WHY I WALK
The gym craze is lost on me. I could get in my nearly 20-year old car and drive a fifteen minutes to get on a treadmill that I have paid someone to use, or, I could just use walking as my primary form of transportation for trips under two miles and save some paper.
Maybe I was raised to be tougher than others, having spent childhood with mandated chores like hauling firewood. My mother taught me to not be lazy, to think about how I spend money, and to not obsess over appearance; after all, she taught me from a young age that for models, their job was to be beautiful, and since my career aspirations have never included that sort of requirement, I am freed to worry less about such things.
Connecticut is a small state, where it seems strange for regional differences to even exist, yet they do. I grew up in rural, eastern Connecticut where if our power went out for a week, nobody was in a panic over it. This was not a priority type of town. No major industry. No hospitals. The water came from a well and if that dried up, it was on you to figure it out. Twenty miles should not make for major cultural differences, but when it comes to problem solving and persistence, it seems to do just that.
Years ago I moved out of that small town, wanting better access to employment, the arts, and people in general.
While living in the South Green neighborhood, I had my car stolen. Though I eventually retrieved it, this caused weeks of one hassle after another, but highlighted how auto-dependent I had become, despite living in a place where I could walk to one job, and without too much fuss, take a bus to the second. Since then, I moved around Hartford a few times, changing my transportation habits with each move.
From my apartment in the southeast area of the West End, I mixed it up sometimes, walking to both jobs when the mood struck. While my car was having expensive repairs and was unavailable for a few weeks, I rode my bike or walked to work every day. It was cold, but snow had not yet started that season. Except for the day of torrential downpour in November when I had near-zero visibility and the chain slipped on a busy road, forcing me to fumble around to fix it in Elizabeth Park, most of the experience was low-stress and just fine.
About a year and a half into my stay in the West End I grew tired up apartment living and especially tired of the neighborhood. I wanted to be closer to downtown again, but in an area where there were families and people were friendly.
Since living in my house in Frog Hollow, I am able to both get out a lot more and leave the car behind for much of it. The commute to one of my jobs is ten minutes on foot at this time of year; it would be more like a three-minute commute if a security fence did not force a longer route. With the nature of this job, I am often meeting clients out and about. When possible, I schedule these in walking distance, which for me, can be several miles. Somedays the job requires travel outside of Hartford County; I dread the driving, but it makes me appreciate all the more that I am physically able to get around as much as I do without reliance on four wheels. Why would anyone choose to be trapped in a cage longer than necessary?
Beyond work, I am able to walk to numerous friends’ homes, to restaurants and bars, to several parks, and to A&E venues. This means less time that worrying about where to park, nevermind actually parking and spending money on it. Using my own two feet means not thinking about how I will be getting home safely after a few glasses of wine. I can take shortcuts that motorists can’t, like cutting through parks or building lobbies. One-way streets are accessible in both directions for me.
Why would I not walk?
WALKING IN A WINTER WONDERLAND
What is it like to walk year-round?
It’s utterly non-eventful, and, it’s awesome.
I might glance at weather.gov before leaving the house to see if there are some spectacular conditions I should not be caught off guard by like hurricane-force winds. Generally, being slightly overdressed or underdressed is never something I fret over. I try to stay off social media when something weather-related is the subject of conversation because people overreact to everything, from windchill to flurries. This does not mean that I am sunbathing in Pope Park when temperatures are below zero, but I have a decent winter coat purchased over ten years ago that was supposedly rated for temperatures to -20, so I try not to fret much. I double-up the socks when needed, put on ugly gloves, find a scarf, and grab one of my wool hats. If there is a lot of fresh snow on the ground (or there will be by day’s end) I put on a pair of snow boots my mother gave me as a gift circa 1997. Otherwise, in winter, I’m likely to wear a pair of old Doc Martens from my days of working in retail. There are only maybe two specialized pieces of equipment that I have for walking, and both a purchases within the last year. After realizing that the untreated ice all over city sidewalks had made me drive on a few occasions that should have been easy walks, I decided to invest in a lower-end model of crampons/ice cleats. They wrap around shoes and must be taken off before walking across floors to prevent falls caused by the things worn to prevent falls on other surfaces. Taking them on and off requires only a few seconds and some place to store them so the slush can fall away without ruining carpets.
