I run on an indoor track at my gym three days a week. I've been running for almost a year, and while I have increased my distance considerably (and am preparing for a half marathon in less than two months, woot!), I am not fast, nor do I have any desire to be. I go as fast as my short legs will allow me, and I am okay with that.
Well, it turns out that not everyone is as okay with my moderate, steady pace as I am. Here's the setup at my gym's track: there are three lanes, and a sign requests that walkers use the inside lane and joggers use the outside lane. Presumably, that leaves the middle free for passing. Of course, everyone ignores that, and there are considerably more walkers than runners (I won't call myself a jogger, as I have no interest in finding dead bodies). You tend to find walkers and a few runners in the middle lane. I stick to the outside lane because I don't want to have to weave in and out of the walkers, and also because of my above-stated penchant for following the rules.
On Monday, a man with whom I have been peacefully sharing the track for almost a year lost his shit because he had to pass me. He actually yelled at me that I should be running in the middle lane, and that he isn't going to look behind himself so that he can pass. He continued to demand that I move from the outer lane each time he passed. (It was only a couple more times; my pace isn't glacial or anything.) Rule-follower that I am, I stopped to ask a staff member if I was allowed to be in that lane, and he responded that of course I was. So the next time the man started to speak, I said, "I am allowed to be here, and I am not having this conversation anymore." He took his last passive-aggressive shot by getting in front of me and then running really slowly until I tried to pass him, when he would then speed up. Charming behavior.
Another thing you need to know: I hate conflict. Haaaaaate it. But what I hate more is being told what to do. Seems odd for a rule-follower, but it makes sense: if I make a concerted effort to follow the rules, then what is there to yell at me about and order me to do? If you are not the literal boss of me, then you are not the boss of me, and my need to let you know that outweighs my desire to avoid unpleasantness. So I was staying in that lane if it killed me. (Unless I was walking a lap, which I occasionally do. The sign says walkers in the inner lane, so I move. See? Rule-follower.)
Today was my first day back after Monday's unpleasantness, and I was simultaneously dreading and spoiling for a confrontation with this man. Then I got to the locker room and realized that, though I had remembered earrings and a scarf, I had forgotten to pack a bra. I had to give an exam first thing, so there would be no time to go home afterward. My only option would be to go to school in a sweaty sports bra, to which one can only say
It occurred to me that I could either give up on the idea of running and just go home to get properly dressed, or that I could walk to decrease the sweaty ick factor. But if I did that, what if Old Crabbypants thought that he had won? That I wasn't running in the outer lane because I had either seen the wisdom in what he said or that he had intimidated me into backing down?
I was hellbent on being in that outer lane because it was where he didn't want me to be, even if it meant spending my workday smelling like a polecat.
My daughter is the most stubborn, bloody-minded person I know, and sometimes I wonder how she came by that, as her dad and I are pretty easygoing. Then something like this happens, and I know.
Epilogue: The 24-hour CVS that I pass on my way to work sells sports bras. I stood my ground and didn't have to be sweaty all day. Happy ending!
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