Getting the ol' blood pumping

Well, here we go again. Another ranty post brought on by reading Woogsworld.

Now before you carry on, please know that Mrs Woog is a good and excellent person, and the ranting that will shortly ensue is not directed at her, but aimed at the disgusting twerps she wrote about the other day in her blog post called Keep walking, you fat mole. Ugh.

If you haven't yet done so, head over and read it here, or let me give you a simple run down:

• A woman puts on clothes.
• A woman walks along a footpath in an effort to get the ol' blood pumping.
• A carload of teenage boys yell abuse at her.

What the hey? This is not ok. But it is certainly not a one-off incident.

When I regularly exercised outdoors (this was a good long while ago, and I needed all kinds of promises from housemates that they would keep any tempting chocolate out of the fridge to not ruin my efforts), I would often get yelled at by men in whizzy little wanky cars. You know, Nissan Silvias and 1998 model Subaru WRXs... the kind of cars driven by grown men who never quite outgrew the pizza-delivery-boy stage.

I wasn't getting complimented or asked out, I was getting 'encouragement'. Because being told that your ass is huge is super-encouraging. I regularly would hear that tell-tale whooshzaaaa of a crappy little turbo blow-off thingy, cringe in anticipation, then hear 'Hey fat bitch!' or 'Long way to go before I'd f*** you!'

Let it be known that I was not exercising outdoors to reach a point where I would be attractive enough for these boy-racers to procreate with, I was exercising because my doctor thought it would be a good idea, and because I lived a 45 minute walk from my home in the inner city suburbs and it was faster to walk than catch public transport. I walked because I liked the time to think, to decompress after a day at work. What planet do those guys live on that makes them think for one second that my walking at a pace not unlike that of a sleepy turtle (although I think I rocked that lycra better than a turtle) was for their benefit?

I've also been egged as I walked along a main road. It was so horrible. The worst. And oh my word eggs are harder than you expect when they hit you hard on the boob.

I know that not everyone thinks this is a big problem, but I do. I spend a significant portion of my week up close and personal with women who have poor self-esteem and are wanting to change the outside of their body to feel better on the inside. A significant portion of my week squishing big boobs into sports bras, pulling up high-rise exercise tights to above belly-buttons to prevent them rolling down, and explaining in hushed tones that pawpaw ointment is BRILLIANT for preventing chafe on thighs that rub.

I've seen women cry when my colleagues and I passionately proclaim that they are allowed to exercise, and that nobody is at all interested in their camel toe (although, I can fit you in tights that won't give you a camel toe, I assure you). I have heard women tell me that they are at a great point in their life where that feel like they don't need permission to exercise and be comfortable in their bodies, and I love it.

Yes, I get all Spice Girls and make women come out of the change room in their huffypuffy* pants and strut around to Katy Perry's Roar. Sometimes they really need it, and I love that they can get it.

However, I hate knowing that there's a chance (a high chance) that walking their dog, strolling with their kids, riding a bike for the first time since they were 12 years old, they'll get yelled at. They don't need to be bigger for the abuse to be hurled either; I know women sizes 6 to 22 who have received charming** comments from guys driving past. (And occasionally girls. Carloads of teenage girls full of language you wouldn't expect from a sailor.)

So how do we stop it? I don't know. I know we need to talk about it though. Talk to our family and friends, both male and female and share that it happened. If you have to (and I am totally fine with this), call someone who thinks you're hot and tell them - get a nice little compliment out of them to balance the crap.

Have you been hollered at by some idiot while out exercising? What did you do? (And what would you have yelled back if you were witty enough?)

* Brilliant Woogs-word for workout tights.

** Not charming. Actually pretty shit.

*** In more pleasant news, I have a pretty fabulous giveaway next week, so pap back soon for a chance to win something special.