The author (right) with her friend and driving partner Holly Wheeler in January 2022. Photo courtesy of Casey Patrick
I called my boyfriend and told him what happened. I didn’t tell him in person because we lived 1,000 miles apart and were rarely in the same room. The incident involved a man riding a bicycle with his pants down, hissing at me, “Do you want some of this?” It was quite a balancing act, I thought for a split second before I realized it was a threat, stalking me in the black morning when I was just trying to get out for a run. I called the police, who took a report. My boyfriend said he was sorry it happened and we both laughed at my description of the pale bottom of the lightning bolt shining under the streetlight.
I was almost a year into our relationship by then, which started shortly after I ended my marriage of 19 years, when my post-divorce emotions were at their worst. When we met, I immediately told him who I was and what I wanted out of life and a relationship. I probably should have given up men for a while so I could think about why my marriage failed, but instead I kept going.
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I refused to let a creepy stranger dictate when I could leave my house, so I kept running in the dark, but now it was different. Every time I shifted my gaze to avoid tripping, the headlight cast a harsh shadow that resembled the man, ready to pounce. It was everywhere.
When my boyfriend came to visit the next weekend, we ran together and felt safe again. He was tall and fit and never worried about being followed. I hated that I felt safer with him just because he was a man, when the source of my fear was also a man, how men had power over my sense of security.
After my boyfriend flew back home, the rampage reappeared, this time cycling past my house in broad daylight and then turning to look directly out my kitchen window. I called the police and they sent an officer to search the area.
It was the first time I got a good look at him: hooded eyes, black hair, tight skin around his jaw. He looked anxious, which was scary, like he wasn’t in control of his own actions. If you saw his picture, you could say he looked like a serial killer.
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The detective assigned to the case told me the man’s name. He had a history of exposing himself to women and lived a few blocks away on my street, but no one had caught him in the act so they couldn’t arrest him. A woman a few blocks away had nicknamed it penis pedaling.
“It’s awful,” my friend said later on the phone. “I wish I could be there for you.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine.” But I was joking.
As soon as the sun went down, I double-checked every lock on the windows and doors. Armed with pepper spray, I searched under the beds and inside the tub for the man’s lean, able body. I pushed a trash can through the kitchen door to hear when he inevitably came in to rape and kill me. I put the police department number on speed dial and tried to sleep.
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Two days later, lightning rolled next to me while I was walking with a friend. I contacted the police as I was told.
The detective put a motion-triggered deer camera that worked in the dark on my porch post. He said the police thought the creeper might have a special interest in me, which sounded like an odd compliment.
My best friend suggested I borrow her dog for protection, but I declined. Another asked if I had a restraining order against the man, but that seemed extreme. My boyfriend suggested I get a Peloton, figuring I could lock myself in my house and ride a fake bike that didn’t go anywhere while the creeper cycled freely outside wherever he wanted. I refused.
The detective was right. The flashing light became less active as the weather cooled. Photo courtesy of Casey Patrick
I told the detective they could run early in the morning as bait to catch the man red-handed, but the police didn’t want to put a civilian in danger. They borrowed the idea and sent officers as bait, but the man didn’t take it.
I started running around with my phone and pepper spray all the time. I got faster that season. Getting rid of fear is motivating.
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Two days after he installed the camera, the detective stopped by. On the small screen, he showed me footage from the previous morning of a blurry gray ghost on a bicycle rolling in and out of frame. Two minutes later, I was there in my blouse, running in the same direction as the man. He had been waiting for me and I had no idea he was there. Then the detective told me that years ago the man had attacked a jogger in our city park, dragging her and holding her to the ground.
I called my boyfriend.
“It’s awful. Are you running away tomorrow morning?” he asked.
– No. I guess not.
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“Fine. But if you do, text me when you leave and when you come back, please,” he said.
“Why?”
“So I know you’re safe.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t text?” I didn’t give him time to answer. “I appreciate it, but it’s not really helpful if I tell you when I’m leaving and when I’m coming back. The problem is the middle.”
“I know. I feel helpless here.” I flinched at the idea that he was helpless, looking for ways he wasn’t—being a chief man among them.
I had always been so proud of how fearless I was, but the creeper had ruined me. I was angry at him and the police and angry at how women are always expected to accommodate the men of the world. I installed a Peloton in my guest room.
In September 2025, the author ran a half marathon with her son and husband Chris. Courtesy of Casey Patrick
When the weather turned, police predicted the reptile would be less active to avoid literally freezing its *** off. The neighborhood text group reported fewer views. We still had some confrontations. He passed me one afternoon when I was running, parked his bike on the street to watch me rake the leaves, and then watched me and my kids unload groceries from our car.
My boyfriend and I had been dating for about two years when the creeper stuff stopped for good, so I sold the Peloton on Facebook.
“It was sudden,” my boyfriend said when I told him.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It makes me feel like you might wake up one morning and get rid of me,” he said.
“I would never do that. At least not on Facebook,” I said.
I thought he was overreacting, but his reaction also made me believe that he was hopelessly in love with me and that I controlled the fate of our relationship. He knew I wanted to be the one pulling the strings of my life, to be able to move freely through the world without arming myself with pepper spray or thinking that someone else might hurt me. He knew these things because I told him so. For the first time in my life, I felt emotionally safe with a partner.
Six months later, we made plans to live within a few miles of each other. I would never have to feel insecure again. But just as he was giving me details about packing boxes and moving trucks and planning to be with me for the holidays, I discovered he was married. He lied to me – and his wife – for three years. As real as she had felt that sense of both emotional and physical safety with him, it was a mirage.
A few weeks after I found out the truth about my boyfriend, I saw my bright neighbor walking past my house hand in hand with a woman, their foreheads tilted toward each other. The detective had told me that the man had no problems when he had a girlfriend. It made him calmer, just as my friend made me feel safer.
I wish my boyfriend was more like the creep in some ways. Maybe if he had acted like a terrible person, I could have protected myself by closing my heart so he couldn’t get in. But my boyfriend was a sophisticated liar.
It was much worse than the lightning on the bike. At least that guy was honest about his creepiness. He did not present himself as harmless and mentally sound. He was reckless and often only partially clothed – red flag! My boyfriend, on the other hand, was generous and kind. He acted like he respected me and always had my best interest at heart.
Friends assumed I would have trouble trusting other people after my ordeal, but it didn’t work out that way. My terrible boyfriend is the person who helped me realize how important emotional security is. It made me want to be able to share myself with another person.
However, when I started falling in love with a new guy who seemed kind and single, I felt like I could open up to him about anything, but I knew I shouldn’t trust my own judgment. I asked him to produce a copy of his divorce decree before we let things go too far. I ended up marrying the guy and sometimes we run in the dark.
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