There was no one else around when I heard his swift, heavy tread behind me in the dark. The park was deserted, lit only by the occasional pool of light.

Then he veered wide, into my peripheral vision.

“On your right!” he said, raising a friendly hand as he jogged by.

I’m not a runner – I shuffle, I jog, I occasionally fartlek – but I’m out in the park most mornings. At this time of year, that means being out before the sun comes up, and being hypervigilant.

And that was the first time I can remember that anyone tried to put me at ease.

Blokes tend to storm past – so close sometimes I can feel the fug of their breath even as I flinch away.

Sometimes they’ll huff and puff just behind me while I start scanning for other people or safer routes.

Most of the time, they just don’t seem to think about whether or not they’re scaring the shit out of a chick on her own in the dark.

A colleague says he’s always aware when he gets off a bus behind a woman and has to go the same way, wary it might put her on edge. But what do you do?

Another colleague tells the story of a mate who shouts “I mean you no harm!”, which sounds vaguely terrifying, if funny in the telling.

Hopefully by now most guys know not to walk behind a woman down a dark street, but there are myriad other ways they may not realise what effect they’re having.

Like this other guy, who several times has come up to stretch next to me. I’m in a park that covers about 70 hectares. That’s multiple times bigger than MCG’s field. There are maybe 30 people in it and he chooses to stretch next to me. In the dark.

I imagine it’s like standing at a long, deserted urinal and having someone pick the spot at your elbow. You wonder why and you want to leave swiftly.

Of course, it’s not just men scaring women. I could probably startle a few people myself.

Our brains take complicated cues into account. Size. Proximity. Body language. Surroundings. Noises. But masculinity is definitely up there, for good reason.

Comedian Chris McAllister knows the dynamic from different perspectives.

“It’s a big thing for people who transition from female to appearing male,” they say.

“I used to be the one that knows what it’s like to walk down a dark street and be fearful of men – and now I’m seen as that person.

“So how do I show that I’m a safe person?”

McAllister says they might do a really goofy smile, be a bit more effeminate, or speak in a higher pitch to dissipate any feeling of threat. Their King Charles Cavalier is another disarming green flag.

Meanwhile, they still face threats themselves.

“If I’m walking past men anywhere, I will often make my shoulders more broad, walk in a more masculine way … I could be seen as a gay man – they probably have the same fears women do,” McAllister says.

“If you’re gender non-conforming, you’re a target.”

Statistics consistently show women are more likely to be hurt by someone they know. And men are more likely to be assaulted by a stranger than women.

But that doesn’t stop the anxiety women (and others) have, the fear that sees them grip their keys between their fingers, take an alternate route, pretend to be on the phone or decide not to go out at all.

Even the most rational mind can hoard the memory of tragic stories like Samantha Murphy’s, Eurydice Dixon’s, Jill Meagher’s and more, prioritising them above the statistical likelihood of an attack.

That morning, after the bloke jogged on, the magpies started to warble. The world lightened and I thought about how much has been said about making women feel safe in it and how little has been achieved. And how pathetically grateful I was to that one guy, once, who made an effort.