That’s basically it. I dress for the weather we have, not the weather I might be wishing for, and I head out the door. Spelling it out may make it seem like a ton of work, but I’m someone who can get fully dressed and out the door in under five minutes if need be. I won’t be winning any beauty pageants while doing that, but I’ll be usually dressed moderately appropriate for the weather and occasion.
The sidewalks in Hartford are inconsistently cleared. It’s not a perfect formula, but I can predict fairly accurately how accessible a stretch of sidewalk will be based on ownership. If the homeowner lives on the premises and is not extremely elder, the path will be reasonably cleared and salted or sanded if icy. If it is a rental property, there is either minimal or no effort if the homeowner does not live on site. If the property is owned by the State of Connecticut and if State employees regularly walk on it, the sidewalk will be perfectly dry. The City of Hartford sidewalks are a crapshoot. This, not the temperature, is really the most aggravating thing. Surfaces vary a lot, so it can be hard to get a rhythm.
The other aggravation is that dog owners often do not bother to pick up after their little angels, so I’m also trying to dodge crap. For the love of dog, people, if you can’t handle scooping the poop, either don’t have a pup, keep it in your own yard, or at least bring it to a wooded area of a park where nobody is likely to step.
The other hazards, of sorts, that are encountered, are also all preventable.
Those who have corner properties are supposed to maintain curb cuts. For the uninitiated, this basically means shoveling out a doorway in the snowbank so people can cross from one side of the street to the other. Not doing this forces pedestrians to climb the snowbanks, which I assure you, gets less fun as you get older, and a hell of a lot less fun when you are trying to maintain some semblance of cleanliness and safety en route to work during rush hour. Nobody wants to be falling into the road when motorists are driving with HUA. I encounter spots every day where there are either no curb cuts, or these are done in strange places, making pedestrians walk in snow-narrowed busy thoroughfares.
Last week I was walking Downtown and saw a man in a motorized wheelchair who got stuck in a poorly-crafted curb cut. I picked up the pace to try to help him, as it was morning rush hour and his chair was sticking out into traffic. Before I could get there, he backed up and gunned it, forcing his way through. I may have yelled at a security guard of the nearby Federal Building to get someone to come out and make this curb cut safe for everybody.
All of this may sound difficult, but when compared with the alternative, the choice is usually easy. Driving this year has been headache-inducing due to the City’s incompetent snow removal. Streets that had accommodated two-way traffic along with on-street parking now require any vehicles to park in snow banks (potentially damaging the vehicles) and for motorists to play chicken. Potholes are everywhere. Emergency vehicles are constantly out and people in cars have nowhere to even pull over. Everybody seems tired and cranky.
When I told a coworker that I had walked in during a snow event, I was given unsolicited and unwarranted warnings about my safety, suggesting that pedestrians were at danger because of the height of snowbanks. While this might be true, I can step on a snowbank to gain some visibility. In my car, I have to pull several feet out into the street to see what is coming at me. Though the cage is around me, it seems much riskier to be in a car at times like this.
I was lucky to get snow tires late in this season -- I’m hoping this is late, and not actually mid-season -- but without them, I had many opportunities to get stuck in the snow, on the ice, or slide off into the great beyond. On foot, falling can suck and could possibly result in broken bones, but generally one does not end up with one wrapped around a tree or waist-deep in snow, treading it, unable to get out without a tow truck.
When I arrive at my destination, I am often having to wipe off my fogged up glasses. Rarely am I actually cold, even on the days when the local weather forecasters are having a field day inducing panic in the masses. Somedays my pants are splattered with the sand-salt-slush slurry that makes me hate winter several months into it. Most days, I keep the winter hat on because there is no redeeming my hair. If I’m feeling fancy, I change the shoes at work; usually, I’m too focused on getting stuff done that I have not bothered with anything like that. After all, I’m here to do a job; I’m not a show pony.
