Run, Girl, Run (but don’t forget your Mace): a poem

Poem by Christina O’Donnell. Photograph by Angie Lipscomb. 

A female runner with miles to burn

Treading her beaten path,

Isn't at risk when the daylight’s bright

Or when she is with a group of friends,

She is at risk when she runs when she can

She is at risk with her ponytail high

She is at risk with her tank and shorts

She is at risk when the moon rises high

But would this all be different if she were a guy?

A female runner with miles to burn,

Who trains and trains, under wind and rain

Feet hitting the pavement,

Day in and day out,

Can’t she wear what she wants?

Can’t she move how she wants?

Can’t she relieve stress how she damn well pleases?

Can’t she run alone without a wary eye?

And would this be the same if she were a guy?

A female runner with miles to burn,

Who explores new cities, and narrow streets

Looking for landmarks to mark her way back

And always counting the people she sees,

One who loves new sights all around

One who loves the smells and colors

One who thrives off the whispering woods

One who smiles when the next runner passes by,

Surely, this wouldn't be the same if she was a guy?

I am a female runner.

She is me.

As I strap on my shoes 

As I head out the door,

All I want is to be free.