The Masked Woman

A long time ago, I used to run in Central Park about three times a week.  I was there so often, usually at the same time of day, I would always see the same cast of characters on the main loop with me.  There was the dude wearing skis mounted on wheels, using toilet plungers as poles.  There was the guy who rode his bike sitting on the handlebars facing backwards, reverse peddling while looking over his shoulder.  There was the unicyclist; the guy who ran while talking on his cell phone; the tandem rollerbladers who skated in unison like a human metronome.  But by far the most fascinating person I routinely encountered was the Masked Woman.

No matter the weather, this woman ran with her face entirely covered with what, from a distance, appeared to be a black ski mask.  You could see her a mile away.  Who else would be wearing a ski mask in one hundred degree New York humidity?  But when I got closer, it became evident that’s not what it was.  The first giveaway was that it didn’t go all the way around her head.  The second was that it seemed to have weird Velcro straps everywhere, which implied to me it served some sort of supportive function.

Without seeing her face, I couldn’t really tell how old she was, but I always got the impression that she was middle-aged.  That being said, I was in my early twenties at the time so anyone over thirty seemed middle-aged to me.

Outside of the mask, she looked completely normal.  She had a short, fit frame and dirty blonde or light brown hair.  She wasn’t overly fast but seemed pretty efficient, keeping her arms relatively still at her sides and taking small, quick steps.  Aside from that one accessory, she dressed like any other runner in the park: tank tops and running shorts in the summer, long sleeves and gloves when the weather turned.  Often she wore sunglasses, but the rare times she would go without I tried really hard to see her eyes.  That never yielded any result other than me looking like a nosy asshole.

I cannot tell you how many miles I’ve spent contemplating why, why the mask.  I’ve come up with a few theories:

1) Sun protection.  This seems the most obvious answer.  She sometimes would even wear a hat or  visor, which seemed pretty redundant since her face was obviously already in shade.  But I’ve poked holes in this theory because she exposed so much other skin to the sun, namely her shoulders and legs.  Granted, I freak out about my droopy face far more than my saggy knees, but if you’re going so far as to run in a freaking mask, wouldn’t you want to at least keep your décolletage protected as well?

2) She’s wearing a Face Bra.  I’m not sure if this is really a thing, but similar to the sun protection theory, I’ve wondered if she’s trying to keep her facial skin from being yanked down by gravity with every step.  Hence the Velcro straps all over.  This would also explain her lack of concern about her exposed arms and legs.  Maybe her magic face bra is the secret remedy against jowls and marionette lines!  Maybe I should be wearing the magic face-saving wonder bra, too?

3) She’s famous.  I’ve obsessed about this theory quite a bit.  It’s not exactly incognito, but once you overcome the embarrassment of being the crazy woman who wears a black mask in Central Park, what better way to stay anonymous?  Who cares if people think you’re nuts?  No one knows who you are!  I even tried to entice other runners I knew at the time to run with me so that when we see her, we can jump her and rip off the mask.  I knew it was you, Meg Ryan!  I knew it!

4) She’s recovering from surgery, probably a face lift.  But I don’t know anyone who recovers from surgery for two years.  Nor do I know that any surgical procedure allows a rigorous workout schedule as part of your recovery regimen.

5) Some crazy religious thing.  This one’s a long shot and nothing I ever really considered.  Especially since I don’t know any religion that would require your whole face be covered while allowing tank tops and booty shorts.

6) She’s not alone.  I’ve speculated that, with the frequency in which I saw her and the fact that she was completely average in every other respect, perhaps there was more than one Masked Woman.  Perhaps this was a running fad – mask running! – that I was just never privy to.

7) I’ve seen her face.  Along the lines of having multiple Masked Women, I went even further and thought what if two women were sharing one mask?  I mean, how many weird Velcro face masks could there be floating out there in the world?  And what if one of them wanted to run but the other was in possession of the mask?  Maybe she ran anyway and maybe I’ve seen her face and just didn’t know it?  Or even if it’s just one woman, wouldn’t there be some days were she just didn’t feel like wearing the damn thing?  Either way, for a while there I would stare hard at any short, thin white woman with sand-colored hair running my way.  Is it you, UnMasked Woman?  You can’t fool me!

I really wish I could tell you that I got to the bottom of this before I moved, but I didn’t.  I’ve since visited New York City a number of times and always go for a run in Central Park, but I have yet to see her again.  I probably never will.  Unless I have already and just don’t know it.