So... I'm kind of an asshole

I'm back home in the Boston 'burbs for the labor day weekend, visiting the fambly. I made the mistake of digging up my high school yearbook from the attic last night. There were a lot of track related pictures of me and, since I've been running again, it inspired me to bring the fire back. So this evening, round eight-fifteen I set out on a run towards my high school and did some half mile repeats on the track under the lights. I over did it a little and made my run home a sort of walk/run combo. No big deal. It's the 'burbs though, and it's summertime so you know some asshole kid has to come driving by in his mom's minivan and scream out the window at me "woooooooo!" Now this brings back memories.

Let's get in the way back machine and take a trip to July of 1994. Hair was still fairly big here in MA and IQ was running pretty low. Me? I was pissed off. My high school girlfriend had broken up with me over Christmas break from college and, during my summer home, she'd been jerking me back and forth on a chain. I was pretty easy to jerk back and forth on a chain back then. Hell, I'm still pretty easy, but I digress. I was mad and I decided to throw myself into running. I'd spent the end of spring track injured and I'd finally gotten myself back up to health over the summer. I'd work all day in a spoiling hot warehouse for stupidly low wages, then I'd head home, eat, wait for the evening to cool, and set out.

Now, this is Massachusetts in July so, by "evening to cool", I mean 80 degrees and 90 percent humidity. After the first few miles of my run, the thick cotton track T-shirt I'd unwisely chosen to wear had been removed and wrapped around my fist. I was down to wearing my skimpy shorts and running shoes and my anger at all womankind. With about a mile left to go, I ran by a group of kids. Two guys and two girls. Big hair, baseball caps on at stupid angles... the whole deal. One of the big-hairs got a look at the glory of my 120 pound, 18 year-old frame and whistled.

"Oooo. Sexy!" she mocked.

Fuck you. I thought. Actually, I didn't just think it. I said it, with accompaniment of the appropriate hand gesture. The funny hats were not pleased.

"What did you say?" asked tough guy number one.

I slowed, then turned and ran backwards a few steps. "You heard me." I extended my hand towards them and beckoned with my finger for them to come get me.

"Get him!"

It was on.

I turned and ran, trying to not go too fast that I would lose them. My plan was to run them out a little bit, get them out of breath and then turn and see if they still wanted to fight. I didn't care how many or how big they were, back then, I could have run them into the ground so badly they wouldn't have stood a chance afterwards. I got a little too much adrenaline in my system though, and found myself too far ahead. They were out of sight around the bend behind me when I slowed and turned again. I could hear a car pulling up and car doors opening.

"There's a guy running up ahead!" I heard. "Get him!"

Uh Oh.

So they gave chase in their car. One of them was bright enough to suggest that they pull up ahead of me so I wouldn't be too far gone by the time they got out of the car, but I simply crossed the street and kept going, leaving them no choice but to chase on foot or pop a U-turn. One opted for on foot so we ran about a half mile. At some point, his shoe fell off, so I stopped and waited while he put it back on, then we ran some more. He gave up and I turned and looked at him, but we didn't fight. It had gone out of him. He left and I trotted home, feeling slightly vindicated, but giddy and full of energy, not thinking about my ex for the first time in a while.

Now, faithful readers, back to the present day. Naturally, this little car shouting incident reminded me of that fateful night, so long ago. I'm older now and supposedly wiser, and they were just kids, so I just watched them as they drove to the intersection about two-hundred yards ahead and slowed for the light. It was the Five Corners intersection, infamous for the long waits at red lights. Do I really want to be an asshole? I thought. Yeah. I do.

I ran them down. Two hundred yards at a sprint, keeping my eye on the intersection to make sure they would stay stuck at the red while I caught up. Traffic the other way still had green while I closed in. I had plenty of time, so I slowed my steps and ran out to the side of the passenger window a little so they wouldn't hear me or see me coming in the mirror. The passenger window was rolled up now, but the little shit in the car with his hood pulled over his baseball cap was looking straight ahead. Good. He'd no idea I was coming.

I strode right up beside the car, leaned in towards the passenger window, put on my best killing face and screamed: "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Kid jumped about two feet off his seat. The look in his eyes when he caught sight of me was priceless. I gave him my biggest shit-eating grin and a slow, sarcastic wave. Not so cool after-all, are you kid? Then I turned my back to him and slowly jogged away.

Yeah, he was probably seventeen and I should probably feel ashamed about making a teenage boy shit his pants in his mom's car, but tonight I was a teenager too, and pissed off, and not about to take shit from anybody and, somewhere in my town, there's a high school kid out for a training run who's not going to get whooped at by these assholes ever again. Score one for our side.