How One Ass Grab Stole My Confidence as a Runner
It’s difficult to write this story. As I think back on the encounter that stole my confidence as a solo runner, my hands start to shake as the guilt, anger, and fear still haunt me.
The Ass Grab
On an early morning run in Jakarta, Indonesia, I chose a path through a local kampung (village) that I had run several times with other runners.
On this particular run, I chose to run alone. It was 6 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and my usual running partner was unable to join me. I wanted to get a run in before I started a busy day with my family, so I decided to go solo.
As a safety precaution, and mostly because I hate the constant stares and catcalls from the local men when I run, I almost always run with others.
I donned a tank top and shorts, my usual running attire for the unrelenting heat, and planned to take the shortcut through the local kampung onto the main street that leads to a bustling and populated mall.
I chose not to run with my phone or headphones as I wanted to be fully aware of my surroundings. The traffic in Jakarta is no joke. I needed my full wits to navigate the busy streets chock full of motorbikes and cars.
As I navigated the broken pavement and stones of the quiet kampung, a local man suddenly appeared beside me in jeans and a gray shirt. He appeared to be my age or a little younger and was clearly not dressed for running. He started running beside me and smiling.
My first instinct was to be pleasant but firm, I was raised in the south and it’s bred into me, so I smiled back and told him “no, thanks.”
He kept running close to me. I surveyed my surroundings, and there was no one in the village. Some stray chickens crossed the broken path; the kampung was isolated, and I was alone. I picked up my pace.
I turned to him again and repeated more firmly, “no, please go away.” He didn’t speak English and pretended he didn’t understand the shaking of my head; he kept smiling and running next to me.
I finally approached the major road that would lead to relative safety and more people. As I turned onto the major road, he veered away.
I breathed a sigh of relief and picked up the pace to get to the mall quickly.
The man appeared next to me again. I started getting very angry and very scared. I started shaking.
He grabbed my ass, and started saying “I love you, I love you” over and over again. At this point, I was pissed, and I was scared. There was no way I was going to let him touch me again without a fight.
I felt violated and scared. So I started yelling.
So I stopped. I put my hand in his face, and I started yelling for help. I told him I would call my husband and to go away. I kept him in front of me with my hand in his face, so he couldn’t get near me again.
I started waving my arms at passing motorbikes. Eventually three women on a motorbike pulled over and started yelling at the man in the local language.
He put his hands up in surrender and started to walked away. And then I ran away as fast as possible.
I had no money and no phone, and I was afraid to keep running. But I didn’t have a choice. I knew I couldn’t run home the way I had come, so I had to find a new way home.
I was shaking the entire rest of the run as I navigated unfamiliar streets to find my way back home to safety.
After about an hour, I finally turned onto a familiar street and breathlessly entered the safety of my house. I told my husband what had happened through tears of anger and frustration and fear.
He wanted to go to the kampung and find the guy. Foreigners are not protected here, so I said no. I told him to let it go. I had learned my lesson.
The Stolen Confidence
A few months later I was on a run through an expat-friendly neighborhood with two of my running buddies. My friends were running faster than me, so they started to pull away.
I was afraid of every man I passed that was sitting on the street. I was afraid of every tree and bush that I couldn’t see around.
Eventually, my friends stopped at the turnaround and waited for me. I was angry. They knew what happened to me last time I ran alone.
I was furious that they had forgotten. They had left me alone, shaking as I tried to summon the courage to finish my run.
They offered to continue to run with me, but I wanted to prove something to myself. I wanted to prove that I could run alone. I would not let this man dictate how I felt about running.
A few weeks later, I tried one more time to run solo, but I couldn’t stop the shaking and the fear. My solo running mojo was gone. My confidence stolen.
Looking back, I have tried to process my emotions about how I felt during this encounter.
I was wearing a tank top and shorts in a country where most women cover up. Was I asking for it? I hate that I even wondered this. It felt wrong.
I understand now why some women blame themselves for the actions of others. Because I did blame myself. And a part of me still does.
We are in the era of the #metoo movement, and here I was blaming myself for this man’s actions.
I was angry at myself for choosing to run alone when I knew there are men who frequently catcall and follow women who are alone.
Why didn’t I push him? Yell louder? I felt small. I felt helpless.
I have been a runner since I was nine years old. I have run by myself hundreds of times. I have never been scared. I have never been afraid to run. But I felt it for the first time.
I felt the raw fear that this man could harm me, and there was no one around to help me. I felt the fear of being in a foreign country where my story would never be believed over a local. I felt the fear of being a foreigner surrounded by locals who may not come to my aid.
It could have been worse. There are many stories of women who did not escape unharmed, or even worse, who did not escape alive.
I am still able to run, even though now I mostly train on a treadmill in the safety of my school gym.
He stole my confidence to run alone. I am more aware than ever of my surroundings and start to shake if I pass men walking or sitting on a sidewalk corner.
I don’t know when these feelings will go away. But they are present.
How One Ass Grab Stole My Confidence as a Runner
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