1) I probably shouldn't have been wearing black/neon pink nike running shorts and a regular t-shirt while running. I should have given in to Spain and its uni-colored tracksuit ways long ago. Oops, my bad.
2) Once I realized I was in the Algeciras ghetto, I should have turned around and gone back.
3) Once I realized that I was passing some unfriendly looking people and that I was now at the heart of the ghetto, I really should have turned back. Not just started running down the center of the sidewalk instead so it would be harder for creepy men to grab out at me as I ran past. (This thought actually did cross my mind. Which might give you some insight into just how sketch this place was.)
Still. I don't think that makes this okay.
First, I passed a woman who muttered something to the effect of "are you lost?" in slightly more colorful language. Then, just as I was reaching the top of the hill, I passed a woman doing laundry and her ratty-probably-hadn't-showered-in-the-last-week looking daughter. The woman said something I didn't catch, but the 9 year old girl said, plain as day, "que te fóllate". Which, I think, translates to go fuck yourself.
It's too bad I went on the run in the first place to de-stress a bit.