I arrive feeling invigorated. I’m productive. I do my work. I leave. If it started snowing during the day, I don’t have to stand in the parking lot brushing flakes off my windshield before I can go home at the end of my day. Instead of letting a miserable evening commute compound any work stress, I can clear my head on that walk home.
SAFETY VS. COMFORT
Before doling out unsolicited advice in my direction, know that I will never listen to it. I’m not emotion-driven. I don’t buy the fear that the nightly news is selling.
This is what I do: I look around at my environment. I read the arrest log, if not every day, multiple times per week. I comprehend what is statistically likely to happen to me, knowing that I am not involved in gangs or the street economy. Some might say this gives me a false sense of safety, but is it better to remain inside one’s home 24/7 with a false sense of danger?
It is helpful to distinguish between comfort and safety.
When I am out on foot, I get cat-called. This happens nearly every day, sometimes several times per day, during warm months. It is less frequent in the winter, yet this is still a thing. It is obnoxious, not flattering, and something that should just stop. The practice says sad things about the self-esteem of those yelling at random women.
It is not, however, dangerous.
I walk a lot. Day and night. Late night. Alone. Sometimes I walk with my partner or a friend, but if neither are available when I want to be getting somewhere, I go it solo.
The two times that danger was involved -- aside from motor vehicle violence -- I was never truly at risk and the situation was easy to wriggle out of. Both involved people throwing trap rocks at me; neither had good aim.
One day I was walking home from Downtown during a heatwave. It was around noon. Blazing hot. Because planting trees in el barrio has not been a priority, one side of a street near my home has almost no shade. I walk here every day, so I know where to move so I don’t fry up. Another pedestrian who seemed to be struggling in more ways than one, misinterpreted my crossing the street, and yelled at me about being racist. I yelled back that there was shade over on this side. I kept walking, but soon noticed rocks landing a few feet away from me. There was nobody else outside. I gave him a hard look and walked as fast as I could without risking heat stroke. This was a few years ago, and it’s likely I peppered that stare with some choice words.
That never felt particularly dangerous, mostly because this man had a weak throw and bad aim. It mostly felt sad and confusing. It was not even worth calling the police over.
The other time I was walking in late afternoon/early evening with my partner. A few blocks over from that other incident from a few years previous, I spotted a group of tweens (I hate that word, but I’ll use it to describe these dolts) throwing rocks at one another. We were about half a block away when a rock landed a little behind me. Long story short, these youth were informed that this is not how to behave.
The incident stopped then and there.
I don’t want to tempt fate, but those two occasions were the beginning and ending of anything troubling (not involving motorists, and I’ll get to that shortly).
Mostly, walking in the city involves running into one or more people that I know and regretting momentarily that I did not spend more time washing my face or brushing my hair that day. Walking means being vulnerable, but also, being able to take part in the environment. Don’t tell me you live somewhere if you have no interaction with it.
Being part of your neighborhood means talking with those who may not be in your social group. There is a guy with gold teeth whose name I do not know. He has nicknames for me and my partner and is always cordial when we see him, whether that is outside of his house or somewhere else in the city. He’s the type of guy that might look like the stuff of nightmares to some, but he’s always been friendly enough. One day, when someone nearby was catcalling me, he shut that guy up immediately.
There are the kids in the neighborhood who come up and talk to me about their day, not because I’m anybody special, but because they see me out and know I am affiliated with a dog they all love.
These are interactions that would not happen if I were holed up inside my car all the time.
Being out in the world does require some care, but that’s not hard. I would not try to read a book while walking. I would not stare into my phone either. Those are distractions, and really, I am out to look at the world around anyhow.
But those are not precautions to take for avoiding assailants so much as the very real dangers and hazards, like dog poop on the sidewalk, holes, broken glass, uneven surfaces, and cars.
