I went for a run this afternoon, and got a first hand look at the discrepancy in cultures between Ogden and the Cedar City/St. George area. A few hundred miles south of here, runners are greeted with encouragement, waving, and exaggerated peppiness. It’s a little sickening, actually. Today, in my hometown of Ogden, I had a different experience.
I hadn’t stepped but twenty feet off the curb of my condominium complex, when a middle aged dude on a motorcycle coming the opposite direction made eye contact with me and slowed his bike down. As we passed each other, he looked me square in the eye and growled, “Where in the F*** do YOU think YOU’RE going?!” I wheeled around and threw up my arms in the universal sign for, “What, bitch?” He didn’t stop, or even look back. I continued my run, laughing at both the guy for the unprovoked attack, and at myself for reacting so predictably ghetto.
The middle portion of my run was pleasant, albeit uneventful. My fellow Ogdenites, however, made sure the end of my run would be memorable. Approximately half a mile from my house, two teenage kids in an old Nissan began to slow as they approached. I looked up just in time to see one of the kids lean out the passenger side window. He belted me in the chest with a small rock while yelling, “Faaaaag!!!!”
The rock stung, but I didn’t even come close to getting angry at this point. In fact, I laughed my ass off the remainder of my run. Why did I laugh? Well, because I deserve it. Anybody that has known me for long enough knows some of the stuff I used to pull when I was their age. Karma, right? What goes around, comes around. All I know is, next time I see that dude on the bike I’ll be ready.