I'm a woman who runs alone. I'm furious about Eliza Fletcher's killing.

“Look at them nice legs.”

It wasn’t so much what he said. It was the way he said it, the look in his eye. He was leering, his voice crackling.

It was a bright Saturday morning in Washington, D.C. I had just left my apartment and was walking toward the National Mall for my long run. 

As a longtime solo runner, street harassment was nothing new to me. But this man, the way he said what he said, how it made me feel – all of it – really bothered me. For once, I shouted back.

I don’t remember what I said but he screamed back at me, made a threat, acted like he was coming for me.