The biggest threat to my safety while on foot has been from vehicles. Whereas two individuals tossed rocks at me during a ten year span of spending much time out on city sidewalks, I have encountered problems with motorists nearly every time I have left my house. Almost every issue has been while using the crosswalk when all traffic lights are red for vehicles, after I have waited patiently for my turn. This is day or night. This is regardless of what color clothing I am wearing. It does not matter if I am by myself, others, or am pushing a stroller with an infant in it. There is some disgusting transformation that happens when some get behind a wheel-- a transformation that turns a reasonable individual into a selfish and impatient thug.
Besides crosswalks, where I have the legal right-of-way, I have learned to be vigilant on plain old sidewalks, especially when crossing driveways of gas stations. Few bother to stop, nevermind slow down. Many of these offenders are on their cell phones and oblivious to me even being there.
While I may walk alone at night, I take only calculated risks. I look both ways many times before crossing streets. I’ll jaywalk, but only at times when no vehicles are anywhere nearby.
Besides motorists and two people with a pocketful of rocks, dogs have presented the strongest threat to my safety. There are irresponsible dog owners who just let their dogs roam, walk near them off leash, or do not have control over the animals. I have been nipped by a pitbull once. The pre-teen who was walking it had it on leash, but did not control the dog, nor did that youth apologize or ask if I was okay. Thankfully, this was just a nip and not a full bite or worse. Some breeds get an unfair reputation, but some breeds are also sought out by those who want dogs for fighting or home defense. They get trained to be rough, and then they are let out with little or no restraint.
When my partner bought me pepper spray for reasons unrelated to walking solo, I did find the possible use against a charging dog to bring some peace of mind. I love animals and don’t want to hurt them, but if something is actually about to cause me harm -- dog or man -- I am willing to fight back.
I think a lot of women struggle with this and are unable to visualize themselves combatting danger. When you can imagine coming out of a bad scenario unscathed (or, more realistically, with just a few scratches) you feel a lot more capable in the world. It becomes easier to say, “Yes, I can meet you at the corner pub. I’ll be on foot and there in ten minutes.” It opens your life up to having more possibility than only what is on the television or the latest controversy on Twitter.
Kerri Provost is on the steering committee for Transport Hartford and lives in Frog Hollow.
The gym craze is lost on me. I could get in my nearly 20-year old car and drive a fifteen minutes to get on a treadmill that I have paid someone to use, or, I could just use walking as my primary form of transportation for trips under two miles and save some paper.
Maybe I was raised to be tougher than others, having spent childhood with mandated chores like hauling firewood. My mother taught me to not be lazy, to think about how I spend money, and to not obsess over appearance; after all, she taught me from a young age that for models, their job was to be beautiful, and since my career aspirations have never included that sort of requirement, I am freed to worry less about such things.
Connecticut is a small state, where it seems strange for regional differences to even exist, yet they do. I grew up in rural, eastern Connecticut where if our power went out for a week, nobody was in a panic over it. This was not a priority type of town. No major industry. No hospitals. The water came from a well and if that dried up, it was on you to figure it out. Twenty miles should not make for major cultural differences, but when it comes to problem solving and persistence, it seems to do just that.
Years ago I moved out of that small town, wanting better access to employment, the arts, and people in general.
While living in the South Green neighborhood, I had my car stolen. Though I eventually retrieved it, this caused weeks of one hassle after another, but highlighted how auto-dependent I had become, despite living in a place where I could walk to one job, and without too much fuss, take a bus to the second. Since then, I moved around Hartford a few times, changing my transportation habits with each move.
From my apartment in the southeast area of the West End, I mixed it up sometimes, walking to both jobs when the mood struck. While my car was having expensive repairs and was unavailable for a few weeks, I rode my bike or walked to work every day. It was cold, but snow had not yet started that season. Except for the day of torrential downpour in November when I had near-zero visibility and the chain slipped on a busy road, forcing me to fumble around to fix it in Elizabeth Park, most of the experience was low-stress and just fine.
About a year and a half into my stay in the West End I grew tired up apartment living and especially tired of the neighborhood. I wanted to be closer to downtown again, but in an area where there were families and people were friendly.
