An Open Letter

Dear Cyclist (not any one cyclist, but an amalgam of almost every cyclist I encounter),

To begin with, I would like to compliment you on your outfit. Not many people have the courage to wear so many colours at once, let alone in such a tight-fitting, body-hugging manner.

But, I digress.

I’m not quite sure what it was you yelled at me as you passed me by on the bike path this morning. You’ll forgive me if I didn’t respond, but as you are probably aware, there were several factors that prevented me hearing what was no doubt an important communication. Firstly, you were cycling past me at speed. Secondly, I was running in the other direction, into the wind. Thirdly, and probably most shamefully, I was also wearing headphones.

Were you saying good morning? Were you telling me to watch the road? If I was going up a hill, chances are that I was looking down at the path rather than straight ahead. It’s a posture issue, and I’m working on it, but you know how it is when you’re in the zone. You may have been telling me to turn my music down, and that would probably have been a fair thing to say. I sometimes lose track of how loud my headphones are. As most of my morning run entertainment tends to consist of the Nerdist podcast (which can contain some coarse language amongst the good clean fun) and SModcast (which can sometimes contain some clean language amongst the profanity) I will admit that I probably shouldn’t be listening at such a volume in a public place. But seriously, I’m not listening to it at full volume on a ghetto blaster at your six-year-old daughter’s birthday party, I’m running around a lake, mostly completely alone apart from the birds and the occasional joker in a clown suit.

In case you weren’t aware, I’m talking about you here.

Let me just tell you one thing: I AM SELFISH. Yes, I have the audacity to wear headphones when I go on a three hour run. I have the attention span of a gnat, and god forbid I should be left alone in my own company for such a period of time without distractions. I’m too selfish to take my headphones off, however I’m not an idiot. If you ding your little bell, I will hear you, and I will shuffle even further over to the left on the path (although I always run as far over on the left as I can in any case, unless my legs have gone all weird or I’m sleep-running and don’t notice where my legs have gone) and then you can cycle past me. I won’t turn my head to see if there’s more than one of you, or to see if you’re pulling one of those ridiculously huge baby sidecar things behind your bike. If you don’t fit on one lane, you should consider whether you really should be on a public bike path to begin with. If you ding your bell at me more than once in the vain hope that I’ll run off the path onto the grass so you and your bff can cycle side by side on your stupid pink racing bikes, you’re going to be disappointed. Do you know why they call it a shared path?

Yeah, I didn’t think so.

I am selfish when I run, because it’s my time. I shouldn’t be bothering you. I’m in my space, and you’re in your space. You may think I’m doing a terrible thing by wearing my headphones and blasting my reggaeton at top volume when I run, but if you’re so careful and safety-concerned and empathic toward all mankind, why do you feel the need to swear at me when you pass me by? Is that even necessary? We’re in close proximity for less than five seconds. Surely I can’t be causing you that much inconvenience if it’s such a short encounter.

I really don’t have any idea what it was you yelled at me, faceless cyclist. It could have been:

“Fuck you.”

“Looking good! Keep going!”

“Anika! Remember me?”

“Keep your eyes on the road.”

“Turn that music down.”

“Good morning.”

Or it could have been a million other things.

But, you know what? I don’t really care all that much what you think, cyclist. Because I ran 21 kilometres this morning. It may not be much, but it’s what I’ve got, and I’m going to be happy for myself, even if you aren’t.

Yours sincerely,

Frankenberger.