From around my tunes she heard an oily voice, “You girls a bunch of nudists, or are you just short of clothes?” This was followed by a chuckle, and before I had time to swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat the treadmill to her right was occupied by testosterone in a track suit.

Run. Run. Don’t look. Run. Running nowhere is really a disadvantage at this point. Is he strolling? What’s his machine set on, .5?

He won’t take his eyes off of Kate, “Oh, you’re cute…like a velvet glove cast in iron.” She rolled her eyes as dramatically as she could. It had no effect on his unbound machismo. He mosied along, but his eyes ran laps up and down her body.

“Easy baby,” he leered, “you’re almost a fire hazard.” Kate clenches and un-clenches her fists. If ever there was a reason to kill.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell your point is, but…” He cut her off with a condescending look and a finger to his lips. Running would not be enough.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to violence.