Since living in my house in Frog Hollow, I am able to both get out a lot more and leave the car behind for much of it. The commute to one of my jobs is ten minutes on foot at this time of year; it would be more like a three-minute commute if a security fence did not force a longer route. With the nature of this job, I am often meeting clients out and about. When possible, I schedule these in walking distance, which for me, can be several miles. Somedays the job requires travel outside of Hartford County; I dread the driving, but it makes me appreciate all the more that I am physically able to get around as much as I do without reliance on four wheels. Why would anyone choose to be trapped in a cage longer than necessary?
Beyond work, I am able to walk to numerous friends’ homes, to restaurants and bars, to several parks, and to A&E venues. This means less time that worrying about where to park, nevermind actually parking and spending money on it. Using my own two feet means not thinking about how I will be getting home safely after a few glasses of wine. I can take shortcuts that motorists can’t, like cutting through parks or building lobbies. One-way streets are accessible in both directions for me.
Why would I not walk?
WALKING IN A WINTER WONDERLAND
What is it like to walk year-round?
It’s utterly non-eventful, and, it’s awesome.
I might glance at weather.gov before leaving the house to see if there are some spectacular conditions I should not be caught off guard by like hurricane-force winds. Generally, being slightly overdressed or underdressed is never something I fret over. I try to stay off social media when something weather-related is the subject of conversation because people overreact to everything, from windchill to flurries. This does not mean that I am sunbathing in Pope Park when temperatures are below zero, but I have a decent winter coat purchased over ten years ago that was supposedly rated for temperatures to -20, so I try not to fret much. I double-up the socks when needed, put on ugly gloves, find a scarf, and grab one of my wool hats. If there is a lot of fresh snow on the ground (or there will be by day’s end) I put on a pair of snow boots my mother gave me as a gift circa 1997. Otherwise, in winter, I’m likely to wear a pair of old Doc Martens from my days of working in retail. There are only maybe two specialized pieces of equipment that I have for walking, and both a purchases within the last year. After realizing that the untreated ice all over city sidewalks had made me drive on a few occasions that should have been easy walks, I decided to invest in a lower-end model of crampons/ice cleats. They wrap around shoes and must be taken off before walking across floors to prevent falls caused by the things worn to prevent falls on other surfaces. Taking them on and off requires only a few seconds and some place to store them so the slush can fall away without ruining carpets.
That’s basically it. I dress for the weather we have, not the weather I might be wishing for, and I head out the door. Spelling it out may make it seem like a ton of work, but I’m someone who can get fully dressed and out the door in under five minutes if need be. I won’t be winning any beauty pageants while doing that, but I’ll be usually dressed moderately appropriate for the weather and occasion.
The sidewalks in Hartford are inconsistently cleared. It’s not a perfect formula, but I can predict fairly accurately how accessible a stretch of sidewalk will be based on ownership. If the homeowner lives on the premises and is not extremely elder, the path will be reasonably cleared and salted or sanded if icy. If it is a rental property, there is either minimal or no effort if the homeowner does not live on site. If the property is owned by the State of Connecticut and if State employees regularly walk on it, the sidewalk will be perfectly dry. The City of Hartford sidewalks are a crapshoot. This, not the temperature, is really the most aggravating thing. Surfaces vary a lot, so it can be hard to get a rhythm.
The other aggravation is that dog owners often do not bother to pick up after their little angels, so I’m also trying to dodge crap. For the love of dog, people, if you can’t handle scooping the poop, either don’t have a pup, keep it in your own yard, or at least bring it to a wooded area of a park where nobody is likely to step.
The other hazards, of sorts, that are encountered, are also all preventable.
Those who have corner properties are supposed to maintain curb cuts. For the uninitiated, this basically means shoveling out a doorway in the snowbank so people can cross from one side of the street to the other. Not doing this forces pedestrians to climb the snowbanks, which I assure you, gets less fun as you get older, and a hell of a lot less fun when you are trying to maintain some semblance of cleanliness and safety en route to work during rush hour. Nobody wants to be falling into the road when motorists are driving with HUA. I encounter spots every day where there are either no curb cuts, or these are done in strange places, making pedestrians walk in snow-narrowed busy thoroughfares.
