The Fear and Violence in Taking a Walk
Women facing danger every time they head out the door is a reality in our world.
As the anniversary of our cumulative experience of “the world shutting down” came upon us this past week, I have been processing a lot of emotions and thoughts as to how life has shifted and changed in the last 12 months. Coinciding with that anniversary was the horrific story of Sarah Everard’s disappearance, which occurred while walking home in the evening from a friend's house, in London. As the hours, and days, passed from Sarah’s disappearance, I kept looking on social media for updates and was dismayed but (unfortunately) not surprised to see that she had been found dead. As these two milestones collided, they brought into clear focus how life has also not shifted or changed, at least for the better, for women just being women in the world. The media has focused on Sarah doing everything “right” being a woman walking home alone: wearing bright colors, texting the time she was leaving, talking on the phone to her boyfriend for part of the walk, walking in known, populated areas — this narrative has brought to the very forefront of my mind all of the precautions and preparation, both mentally and physically, that I personally take on every time I walk out the door.
Last night, thinking about Sarah and hoping she is at peace but at the same time palpably, boiling angry at what had happened to a young woman just walking home, I got out a fresh notepad and pen and proceeded to make a list of every time in just this last year that I had felt unsafe, scared, paranoid, and/or anxious when I tied the laces on my runners and headed out the door.
I filled three lined pages.
Let me say that I am an avid walker, and have been for most of my life, really since the time I could walk good distances without help. One of the most often-told stories of me, when I was growing up, was about me “going rogue” from kindergarten, at 5-years old, and instead of taking the bus home to my parents' house I got in the walking line at school and proceeded to walk 3+ miles to my grandparents' house, on a mission to see my grandfather, who had been ill. I completed this walk by memory of my parents or grandparents driving me from school to my grandparents' house, as I had never before walked there in my 5 years prior. This incident terrified the adults in my life in 1973 and I got a stern talking to about all the dangers of doing what I did and why I was forbidden to do it, or something similar, again.
However, this wasn’t the end of my adventures walking but just the beginning. My grandfather was an avid walker, and it was long walks with him where I cultivated my own love of exploring the world on foot. The freedom of heading out the door and into the world, whether it be city streets, neighborhoods, the woods, or beaches, has been amplified through walking. Oddly, I’ve always felt safe when making a choice to walk, whether it be for necessity or for pleasure. However, experience would lead to me learning otherwise, but walking felt like a good way to travel, both physically and mentally. As I grew from that innocent 5-year old into a pre-teen, I would head out into the woods alone, choose to walk long distances to and from school rather than take the bus, and while I would undergo some pretty horrific and scary encounters, I would choose freedom instead of fear and continue to walk throughout my life.
But while I wasn’t stupid, I also wasn’t always smart and over the years, through trial and error, I have developed a tool-kit of sorts for keeping myself alert and safe while I walk.
Some of the walking rules I live by include:
Don’t walk early morning in the dark, don’t walk late at night in the dark.
Wear bright colors.
Always wear shoes I can run in. Always.
Keep cell phone on and in my hand.
Wear my earbuds to discourage strangers from approaching me.
Pretend to talk on the phone if I feel nervous or scared of someone in my vicinity.
Don’t listen to a podcast or music if a stretch of the walk seems solitary or not well populated — be alert, not distracted.
Keep scanning, front, sides, and behind, every few minutes.
Listen for footsteps behind me.
Clock and keep an eye on individuals who seem unstable.
Cross the street, or fully change route, to avoid possibly unstable individuals.
Look for other walkers or groups to get close to.
If in a strange city, take a car service if you don’t feel safe walking BUT keep your phone open to 911 just in case the car ride becomes unsafe.
The list actually is much longer but I think you get it. I run through this list EVERY TIME I go out. I am not exaggerating.
This type of list and preparation is a necessity for women in this world. Unfortunately, the horror and deep sadness of Sarah Everard’s death also brought me deep frustration and a feeling of impotence that even with all the precautions I take every day, as she did, there are no guarantees.
I’ve made deliberate choices in my life, specifically in the last 3 years, to live a walking lifestyle. I chose my locations for homes based on good walking neighborhoods where I could walk for pleasure and for goods and services (coffee, book stores, grocery stores). Mostly, I love it. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t have issues when I head out to walk. Far from it.
