined (I didn’t have any pockets and would already be carrying my hotel card key).

I stepped out the front doors and was immediately hit with a wet blanket (figuratively, of course; I had forgotten what humidity felt like!). Garmin took forever to locate the satellites, so I took off before it could register. The sidewalks were teeming with people making their way to work, but I managed to dodge around them. At one point I came to what appeared to be a diagonal street, however, the sign said “Arch Street,” NOT the Ben Franklin Expressway. So I continued along 17th.

Here’s where judgment factors in. At what point do you determine the surroundings to be less than safe? When you see old, somewhat dilapidated houses with overgrown yards? If that were my only criteria, I wouldn’t run by my own house! When you hear reports of dangerous activity in the area? I have to be cautious even on my beloved Greenlake trail (a woman was sexually assaulted during a morning run several years ago). When you see homeless people? We often see them sleeping in the grassy areas by the lake, and I even found a man wrapped in a blanket sitting on my front porch one morning (I swear I live in a safe neighborhood!).

Or — and this is the toughest to admit — is it when the majority of people you see don’t look like you?

I grew up in liberal New England and was taught to respect ALL people, regardless of their race or ethnicity. Problem is, I never had much of a chance to test that philosophy. I grew up in northern Connecticut, which is about as white bread as they come. Maine, where we summered? Please! From what I can tell, not only do few people of color live there, you rarely see them among the hordes of tourists. Alaska? Aside from the native Alaskan Indian population, there’s little cultural diversity. Even in the most diverse cities I’ve lived in — Yakima and Seattle — people of color tend to congregate in certain neighborhoods. Neither seems as racially and culturally integrated as say Atlanta, Chicago or New York.

You tend to fear what you don’t know, but to fear someone, or even to just be leery of them, based on the color of their skin is not only irrational, it’s plain wrong. But unfortunately it’s all too common. The movie “Crash” depicted this marvelously; in the opening scene you see two young African American men walking the streets in an upscale Los Angeles neighborhood. One of them notices how most of the other pedestrians — particularly the women — would cross the street to avoid them, clutching their purses at their side. He rails against this racial prejudice; even though they’re dressed like any other college student out for an evening walk, they’re feared because they are black. (Ironically, just when you begin to empathize with them they pull the rug out from under you and steal a car at gunpoint, thus perpetuating the stereotype). I would never consider myself a purse-clutcher, but I have to admit to making snap judgments when my safety is concerned.

So here I was running in what was now a residential neighborhood — bopping along in my bright orange shorty skort and blonde ponytail — beginning to wonder if I was on the right track. Garmin still hadn’t registered, but I was about 13 minutes into the run (which would mean I had traveled at least a mile and a half). As I ran past people sitting on their front stoops (none of whom looked like me) I tried my best to put on my “city girl” face: “Don’t mess with me. I know what I’m doing and where I’m going.” (I’m sure I fooled no one). I ran strong and tall, making brief eye contact and nodding hello to everyone I passed. Not once did I feel threatened, but when the sidewalk started getting more and more broken up, I decided to head over a couple of blocks to the main arterial.

To assuage my guilt for letting those feelings creep in I forced myself to continue in what I thought was the right direction. I figured if anyone did try to attack me, 1) I carried nothing of value other than my Garmin, 2) I could probably outrun them, and 3) even if I couldn’t, I’d most likely gross them out with my profuse sweat. At one point I noticed I was running past a university, which put me at ease. Garmin finally connected to the satellites, so I could now tell how far I’d gone. At a little over 2 1/2 miles into the run, with no Schuylkill trail in sight, I decided to turn around. The humidity was unbearable and I wanted to get back to the hotel in time to shower for my luncheon. I stayed on the main arterial all the way back.

Later that afternoon I grabbed the map to show my roommate, who’s familiar with Philadelphia, where I’d run. I asked, “Where’s Temple University?” as that was the university I had passed. Her response? “Oh, you DON’T want to run there.”

D’oh! So much for good intentions.

Thing is, I NEVER felt like I was in danger. There was nary a menacing look or harsh word. Heck, I didn’t even get a catcall (which quite honestly hurt my feelings; my skort WAS pretty darn cute). In fact, I can’t recall experiencing a friendlier city than Philadelphia. Everyone was so polite and helpful; it really lived up to its name as the “city of Brotherly Love.” But everyone I shared my story with agreed: north Philly is not the best place for a woman to run alone in.

So, would I run that route again? Doubtful, but it has more to do with the fact it wasn’t scenic in the least. The next day my roommate and I walked to the Schuylkill trail, stopping to run up the steps in front of the Philadelphia Art Museum ala “Rocky” (I would have sung the theme song while doing so, but the Rocky statue has been temporarily moved for museum renovation). It’s a beautiful trail; one I hope to run again someday.