So… I’ve been pounding the streets and coastal paths of Finistère in Brittany for the last week or so and I’ve crossed paths with lots of runners but d’you know what’s really odd? They’ve all been male! Every single one… even at weekends. AND every single one was dressed head to toe in black. Totally fine of course but I do stand out like a beacon in my luminous pink.
Today during a break in the showers I headed off towards the coastal path again. It seems like lots of us had the same idea and had emerged hoping to grab a bit of sunshine. Lots of runners. All male. I couldn’t do this any longer-I had to ask. So when I spotted a chap who’d stopped briefly to fiddle with his shoe laces I gathered all my courage and my best possible French to ask:
“Where are the women runners?”
(I didn’t just launch straight in-we exchanged a couple of ‘bonjours’ etc first).
He shrugged. I copied. The gist was: he didn’t know.
Emboldened, I persevered: “Are there any women runners here?”
He thought so ‘yes’ but he couldn’t say where the hell they all were.
And I must admit, I do feel a little like a prize exhibit. I don’t encounter any averse attention ever but if I had to describe the look on people’s faces as I trundle on by it would be one of surprise. Mild surprise-as though they hadn’t expected to see me running here.
I can’t work it out. The French are really into running. I was in Eastern Brittany a couple of weeks ago and saw tons of female runners.
Ou sont les femmes?