Last week I was walking Downtown and saw a man in a motorized wheelchair who got stuck in a poorly-crafted curb cut. I picked up the pace to try to help him, as it was morning rush hour and his chair was sticking out into traffic. Before I could get there, he backed up and gunned it, forcing his way through. I may have yelled at a security guard of the nearby Federal Building to get someone to come out and make this curb cut safe for everybody.
All of this may sound difficult, but when compared with the alternative, the choice is usually easy. Driving this year has been headache-inducing due to the City’s incompetent snow removal. Streets that had accommodated two-way traffic along with on-street parking now require any vehicles to park in snow banks (potentially damaging the vehicles) and for motorists to play chicken. Potholes are everywhere. Emergency vehicles are constantly out and people in cars have nowhere to even pull over. Everybody seems tired and cranky.
When I told a coworker that I had walked in during a snow event, I was given unsolicited and unwarranted warnings about my safety, suggesting that pedestrians were at danger because of the height of snowbanks. While this might be true, I can step on a snowbank to gain some visibility. In my car, I have to pull several feet out into the street to see what is coming at me. Though the cage is around me, it seems much riskier to be in a car at times like this.
I was lucky to get snow tires late in this season -- I’m hoping this is late, and not actually mid-season -- but without them, I had many opportunities to get stuck in the snow, on the ice, or slide off into the great beyond. On foot, falling can suck and could possibly result in broken bones, but generally one does not end up with one wrapped around a tree or waist-deep in snow, treading it, unable to get out without a tow truck.
When I arrive at my destination, I am often having to wipe off my fogged up glasses. Rarely am I actually cold, even on the days when the local weather forecasters are having a field day inducing panic in the masses. Somedays my pants are splattered with the sand-salt-slush slurry that makes me hate winter several months into it. Most days, I keep the winter hat on because there is no redeeming my hair. If I’m feeling fancy, I change the shoes at work; usually, I’m too focused on getting stuff done that I have not bothered with anything like that. After all, I’m here to do a job; I’m not a show pony.
I arrive feeling invigorated. I’m productive. I do my work. I leave. If it started snowing during the day, I don’t have to stand in the parking lot brushing flakes off my windshield before I can go home at the end of my day. Instead of letting a miserable evening commute compound any work stress, I can clear my head on that walk home.
SAFETY VS. COMFORT
Before doling out unsolicited advice in my direction, know that I will never listen to it. I’m not emotion-driven. I don’t buy the fear that the nightly news is selling.
This is what I do: I look around at my environment. I read the arrest log, if not every day, multiple times per week. I comprehend what is statistically likely to happen to me, knowing that I am not involved in gangs or the street economy. Some might say this gives me a false sense of safety, but is it better to remain inside one’s home 24/7 with a false sense of danger?
It is helpful to distinguish between comfort and safety.
When I am out on foot, I get cat-called. This happens nearly every day, sometimes several times per day, during warm months. It is less frequent in the winter, yet this is still a thing. It is obnoxious, not flattering, and something that should just stop. The practice says sad things about the self-esteem of those yelling at random women.
It is not, however, dangerous.
I walk a lot. Day and night. Late night. Alone. Sometimes I walk with my partner or a friend, but if neither are available when I want to be getting somewhere, I go it solo.
The two times that danger was involved -- aside from motor vehicle violence -- I was never truly at risk and the situation was easy to wriggle out of. Both involved people throwing trap rocks at me; neither had good aim.
One day I was walking home from Downtown during a heatwave. It was around noon. Blazing hot. Because planting trees in el barrio has not been a priority, one side of a street near my home has almost no shade. I walk here every day, so I know where to move so I don’t fry up. Another pedestrian who seemed to be struggling in more ways than one, misinterpreted my crossing the street, and yelled at me about being racist. I yelled back that there was shade over on this side. I kept walking, but soon noticed rocks landing a few feet away from me. There was nobody else outside. I gave him a hard look and walked as fast as I could without risking heat stroke. This was a few years ago, and it’s likely I peppered that stare with some choice words.
