“Girls Like You”

"Girls like you."

The words echo in my head with every step, setting a strong and steady cadence as I glide down the trail.

I came here alone, seeking a new-to-me run with piney mountain air and sparkling views. I couldn't park at the teeny pullout on the forest road, so I drove a bit further to park in what happened to be a camping resort's area. There was a middle-aged man there collecting parking fees, and I paid him. As I backtracked on foot to get to my target trail, I passed him again.

"Where's your partner?" he asked. I replied that I was running solo.

The Talking To commenced. "There are 17 switchbacks on that trail; it's over 8 miles..." He droned on, while I nodded silently, having fully studied the map in my pack and knowing the trail was well within my running capabilities, let alone hiking. (And, more importantly, I know what to do in a variety of less-than-ideal outdoor situations.) Nonetheless, I politely listened to his descriptions and smiled (since I couldn't get a word in), waiting to get on my way.

"...I have girls around your age. We always worry about seeing girls like you alone."

...Like me? You don't know a thing about me. Just what I look like, and a guess of my age.

As I run, I come up with other reasons he could have said that. Maybe I don't look athletic? Maybe it's my cheap, thrift store clothes? But none of those warrants a comment, either.

I spend miles ruminating, thinking of all the replies I wished I'd had in the moment. Instead of the polite giggle and "Oh, I'm fine" that I always use in these conversations. I decide the best response would've been, "Why? Why do you worry?" I'd love to know the answer.

Because girls like me are self-sufficient and adept. Girls like me carry the ten essentials, more water than we need, first aid that we know how to use. Girls like me are trained and experienced in rescuing people from rapids, in leading backcountry trips, in finding missing people and educating others on how to move and live in the wilderness. Girls like me breathe in risk management and exhale confidence and competence.

I'm surprised; I didn't expect this comment to bother me this much.

But it's another pebble to carry in my pack full of unwanted presumptions.

So to you, aforementioned Parking Guy: Next time you see a solo woman, maybe you can say something more respectful. Maybe, "Have any questions about this trail?" or "It's a nice trail! Do you need anything else to feel fully prepared?"

Whatever. I worry about boys like you.