The humiliation continues

Teenagers. Don't you just love them?

Yesterday I was waiting at the pedestrian crossing in my T shirt and lycra trousers (see? I am getting serious), jumping up and down and dancing, Rocky-style as I waited for the green man. Of course it looked silly, but I was mid-run, pumped, and was afraid that if I stopped suddenly my whole body would seize up and I would fall into a coma.

Along came a gang of youths cat-calling, whooping and making strange, gibbon noises, all directed at me, the strange, bouncing, lycra lady. Did I
a) whip out a can of mace from my sports bra and spray them in the eyes?
b) turn the other cheek, give them a radiant smile and say "I forgive your mockery. Jesus loves you, young scallys!"
or
c)stare straight ahead, turn beetroot and tried to change the lights with the power of my mind?

It was only when I got home that I realised I don't think I've ever seen a group of people in Switzerland get so excited in public.