Last week, clowns ruled the news.
I don’t mean the presidential candidates… I mean clowns. CLOWNS.
Unless you live in a cave, you must’ve heard reports of clowns hanging out in places one wouldn’t normally expect to see a clown, trying to lure children into the woods, chasing teenagers out of the subway, and even chasing runners.
Chasing runners… WTF?
New Hampshire has actually had a couple clown incidents recently – one was in the city where I live. A woman in the local MRTT group posted about her sighting to the Facebook page we all use to communicate.
Mind you, these tend to be mature women – some with kids, some without… but I haven’t met a woman yet who strikes me as the type to claim she saw a clown for the sole purpose to cause mass hysteria amongst the group. If this woman says she saw a clown lurking near a popular park in town, I believe her.
I’ve always felt safe in my city. There are certainly parts of town that I would only run through with a buddy, and other parts of town I wouldn’t even drive through without locking the doors. But not once have I ever felt the need to arm myself on a run. Because of this clown business, I’m actually considering purchasing mace.
Clowns. With their unnatural makeup, weird hair, big red noses, oversized clothing, and creepy laughter.
I hate clowns. I have always disliked clowns, but my hatred for them developed in middle school. I went to a haunted house with my parents and my best friend, and shortly after getting out of the car, a clown started chasing me around. He went so far as to chase me back to my parents’ car, and despite being in what I thought was a safe zone, he leaned right in the window and cackled in my face. No. Just… no.
So. I hate clowns.
Why is it that my fear of clowns is what pushed me over the edge to even consider buying mace? It seems ridiculous even admitting it…
Do you run armed? Why, or why not?