The morning air hovers, crisp and misty. Through the fog, it’s just me and the garbage trucks, plodding along the side of the road. It’s disturbing how similar our forward progress is: slow, labored, with regular pauses. It stops to tip a week’s worth of human-made refuse into a compactor. I stop to stretch a sore hip flexor. Both maneuvers are less than graceful.
This is perfect. Me and Smelly McSanitation. Seriously.
This summer, I started running.
Correction: I started jogging, with frequent breaks for side stitches. Two months later, I could honestly call what I was doing “running.” And don’t worry. I will not wax poetic about stride length or heel strike or split time. I mean, I could totally write a post about each one. But I will fight that instinct. You're welcome
This post isn't about running. It's about one particular aspect of running I am still learning to cope with.
The run-by.
For me, running is a gloriously solitary experience. While some people enjoy running in packs, I’ve always been the lone wolf variety. I can run at whatever time, on whatever day, for however long, at whatever pace. When it comes to exercise, I embrace the psychology of the Only Child.
So I’m jogging along, making good time … and then I see it. A bobbing blob, blurry in the middle distance. Same side of the road as me. Creeping closer. No side streets or culs-de-sac offering the sweet, sweet relief of a different direction. That’s it. My fate is sealed.
I am going to have to run by this person.
I get it. I know what you’re thinking: uh, yeah. Run by the person. What’s the big deal? Well, let me start by congratulating you, well-adjusted reader, on your balanced mental capacities and imperviousness to spiraling negative thought cycles. I assume your internal dialogue during this type of run-by would go a little something like this:
… Oh hey, there’s someone coming this direction. I will modify my spatial awareness accordingly and run closer to the curb, thus allowing the person approaching a clearer path.
…..
I will now return to my standard curb-distance spacing — HEY. How did The Black Eyed Peas get on this playlist? I TOLD DEBORAH TO GET HER OWN ITUNES ACCOUNT.
And scene.
By comparison, let me share with you a little glimpse into my head space when I face down a run-by:
So this run is going well I haven’t fallen yet always a good sign in fact I think I can probably pick up my pace let me increase my BPM rate on my music and try to maintain — WAIT.
….
What’s that?
….
A sign? No, it’s moving around too much. Dang it, I really need to remember to schedule that eye doctor appointment — WAIT.
It’s a person.
Okay, stay calm. Don’t freak out — DON’T. Freak out.
You can’t see a face yet, it’s still just a blob. A humanoid blob, yes. But a blob nonetheless. Maybe it’s facing away from you and running in the same direction. That must be, if it’s on the same side of the road as you. Focus: does it appear to be growing smaller … or bigger.
Smaller, right? I’m sure it’s smaller.
…..
Bigger. SHIT.
Deep breaths. It’s going to be fine. You’re running along, it’s running along — ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE STREET, WHICH MEANS THAT OUR WHOLE INTERACTION COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED IF THIS LAW-BREAKING HOODLUM FOLLOWED BASIC RUNNING ETIQUETTE — okay, this is not the time to focus on street safety protocols. You’ll be fine.
You just need to decide.
Are you going to acknowledge it … or ignore it?
If you go with the Ignore Option, you need to identify your Distraction Maneuver. Change song? Itch your nose? Spot something mesmerizing across the street? Become suddenly fascinated by the pavement?
Or, if you go with the Acknowledgment Option, you need to determine your Engagement Threshold. Polite head nod? Wave of the hand? Smile? Also, vocalization or no vocalization? Say hello? Or perhaps a cheerful good morning? Yeah, that will show that, despite your stilted stride you are the type of person who is optimistic. You embrace the physical torture that is running. That would be nice. It will probably be really impressed and think that you run all the time. Which you do — why do you view yourself as some type of running imposter? You’ve been running five miles easy for three months, You can call yourself a runner at this point — okay, that is neither here nor there. So, if you engage with vocalization, let’s go with an upbeat “Good morning!”
WAIT — it’s six o’clock at night. Good morning sounds insane. Nice catch. That would have been humiliating.
How about a nice “good evening” … but that may be too formal. Good day? No, that sounds like you’re dismissing this person with disdain, i.e. I SAID GOOD DAY. A “nice evening, isn’t it” might work.
