The Rate of Fear

My heart rate went up while I was in the gym today.

I usually use the treadmill, and it has a place where you can place your hands and it will estimate your heart rate. When I use this technology, it's almost always by accident - I place my hands there without realizing it. I don't really care enough to actually keep track of it.

Today was just like any day, expect today, my heart rate was up.

I'm a semi-active person, but my lungs suck, especially in the cold weather. *Note that my gym is not heated* So, I push myself but I don't go too far. I do a fast walk at a speed of 4.5 with a 1.5 incline for 30 minutes. This gives me some serious burn and melts away calories, but it doesn't, you know, kill me. I've consistently done this exact workout for over a week now and I know what to expect.

For those moments when I accidentally place my hands on the heart rate reader, I leave them there just to see what it says. I mean, why not? 155. This is the number it reads. Today, my hands fell on the bar and I let it read my heart. 179.

I wasn't working out harder than usual. I'd had a relaxing day. I (shockingly) wasn't stressed out. In short, I wasn't doing anything different that would cause my heart rate to be up. Nonetheless by 24 beats per minute. But there was a reason.

The gym is located in the basement of my dorm. It's tucked away in a corner, not very visually appealing, and is very rarely used and even more rarely passed by. When I work out, I'm either with a few friends or I'm alone. Today, I was neither. I hopped on the treadmill, got in the zone, and made it halfway through the trek when I saw a slight movement to my left. The door opened, and someone walked in.

This someone was a fit, rather stereotypical looking teenage boy. He had on a cutoff, basketball shorts, and was sporting AirPods. He was much larger than I, and far more intimidating, given that he hit the treadmill running full speed. Then hit the weights. Then went back to the treadmill. I wasn't focused on my workout anymore. I was focused on him. I carefully, consistently watched him from the corner of my eye. And it wasn't because he was "cute".

The truth is, I was nervous. I was a small girl, barely holding my own at a speed of 4.5, who had to look completely vulnerable. I felt it.

No one would be in the basement, and even if they were, definitely not near the gym. If he did something, no one would know. They wouldn't see or hear. The journalist in me (or maybe the anxiety in me) wanted to dig into research - start pulling up articles of girls who were alone in the gym with a boy when things went wrong. Find out what happened. Get the facts, the information, so I could be prepared.

Just to be clear, he didn't do anything wrong or suspicious. He was just a boy getting in his nightly workout. And I was just a girl he saw in the gym.

But as an eighteen-year-old college girl, I didn't see things the same way he probably did. My heart rate was up because I was scared. 179 beats per minute is the rate of fear, in my case.

He left before I did. I finished my workout. My heart rate slowed. Everything turned out just fine. I knew that the chances were slim. I knew I was being irrational... But was I?

This is what it's like to be me. I'm not alone. This is what it's like to be a young woman alone anywhere with a man she doesn't know or trust. I'm learning though, that the great thing about not being alone is that someone always understands you, even when you're being irrational or paranoid.

This story may not be life-changing nor does it provide pivotal information. Plainly, it's just my story, and the story of others just like me, living their life as usual when something - even the simplest of things - reminds them of their own rate of fear.

179.