From my 2020 Journal:
March 2020 — I wake in the dark and can hear that it is raining, which is not at all unusual in Portland, Oregon in the winter. I quickly dress in warm clothes and start assembling my rain gear. It’s about 6:30 a.m. and I am keen to get out the door and to the grocery store. The world shut down this week due to COVID-19, the coronavirus. It is wild to me how quickly things have changed. I actually had not heard all that much about the coronavirus until this very week. Right now I’m feeling very pissed off at our country and the government, which is nothing new given who is currently in charge, but I’m even more so this week because I feel like I’ve had the wool pulled down over my eyes. Or worse, that I’ve allowed to be kept in the dark, as I didn’t realize just how serious and pervasive this virus is. We are entering into a 2-week stay at home order here in Oregon to stop the spread of the virus. I am totally, 100% in for doing this. But I want to stock up on basic needs and a good amount of food as I’ve heard the grocery stores are running out. Luckily, I am living alone and have plenty of toilet paper right now but I do need some other things so I’m going to New Seasons, my grocery store of choice, this morning to be there when it opens.
I head out the door, into the quiet neighborhood streets. It is QUIET. All caps quiet. Eerily quiet. The sun still has about 30 minutes before rising but I do this walk typically every other day and I really like it. It is about a 20-minute walk each way to the grocery store and I love the neighborhood I go through, as it has these sweet little rose garden parks dotted throughout and really awesome houses.
It is when I get to my first big crosswalk that I realize how still everything really is. Normally, at this time of day, there is already a lot of traffic, the early morning commute having begun in earnest. There are usually cars and buses going both ways down the 4-lane street and I have to wait for the crosswalk.
Not today.
I stand at the light and see no cars either way. No buses. No people.
I cross against the light and get to the other side where I follow the sidewalk away from a major through fare into the neighborhood of Ladd’s Addition, an affluent area of SE Portland. The rain is just how I like it, misty and not heavy, and it’s not too cold so I lift my hood off since I’m wearing a hat. I can see around me better without the hood and as I take in the houses on either side of the streets I notice that there aren’t many lights on yet. Even though it is technically a “workday” people aren’t going to work so I guess folks aren’t getting up as early. As I continue my walk, I begin to be acutely aware of the fact that normally I would see multiple cars, buses, and many bikers at this time of morning but today there is none. I haven’t had a single car or bike pass me. I pick up the pace, eager to get to my destination and to see people.
I’m walking through my last stretch of the neighborhood, about a quarter-mile from the store, when suddenly, out of nowhere, to my right comes a man. He is quite loud because he is carrying a giant plastic bag, almost as big as he is, of cans. He is almost tripping over the bag, trying to keep it upright. I swallow a scream but I am extremely startled and I pause for a moment as he is just a few feet away, in the mist and morning fog, and he is quite large.
I am legitimately terrified. During those few seconds this is what goes through my brain:
-what if he comes towards me?
-can I cross the street without incurring his wrath that I’m crossing to avoid him?
-which house can I run to?
-are the people home at that house?
-what if no one hears me?
-there are no cars, no people!
While these thoughts are whirling through my brain, and I’m standing there, frozen like a doe in the woods, this man glances at me but thankfully continues on his path and crosses the street himself. I quickly keep walking while turning my head to look at him, to make sure he doesn’t change course. I note that he is not wearing a good jacket, no hat, all he has is that giant, almost clownish in size, bag of cans. Whatever he is focused on, it is not me.
I am at a brisk jog at this point, as I can see the traffic lights on the corner, where I cross to New Seasons. One of my local coffee shops, which normally would be open and busy already, is closed and dark, with a sign saying that they will be back soon. I turn the corner and there is New Seasons, brightly lit and welcoming. I am so relieved.
Once I am done shopping, the sun has risen, and there are finally people stirring. As I walk back to my house, I pass people likely on their way to the grocery store since that is really all there is open. My heart rate is normal and I can walk at a good pace without feeling anxious. I see lights on and open drapes, looking into the houses I admire as I pass. I am happy to see people.
Later that day I talk to my son on the phone and tell him what happened that morning. He tells me he was just thinking that day to text me that I should likely not walk alone right now. He knows my habits but is also keenly aware of a rise in violence on the streets due to the pandemic and he is concerned for my safety. Rightly so. I agree with him that I will not be walking to the store again so early. There is more opportunity, when there are fewer people around, for assaults. But while that statement is horrifying, it will prove to not necessarily be true. I will find as the pandemic, and 2020, progresses, to have more people in the street, being outside to potentially enjoy the fresh air and scenery, and yet I will be confronted with more intimidation and fear than I could have imagined.
This is only one story of the many that I noted from 2020 alone. All of this is enraging and has gone on for far too long. The burden on women to protect themselves from the violence of men is a narrative that needs to change.