Oh wait, you haven’t assessed the approaching target yet. Idiot. Does it look like the type to ignore or to acknowledge? Late middle-age male, running at a relatively slow pace. That typically indicates acknowledgment including vocalization. BUT the target is huffing and puffing. Essential intake of breath may make verbal acknowledgment impossible. This might be an ignore situation. Plus, he has earbuds in, so he probably won’t hear you. Okay, it’s settled. Initiate Ignore Protocol.
HOLD ON … it — er, he, only has one earbud in. The other one is hanging down like a limp noodle. He must have left it out to hear better. Maybe acknowledgment with verbalization is the better strategy…
Impact in 30 feet … 20 feet … MAKE A DECISION!!!! WE NEED A PLAN!!!
EMPLOY VERBAL INTERACTION. IMPROVE RUNNING FORM. DEEP INTAKE OF OXYGEN. AND FIRE.
“Hi! Nice day, am I right?”
Target does not engage. Run-by crisis averted. Minor collateral damage to Social Interaction Confidence supplies.
I mean, really. Who doesn’t acknowledge someone? He clearly saw me. Ridiculous. This is why we are going to hell as a society. Now where was I? Oh yes, increasing my BPM rate. Helloo 172…
Exerting this amount of energy every time you approach another person is exhausting. In fact, the only time I'm out of breath during a run is during a run-by. I start sweating — okay, my sweating increases — and my stomach churns. All of the physical manifestations of pain and stress I used to have during the entire run are now reserved only for run-bys.
The worst — the WORST — is when I am running on a loop track. I am a creature of repetition. I will listen to the same song six times in a row on my commute. I watch You’ve Got Mail every time I go on a cleaning spree. There’s comfort in the familiar, and running is no different. A few miles from my house is a park with a short running path that circles a set of soccer fields. I include it in my route a lot because it helps me zone out. When I run on a loop, I set my brain to “repeat” and wind up running a mile further than if I were on some new, unknown route.
As with everything, the upside of a loop track leads exactly to its downside: running by the same people again and again. The running path at the park is relatively new. It hasn’t yet established a one-direction culture, so people run or walk in both directions. It's chaos. No matter which way I run, I’m going to have repeated runs-by with the same people. For someone like me, who panics and is seemingly incapable of establishing consistency with my interactions with other humanoids, this spells disaster. The reason I always panic is that I immediately regret the decision I made for our last interaction.
Run-By #1:
If I say hello, I am annoyed about being burdened with the expectation of a greeting every time we cross paths. If I don’t say hello, I spend the next lap worrying about whether the person thinks I’m unfriendly. And hates me.
Run-By #2:
This leads me to say hello during our second interaction. THIS IS THE WORST DECISION EVER. The first interaction establishes the rules of our relationship. We’ve set our territory, we’ve created boundaries. And now, during the second interaction, I throw our entire world into chaos by breaking all previously established precedence.
Run-By #3:
WHO KNOWS WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN ON LAP THREE.
The worst are walkers with dogs. First, they’re walking. This means that the angst-ridden approach is dragged out over an even longer amount of time. I clearly do not need more time to analyze an impending interaction. Second, they’re walking, so they aren’t out of breath and are expecting a chatty greeting. Third, they have a dog. An adorable, happy faced, plopping pawed dog. I do not want to talk to the human. I DO want to talk to the dog. But saying hello to a dog without acknowledging the human attached to the other end of the leash seems like a faux pas.
Or should I say ... FAUX PAW. (Credit to friend and coworker Sarah Howard on that one. I'm so ashamed I missed it. Follow her at @HowardSJ.)
Come to think of it, I wonder if some dogs experience panic when they spy me trudging toward them. Maybe that’s why I sometimes coo at a fluffy canine, only to be barked and lunged at, driving me off the path and into the grass. I always berate these dogs in my head afterward. Truth in advertising, buddy. If you didn’t want any attention, then why were you flopping those ears around so adorably? Turns out, these dogs might not be vicious butt sniffers. Maybe they’re anxious. They saw me coming, tried to decide between ignore and acknowledge, panicked, and went WAY overboard on their vocalization protocol.
I can relate.
