Funny thing, though, The Law doesn't really apply to other people. The attraction you feel toward someone is great and all, but the more you want the person and the harder you push for that person to be attracted to you, the faster the other person back-peddles. Fatal Attraction anyone?
Anyway, in terms of my life, here is what I'm wondering about The Law of Attraction and Fatal Attraction. What is it that I put out in the universe that attracts strange men who want to show me their business? Because I can assure you, it is not something I want to happen, I'm surely not willing it to happen, though I believe it can and does happen to me often. Let me be very clear: I do not like their business. I do not like their policies or agendas. I do not like what they are selling or for how much. I do not like their logo or marketing plan. I do not like them, Sam I am.
A few examples include a really creepy guy in Value Village when I was in high school and a really normal looking grandpa-type in the castle in Nurnberg. In fact, the end of the trilogy is about one of these flasher experiences, an unfriendly jogger in Mexico.
Shortly after the boxing tournament, days after actually, I flew to Mexico to study for the summer. Among other things, I brought with me the removable cast I'd been wearing since breaking my thumb in the ring. Didn't tell you that part of the story, now did I?
I'd been in Mexico long enough to know where I lived and how to get there by bus and on foot, and to stop wearing the cast. All of which was fortunate because one afternoon the bus skipped my stop and dumped me off a few miles away from my house. As I stepped off the bus I figured it was still light enough outside to walk, and saw my soon-to-be flasher and thought, "Huh, a nice jogger guy. You don't see that very often around here." Truly, I said this to myself.
I started my march home and within a few blocks the jogger ran by me. I thought, "Huh, there goes Jogger Guy, what are the odds?" Truly, I said this to myself. At the end of the block I heard a noise and I looked to see Jogger Guy had set up shop and was carrying on with his business. I half laughed and kept going. He ran by me again. End of the block, there he was, typing on his keyboard? I ignored him. He ran by me again, end of the block, printing his Excel spreadsheet? This time, I pointed and laughed.
Something I do -- and always have done -- when walking by myself is assume I'm going to be attacked and create a POA. I clock the people around me, think about where to run, etc. It sounds paranoid, but I think a lot of women do it, or at least they should. It puts you in the right mindset for the worst-case scenario and I have always hoped it would keep me from panicking and winding up hurt. Needless to say, my oh-crap-o-meter was off the charts this day in Mexico, but when he ran by me again he took off in a different direction and I thought he'd gone home for the day.
I was nearly home when I heard running footsteps behind me. I instantly thought I should step to one side and throw my arm out and clothesline the person, but I didn't think in a million years it could be Jogger Guy as he'd run away two miles back. How would he know where I was and where I lived? All my attack prep went out the window to be replaced by worrying I'd attack the wrong person. But sure enough, the footsteps got closer and I was bear hugged from behind by Jogger Guy.
But guess what? Attack prep came back. I spun around and swung at the same time. Jogger Guy narrowly missed my haymaker, but in doing so he had to throw himself backward and wound up falling to the ground.
I was pissed. Seriously pissed. In my rage I forgot all of my Spanish and found myself yelling cuss words at him in English as I kicked at him. He crab walked back as fast as he could and got up and ran off, with me chasing after him yelling something along the lines of, "Come back here and fight me like a man, you mother effer!"
Come back and fight me like a man? Really? Really. What was I thinking? I'll tell you what I was thinking. While boxing a girl while hundreds of people watched was a bad idea, killing Jogger Guy was a really, really good idea. While I was kind of scared by the whole thing, I really did want him to come back and square up. Mother effer. But let's be honest. What was he thinking? While I may be small from a few blocks away, I get bigger as you get closer. I'm not going to big myself up and say Jogger Guy was a giant. He was a person of average build and several inches shorter than I am. So what was he thinking?
In that moment I was so thankful to my brother. All those years of faux fighting were worth it. I knew my brother would be thrilled his training had saved me from who knows what, even though he wasn't terribly happy it took him 45 minutes to tie me to the china cabinet with my mom's shoe laces the last time we'd wrestled a few months before. I was thankful to the genetics that made me six feet tall, and a little fraternity philanthropy called The Smoker. I was thankful this guy wasn't bigger.
What I didn't know at the time was that this guy had been stalking some of the other girls on my exchange program. That's when I was thankful this guy chose me to attack not one of the other girls because for me it's just another funny anecdote but for someone smaller, weaker, less prepared...from that day on, none of the girls ever saw this guy again, though we suspect he was somehow linked to the host-families we stayed with because he knew where we all lived.
I'm not sure what the moral of these little stories is. You should let your kids fight? Raise a tomboy? Avoid men in running shorts? And Value Villages? And castles? I suppose in a weird way, I did will this to happen in that I wanted to let my training run its course, no pun intended, to its obvious end. And with that, I'm done with the business of business.
