I find myself thrust into a position where I have to question my motives. Last night, a group of us ran with one of our country's Olympic marathoners, to help out his sponsor, and a local running store. Being a special event, it drew out some folks who aren't in our usual circle. The people I run with occupy a broad spectrum of body types, ages, abilities, and of course, both sexes; none of which usually affects me (with the exception of a random split second glimpse if one of the ladies who comes into my field of view).
I'm not an ogler. I have held my gaze for more than one second, at a women who is not my wife. If I am in any way acquainted with this person, I instinctively avert said gaze out of respect for both her and our relationship. If I am not, I avert because it just seems creepy.
Last night, a women who I did not recognize as being a regular, showed up in rather revealing tights (perhaps one second is even too long for the male mind to spend analyzing such topics). My running buddy jabbed me with his elbow, pointed (ugh) at her, and said "I'm following THAT!" His daughter, who was running with him, looked appalled. I don't know if he did keep her in his sights; I didn't wish to find out, so I took off and got in front of her as quickly as possible.
We may be hardwired to objectify everyone we come in contact with as we go through our daily lives. A person who could be a threat to our safety, someone who appears vulnerable and in possible need of our assistance, a customer who may tip well, or someone who attracts our attention be it intellectually, spiritually, or sexually. As much as we rail against media for skewing the ideal of sexual perfection, we are also left to use those same rules to assess ourselves; always wondering if we measure up.
Shortly after I moved to the front of the run, I was joined by another runner. She's young, pretty, and gives of the vibe of someone who is deeply interested in whatever the person she's looking at has to say about anything. I knew why she jumped ahead to me too: she was checking me out. It wasn't my greying hair, skinny legs, or pasty skin that caught her eye though; after two minutes of running, she was able to ascertain that our running paces would be compatible for the rest of the five mile jaunt.
That was it. Not my brilliant mind, my incredible conversational skills, my sharp wit, or even my body; she was after my...sense of pace.
I should feel used.