By Gordon Wright

Running on Bon Tempe dam

I was running in the hills above my house the other day, and it was lovely. Lovely, but lonely. I hadnโ€™t seen a single person since I started my single-track loop, so I was in my default slouch, shuffling along slowly, until I rounded a bend and saw someone coming towards me.

Like every male whoโ€™s ever lived, I picked up my pace, squared my shoulders and put a bounce in my step, because evolutionarily, I was supposed to either fight this person to the death, or take them for my mate. Thatโ€™s absurd, right? Surely weโ€™ve evolved beyond that. Or have we?

It turned out that my fellow runner was a woman, and she was not squaring her shoulders and effecting a smart stride. She was edging way off towards the side of the trail. She did not respond to my โ€œHey there,โ€ nor my wave. She did not make eye contact. She was quite alone, and quite frightened.

She was frightened because she was a female, and I was a male. Despite us both being runners, despite sharing a sublime day on a perfect trail, her instinct was not evolved โ€” it was primal.

When I shared that story with my wife, an avid trail runner, she said, โ€œThatโ€™s totally normal. Thatโ€™s how women feel when theyโ€™re isolated and alone with a strange man, even one as dorky as you.โ€ It turns out that she had herself been out the prior weekend, on a nearby trail, and turned around when she spied something up ahead that didnโ€™t suit her. โ€œIt was a young guy, not wearing the right clothes for a hike, just kind of resting on his back with his feet on the trail,โ€ she said. โ€œHe had a big backpack and I donโ€™t know โ€” it just didnโ€™t look right.โ€ And so she turned back, cutting her run short.

This sort of calculus is a daily part of running for women. A co-worker of mine told me, โ€œIโ€™m always looking for a threat, and how to handle it. What is that guy doing? Where is a good bailout point? If this guy does something, how do I defend myself? Why do you think women run in groups so often?โ€

This constant vigilance doesnโ€™t even have to happen consciously. Dr. Judith Orloff, an assistant clinical professor of psychology at UCLA, recently told WebMD that it also operates at a much more basic level: โ€œJust like the brain, there are neurotransmitters in the gut that can respond to environmental stimuli and emotions in the now โ€” itโ€™s not just about past experiences.โ€

This sounded grim, and unfamiliar. The only times Iโ€™ve felt threatened on a trail run, it was because I got passed by someone faster than me, or because I was facing down a mountain lion. The former happens frequently; the latter, thankfully, only once.

Women running alone now have even more esteem in my eyes. I canโ€™t honestly say that Iโ€™ve ever given much thought to it before seeing the light, but now it pains me to see a woman running alone and think, โ€œI hope she doesnโ€™t think Iโ€™m a creep.โ€ And Iโ€™m not even sure if a male writer is the right one to bring it up.

Thankfully, the website Jezebel has a few tips for men, originally designed for urban environments, but easily transferred to the trail:

1. Act normal. Just treat a woman running towards you like youโ€™d treat any random guy. Donโ€™t do anything you wouldnโ€™t normally doโ€”and that includes any gestures that youโ€™d consider to be gentlemanly. Stepping off the trail and throwing your shirt across a mud puddle might seem chivalrous to you, but is actually creepy.

2. Donโ€™t get close.
Again, you donโ€™t want to scamper up a scree slope to avoid someone โ€” weโ€™re trying to act normalโ€”but just give a lady her space.

3. Announce yourself.
Are you coming up behind a woman, or even two? Let them know youโ€™re there, especially if theyโ€™re in deep conversation. I usually say, โ€œOn your left,โ€ or โ€œRunner!โ€ to let them know Iโ€™m coming, and Iโ€™m more concerned with my pace than their yoga pants.

4. A quick hello will suffice. Jezebel suggests, โ€œGreet her with a little eye contact and a hello, or even no hello,โ€ but I prefer no direct eye contact and a weary wave that says, โ€œHello fellow trail runner. I am too tired to vocalize, or notice your gender.โ€

5. If you want to talk more, wait for a better opportunity.
I cannot think of a single instance where Jezebelโ€™s advice would pertain to a trail run. Wait for a woman at the only other car at the trail head? You look like a psychotic. Leave a note? Stalker. What are you doing hitting on women on a trail anyway? Perhaps a post-race BBQ would be an ok place to introduce yourself, but otherwise, no.

In summary, Jezebel suggests that men should just be aware of the issue; that women rightfully feel threatened around men in isolated environments. Spread the word to act considerately โ€” the more men and women talk about it, the better.

Gordon Wright is a publicist and freelance writer. He lives in Marin County and has a long and complicated history with running.