WASHINGTON – I try not to let it stop me from living my life as usual.
So, as I do most weekdays, I went for a run through Rock Creek Park a few days ago. I told myself I’d be safe. That the sniper who’s been killing people in this area probably wouldn’t target a jogger in a wooded area. That it’d be too difficult to get off a clean shot. I told myself he seemed to prefer gas stations and shopping centers or middle schools and post offices.
My building is located in a quiet area on Connecticut Avenue, about two blocks from the National Zoo and about five miles from where a sniper killed five people last week.
So, before leaving my building, I stopped off to tell a few friends I was about to go jogging. I laughed as I instructed them to call the police if I didn’t come back in an hour.
But I was only half joking.
As I stretched on the front steps of the building I casually glanced at the rush-hour traffic headed out of the city. I saw more white delivery trucks and vans than I could count. I wondered if the description of the sniper’s vehicle could have been any more vague.
I thought about what we know. Police say the sniper drives a white truck with no distinguishable markings. His victims are normal people, doing normal things in normal places. And he’s good at what he does. He has killed seven people in 10 separate shootings in eight days (as of Thursday afternoon), all killed by a single shot.
I crossed the street and started jogging towards the park. When I reached the trail in the woods I tried to put the sniper out of my mind. But I was painfully aware of the fact that there were no other joggers on the popular jogging trail. I wondered if the overcast weather or the sniper had kept them away.
I was startled several times by the sound of unseen wildlife rustling leaves. I was jumpy. I scanned the ridges along the sides of the trail. I told myself I was being silly and tried to think of something else. But I started thinking how easily a sniper could sneak into these woods and wait for an unsuspecting jogger. I ran a little faster.
When I got home I spoke with my girlfriend on the phone and told her things were fine. I told her that the people who live here know that the odds of being killed by a sniper are slim to none. I told her that it’s something we laugh about. That when we walk down the street we jokingly hide behind each other. That we sometimes playfully jump behind trees when white trucks pass.
But the truth is that we are afraid.
But there is still life to live. I still walk along Connecticut Avenue to the Metro station most days. I still run through the park most afternoons. And I still get coffee at a caf? a couple of blocks away most mornings.
But now, I prefer to go places with other people. I prefer to be inside. I’ve been told fewer people leave their offices during lunchtime. I don’t blame them. Some coffee shops and restaurants have removed their patio furniture to discourage people from sitting outside, at the request of the police.
Things have changed here in the last week. I am always thinking about the sniper. And judging from most of my colleagues, so are they.
I knew there would be some sacrifices in living in Washington. That if there was going to be another major terrorist attack it would probably be here. But no one expected this kind of terrorism. Everyday people doing everyday things are dying.
It’s scary, but do not think that Washington has become a ghost town full of people hiding away in their homes. Many of us are afraid, but we are living our lives.
And after work today I’ll run through the park again. I’ll tell my friends where I’m going and I’ll stretch on the front steps. Then I’ll talk to my girlfriend and tell her I’m fine.