That never felt particularly dangerous, mostly because this man had a weak throw and bad aim. It mostly felt sad and confusing. It was not even worth calling the police over.
The other time I was walking in late afternoon/early evening with my partner. A few blocks over from that other incident from a few years previous, I spotted a group of tweens (I hate that word, but I’ll use it to describe these dolts) throwing rocks at one another. We were about half a block away when a rock landed a little behind me. Long story short, these youth were informed that this is not how to behave.
The incident stopped then and there.
I don’t want to tempt fate, but those two occasions were the beginning and ending of anything troubling (not involving motorists, and I’ll get to that shortly).
Mostly, walking in the city involves running into one or more people that I know and regretting momentarily that I did not spend more time washing my face or brushing my hair that day. Walking means being vulnerable, but also, being able to take part in the environment. Don’t tell me you live somewhere if you have no interaction with it.
Being part of your neighborhood means talking with those who may not be in your social group. There is a guy with gold teeth whose name I do not know. He has nicknames for me and my partner and is always cordial when we see him, whether that is outside of his house or somewhere else in the city. He’s the type of guy that might look like the stuff of nightmares to some, but he’s always been friendly enough. One day, when someone nearby was catcalling me, he shut that guy up immediately.
There are the kids in the neighborhood who come up and talk to me about their day, not because I’m anybody special, but because they see me out and know I am affiliated with a dog they all love.
These are interactions that would not happen if I were holed up inside my car all the time.
Being out in the world does require some care, but that’s not hard. I would not try to read a book while walking. I would not stare into my phone either. Those are distractions, and really, I am out to look at the world around anyhow.
But those are not precautions to take for avoiding assailants so much as the very real dangers and hazards, like dog poop on the sidewalk, holes, broken glass, uneven surfaces, and cars.
The biggest threat to my safety while on foot has been from vehicles. Whereas two individuals tossed rocks at me during a ten year span of spending much time out on city sidewalks, I have encountered problems with motorists nearly every time I have left my house. Almost every issue has been while using the crosswalk when all traffic lights are red for vehicles, after I have waited patiently for my turn. This is day or night. This is regardless of what color clothing I am wearing. It does not matter if I am by myself, others, or am pushing a stroller with an infant in it. There is some disgusting transformation that happens when some get behind a wheel-- a transformation that turns a reasonable individual into a selfish and impatient thug.
Besides crosswalks, where I have the legal right-of-way, I have learned to be vigilant on plain old sidewalks, especially when crossing driveways of gas stations. Few bother to stop, nevermind slow down. Many of these offenders are on their cell phones and oblivious to me even being there.
While I may walk alone at night, I take only calculated risks. I look both ways many times before crossing streets. I’ll jaywalk, but only at times when no vehicles are anywhere nearby.
Besides motorists and two people with a pocketful of rocks, dogs have presented the strongest threat to my safety. There are irresponsible dog owners who just let their dogs roam, walk near them off leash, or do not have control over the animals. I have been nipped by a pitbull once. The pre-teen who was walking it had it on leash, but did not control the dog, nor did that youth apologize or ask if I was okay. Thankfully, this was just a nip and not a full bite or worse. Some breeds get an unfair reputation, but some breeds are also sought out by those who want dogs for fighting or home defense. They get trained to be rough, and then they are let out with little or no restraint.
When my partner bought me pepper spray for reasons unrelated to walking solo, I did find the possible use against a charging dog to bring some peace of mind. I love animals and don’t want to hurt them, but if something is actually about to cause me harm -- dog or man -- I am willing to fight back.
I think a lot of women struggle with this and are unable to visualize themselves combatting danger. When you can imagine coming out of a bad scenario unscathed (or, more realistically, with just a few scratches) you feel a lot more capable in the world. It becomes easier to say, “Yes, I can meet you at the corner pub. I’ll be on foot and there in ten minutes.” It opens your life up to having more possibility than only what is on the television or the latest controversy on Twitter.
Kerri Provost is on the steering committee for Transport Hartford and lives in Frog Hollow.