A few weeks ago I was on a (very nice) family holiday with my husband, two daughters and their kids and partners. Suffice to say, it was amazing but slightly mad, and as a result I soon felt the familiar urge/need to go for a long run. I knew I just had to get out of the chaos for a while but this wasn’t easy. The Airbnb gite we’d hastily booked online gave no indication that its “perfect location” was, in fact, up a 2.5km dirt track with a sharp elevation of 500ft that was full of twists and turns. But as I said, I had to get out. So I plugged myself in, and off I went, leaving the chaos behind as my mind settled with every peaceful step on the unfamiliar terrain as I intuitively watched my footing, and I felt myself, at last, relax.

But then the ear worm… slimy, slippery and uncomfortable in its presence, I felt it before I was consciously aware of it, of course I did, I’ve spent most of my life feeling it’s presence- “look, there’s no one around… are you sure you’re safe?” it says to me.

The familiar fear, even in broad daylight- fuck, fuck, fuck, who knows where I am, I have no signal, no gps. I’m vulnerable, I’m putting myself in danger, I’m wearing tight shorts, a tight vest, are my boobs bouncing up and down? why did I think that, now I’ve got the comical music from a Benny Hill sketch in my head. Fuck!

So I turn back. I’m cross and so frustrated that I still feel like this, that this fear continues to sabotage my run, my chance to explore the beautiful French Province, the green valley, the vineyards. But I can’t help it, and as I turn back, I bargain with myself- half an hour is better than nothing, it’s all uphill on the way back so it’s a sort of hill session. I’m so used to compromising, of being selfless in the pursuit of safety, when what I really want to do is be free to run and explore, enabling my return to the chaos a better wife, mother, nana and runner. But instead, I know that I’ll return a little bit more frustrated. Frustrated that my training has yet again been put back, that this will be heaped on top of the years of frustration before it, frustrated that I am unable to experience the same freedom that a man does when he goes out on a run. There, I said it. It’s not fair!

Upon returning to the bedlam of the family, whilst I sat and had my coffee, I mention to my husband that I cut my run short because I didn’t feel safe. He scoffed. Yes, he scoffed. He’s a nice bloke, I don’t have to justify all his credentials to tell you that his scoffing surprised me. I asked him “why did you scoff? Is it because I’m 55 and not the usual demographic of a women who could be bundled into a car, kidnapped, raped, murdered?” My son in law chipped in “they’d soon give you back”. I rolled my eyes.

But I wouldn’t let it go. “Did you scoff because you’ve never felt unsafe?” I imagine that my husband rarely feels unsafe, just his presence next to me makes me feel protected, men and women treat me differently when he’s by my side. He’s broad shouldered, he oozes ‘don’t mess with me’, he commands respect, just by being him.

Whereas my personal safety has been ingrained into me since I was a little girl. My mum didn’t sit me down and give me a “talk” no, understanding your vulnerability is developed slowly, over time, layer upon layer of experiences that shape a behaviour to future protect me. I’m hardwired to think about MY behaviour and how I shouldn’t put MYSELF at risk, if I was attacked it would be MY fault, wearing headphones, tight shorts (or even leggings!), tight top, running alone, in an unfamiliar, isolated place, off the beaten track, you can almost write the headlines yourself.

Now, what I want to say next and what I think I “should” say are in conflict. These narratives that have been piled upon me over the years prevent me from sharing all the times I’ve been harassed whilst running, so I’ll avoid discussing sexual assaults, or incidences of strangers and non-strangers trying to get me into their car, and how each time it’s happened I’ve blamed myself. I was “inappropriately” dressed, I shouldn’t have led them on, what did I expect, I was asking for it, because I’ve also learnt to pick up on the nuances of an eye roll, of I’m “making a fuss”, that it’s “normal”, even that I should be “flattered” (and this is said a lot more to me as I get older). Should I, though? Should I really be flattered that “even at my age” I should be grateful for the catcalls, because I’m still deemed attractive enough to be raped? Or should I no longer worry about my personal safety because I’m at an age now where I am invisible to potential predators?

Ok ok, so much for avoiding discussing it… back to the reality of how this impacts our lives as runners. How do I keep myself as a runner safe when we approach the end of British Summer time? And most importantly how does my training not be impacted by the 4pm curfew?

I’m waiting for the onslaught of well-meaning articles suggesting some top tips on how to keep safe as daylight darkens, I mean, I’ve even written a few myself. However, let me just be really honest here and say I’m utterly fed up of having to protect myself and be a good girl and stay indoors after dark.

These “top tips” feel like shackles of dependency and highlight my lack of freedom and independence, and I loathe having to do them, write them, or share them here. But I also want to help other women and minorities who want to keep on running through Autumn/Winter.

I’m exhausted just thinking about what I need to do before I go for a run- but here it is:

· Wear brightly lit clothing,
· Make sure I don’t run the same route more than twice,
· Tell my husband/daughters where I am going,
· Put my Garmin safety tracker on,
· Don’t wear my headphones,
· Wear just one headphone,
· Only run in well-lit areas,
· Carry a whistle or rape alarm,
· Don’t wear my hair in a ponytail as it provides someone with an easy way to grab me,
· or just make my life “simpler” by exercising inside.

For me, one of the the saddest parts is I love running in the dark. I feel wonderfully free, we have the streets to ourselves, it makes me feel defiant, unruly and downright disobedient. I have this overwhelming sense that I’m breaking the rules, that as a woman, I’m not “meant” to be outside in the dark, I should be tucked up safe and sound indoors, keeping myself out of danger. There is a stillness, a sense of calm with a cold crisp feel to the air that smells different at night, have you ever noticed that? Why shouldn’t we all be able to experience that? Well, I’m not going to anymore.

As the story of my cut short holiday runs highlights, as a woman I’m safety aware anytime of the day, my fear isn’t of running in the dark and I don’t want to accept it, I don’t want to compromise anymore on when, where and who with, when I think about going for a run. I just want to put my trainers on, head out of the front door and run when and where I like.

And the more people who see us, the more normal it will be, as we run in parks, tracks, villages and streets, enjoying the darkness, running like ninjas under the clear dark skies, lit up by a bright moon and the twinkling of the stars, that we have just as much right to run under.

How To Keep Running Through Autumn and Winter

The Fueling Deep Dive

Vegas Baby!