It was still dark outside when I recognized it. The irony is not lost on me: the irony of seeing something in the darkness, something that’s been there all along, something I never noticed in the light of day.
I was in full-on marathon training mode, and I’d joined a local running group to help with the motivation and accountability for the early mornings. Escaping the summer heat in Texas isn’t an option, but being up well before the sun is one way to minimize its effects. And so I was up before 5, throwing on shoes and strapping my phone into its armband when I got a text from one of the women in the group. There were going to be 5 or 6 of us that morning, but she’d gotten word 2 of the others weren’t going to show and she wanted to know if I was going to be there. “Yes, ma’am, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” not thinking anything of her question except as a check-in on me. And so off I went to meet up with her and have my 32-year-old eyes opened to some of my male privilege.
To be clear, she didn’t give me some “woke” lecture on privilege, but she did enlighten me to the thought process of a woman about to go out for a run, and it is absolutely nothing like the thought process I use. As if there is even a thought process.
Where to run? In 2023, I went for runs in places like London, New York City, Boston, Philadelphia, Houston and Charlotte. My thought process may or may not have involved a check of Google Maps before I headed out. Earlier this year, my first morning ever in Scotland, the conversation in my head went something like this: “Yeah, that road goes down to the river and the river goes to the ocean. I’ll go that way.” The week before in Southern California, I checked Google Maps: “There’s a trailhead half a mile up that street toward the mountain. I’ll go that direction and see where it leads.” I do this everywhere I go. I run in downtowns and suburbs, on sidewalks and nature trails and the only thing I worry about is “How likely am I to be hit by a car?” And let it be said, just about everywhere in the world seems more pedestrian-friendly than Texas.
When to run? I’ll run early in the morning, or at lunch, or at the end of the day, it really just depends on my schedule. Schedule and temperature, but I don’t think about anything else.
What to wear? Temperature matters, but I have a pretty standard uniform. If it’s above 50F, shorts and a short sleeve shirt or tank. 30s and 40s means swap the short sleeves for long ones. Below freezing, I have some running tights and an awesome Nike jacket. And I have 3 or 4 pairs of shoes I rotate through, some better suited for trails than roads, or longer runs than faster runs, or wet roads vs. dry roads, but I never consider anything about my clothing beyond its functionality as it relates to my run.
My all-time favorite shoes, the Brooks Green Silence, made from recycled CDs.
What to bring with me? Things have changed a lot since that morning ~15 years ago when I strapped my phone into an armband, plugged in my headphones, and secured the headphone cord with a handy Velcro loop. These days there are plenty of times I don’t even bring my phone; I just stream music from my watch to my Bluetooth headphones and off I go.
Who am I running with? For me, almost all of my runs are solo. Maybe I’m doing a social run with a larger group, or maybe I join a group to do some speed work at a track. But the who isn’t really my concern. I’m there because I like doing social beer runs (To the Professor!)1 or I need motivation/competition to get the most from a specific workout.
And the what, when, where and who combine to form the how of running for me, and the answer to that is however I want.
- If I want to run fast or slow, I do. I don’t worry about some other person going just as fast or just as slow as me.
- If I want to do a 1-mile loop several times, I don’t think about who might notice and what they might say each time I run past.
- If I go to the track on Tuesdays because that’s when my training plan says to do laps on a track, that’s when I go. I don’t worry about the person who stopped running 30 minutes ago and is just hanging out in the parking lot, glancing my direction every so often.
- If I want to run in the morning, in the dark, because that’s when it makes sense for me to run, that’s what I do. I don’t think about the location of street lights and where will I always be easily visible to passersby.
- If I want to do some trail-running, on a single-track, where there aren’t other people around, frankly I look forward to it. I love trail running! I don’t worry about passing someone coming from the other direction and them turning around to follow me deeper into the woods.
And so it was on that muggy morning ~15 years ago, as a friend explained to me her text to make sure I was coming was not to check in on me, but to make sure she wouldn’t be running alone, I suddenly became aware of male privilege. All sorts of things that never crossed my mind were things she thought about every.single.time. she left her house to go run. She had to plan her runs, having well thought-out and specific routes and people to run those routes with. People who were going to show up on time. People who were going to run the same speed and the same distance she was going to run. People who would be a deterrent to anyone who might want to do her harm. And not only did she need to plan her runs, she needed to think about these things during the run.
Listening to her explain this, I was struck by the realization I had never once felt that same level of fear. As a man, the thought of going for a run alone never filled me with apprehension or anxiety. It was a freedom I had taken for granted, oblivious to the fact that for many women, the simple act of going for a run required so much effort.
As we continued our run, I couldn’t shake the weight of my realization of the privilege I enjoyed as a man—being able to move through the world without constantly looking over my shoulder, without feeling the need to take extra precautions for my own safety. With each step, I grappled with the uncomfortable truth of my own privilege and the understanding my gender afforded me freedoms not equally accessible to others. It was a humbling experience, one that forced me to confront my own blind spots and biases. If I missed that much about such a simple thing as running, a thing I did a lot of and with plenty of women around, what else had I missed that others deal with everyday?
Today, on International Women’s Day, I challenge other men to be mindful of the privileges we enjoy and ask yourself “What have you missed?” Let us be more conscious of the ways those privileges shape our interactions with the world around us. Let us strive to be better allies for women, to listen to their voices and amplify their experiences, and to work collectively towards a future where all people—regardless of gender—can move through the world with a sense of safety and security.
Whatever Remains 