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Sometimes I do local running races with my wife, Janet. That’s when I observe what I call
the Henry Phenomenon. I don’t ever want to be a Henry.
In these races, Janet and I run together. She’s way faster but sticks with me because 1)
She’s nice, mostly (see No. 2 for possible exception); and 2) I suspect she secretly
enjoys watching me suffer as I try to keep up with her (payback for when we ride
bikes—my sport). Anyway, when we do these low-key 10Ks, we usually pass a few hares
that start too quickly and fade.
On the rare occasions when I do a running event without Janet, I can pass people without
incident. Sometimes I even say hi or utter a sympathetic grunt—depending on how early I had
to get up in order to make it to the race in time for my warm-up sprint to the porta-potty. But
when I run with Janet, passing becomes a big deal, fraught with all kinds of gender and
generational undercurrents.
When we pass a woman, everything’s copacetic. Pass, grunt, keep going. But when we come up
on a man, something funny happens. We pull even with the guy. Guy notices he’s about to be
passed by a woman. Guy sprints to stay ahead. Guy opens a gap. Guy gradually slows and we catch
him again. Repeat process until guy folds like a cheap card table and we run past him for
good.
No passing zone—that goes for you, too, Regina
Janet says this happens to her—and to her women running friends—all the time. And
it’s not just a middle-of-the-pack phenomenon. We recently attended a talk by track star
Regina Jacobs, who said she experienced the same thing during a 10K. I’m trying to imagine
what the guys were thinking: “Uh-oh, here comes Regina. So what if she’s the
1,500-meter silver medalist from the ’99 World Championships and the U.S. record holder in
the 5,000 meters. If I sprint now, I can hold her off for the next five miles.”
Runners aren’t alone in this. In triathlons, you typically start in waves divided by age
and gender. Usually the women in Janet’s 40-plus age group start about five or 10 minutes
behind the 40-plus men. This means that when she passes one of these geniuses mid-race,
she’s going much faster because she has already made up the stagger. But that
doesn’t stop the guy from sprinting ahead—even though they’ll be scored
separately in the results and the constant sprinting and slowing is going to land him in the
med tent with an IV out of his arm. Ditto for the race leaders. At a triathlon clinic we
attended, a top female pro said she’s been busted for drafting on the bike leg because
men refuse to let her pass.
I’m an ’Enery, I am, I am
This behavior is especially prevalent in guys in their late 40s, 50s, and even 60s, Janet says.
Most of the younger men don’t seem to mind getting passed by a woman—even an older
woman. In fact, they’re often supportive. At least I think that’s what is going on
when they cry: “Dude, she’s like so not tired!”
But not those older guys. Nope. They practically give themselves coronaries trying to stay
ahead of a woman. My collective moniker for these guys is Henry, a name I associate with
men in this age range. I figure they can’t handle being passed because they grew up in
the pre-feminist, pre-Title IX sports-equality era when hardly any women did sports—and
certainly none competed alongside men. Getting passed—getting beaten—by a woman
in sports threatens your manhood. You cannot allow this.
How do I know? Just call me Henry. When I took up cycling in the 1970s, few women competed. Most
who did weren’t very good. I remember a big bike race back then in Hartford, Connecticut.
The event featuring the top male riders drew 150 lean, muscled racers on sleek machines. The
women’s event attracted maybe 10 riders. A couple were clearly great athletes, but the rest
clearly weren’t. One woman competed wearing combat boots.
Welcome to the year 2000
Today that’s all changed. Lots of women do sports—especially endurance sports—and
they’re lots better. I’m 42 now, and I get passed in races more and more by women,
whether I’m running, riding or doing a triathlon. At first it bugged me. I’d try to
up the pace and end up crispier than burnt bacon. In races in which women started a few
minutes behind the men, I’d consider it a victory if I finished before any women caught
me. I never tried to block the way so a woman couldn’t pass—which frequently happens
to Janet—but the thought sometimes occurred to me in a moment of anaerobic panic. What a
jerk.
But after doing those runs with Janet, I started to see how silly we Henrys look. Besides, I
realized there’s nothing I could do about it. That woman’s fast. I’m not. So
what? I’ve even taken to offering encouragement when women pass me. “Good job,”
I say. Keep going. Catch those Henrys. Don’t let ’em get in your
way.
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