Even through the drone of my running playlist, I can hear
friendly footfalls from behind. I
slow and glance to my right, and I recognize one of my random running
friends. As he passes me and give
his typical flaying wave, I name him.
His name is Michael, I think to myself. I’ve only ever seen Michael from across the street; we’ve
never run side by side like this. Wouldn’t it be great if I could actually
choke out the words, “Hi, I’m Melissa. What’s your name?” First of all my breath is too labored
on the uphill at this pace, second of all that kind of friendliness and human
connection is way outside of my comfort zone, especially when running. So I just decide, without any input
from him that he looks like a Michael.
As I run beside him for a bit, I analyze a few things about Michael,
from his slack jaw, a result of sharp intake of breath at the start of his run,
he must live nearby. He is younger
and more handsome than I assumed, as I have only seen him from afar but always
recognized him by the arm raised high overhead and waving in my direction to
acknowledge, “ You are a runner. I
am I runner. I greet you and honor you by raising my arm overhead and messing
with my gait.” I admit I have
always liked Michael just because of his gallant gesticulation. My preferred method of acknowledging
other humans on the trail is with a slight head nod sometimes accompanied with
two fingers grasping my hat brim, indicating a doffing of my cap without
actually removing it. Words are superfluous and unnecessary when running at top speed, all I want to
communicate is “I see you, I greet you, I won’t run you down or harm you. Also, sorry for sweating in your
general direction.” I do reserve a
friendly wave and a labored spoken, “hello” or “good morning” for my favorite
regulars; usually only for Zombie Grandma and my favorite mother daughter duo
who warn each other in what I may erroneously assume is Mandarin as I approach.
Since I don’t understand that language I am left to interpret from their
interactions that it translates to, “Mom, here comes that crazy running girl
who likes to wave at you, smile at her so she goes away!”
Michael makes me wonder a few things. Young, beautiful and spry, other than
his mouth being a bit akimbo, Michael makes his steps seem effortless. I wonder if my stride, which sometimes
feels like I’m sinking into the pavement and sometimes feels like I’m defying
gravity, looks as easy as his. Michael
also makes me wonder what I look like when I run. Other than his methodical pant, Michael looks like an
Abercrombie and Fitch model. I
know I am not so blessed. When I
arrive back at the house, it is straight to showers for me to rinse off the river
of sweat that has dampened my hair and rendered me rank! I imagine that Michael, if he sweats at
all, drips honey. Also, he is
faster than me, which I previously failed to observe because he had slowed
slightly to grace me with his friendly salute. Yet I am so self absorbed and addicted to setting my pace
that I won’t allow myself to stop on the trail during my fastest mile and talk
with a woman I recognize from when I taught her son in preschool. I know he must be in his mid-twenties
now and I am dying for her to whip
out her cell phone and show me a photo and tell me how little Eric “Cachetes”
(his nickname stems from the fact that I worked side by side with a Guatemalan
woman who loved his little cheeks, “cachetes”, the Spanish word for cheeks was
always attached to this boy in my memory). I wonder if mom even knows about her son’s nickname from his
preschool teachers. Yet it is
easier to keep running fast than to talk to people and make real
connections. Thanks to Michael,
slowing for me, to raise his hand in respect, I may get the confidence some day to stop and talk to Eric
Cachetes’ mom. I might benefit
from his example and be less self- involved. Perhaps I may even realize that the way I look and the way
others perceive me is not why I run.
When Michael’s mandible slackens to allow more oxygen to enter his
lungs, he’s not thinking about his appearance, he’s being at one with his
run. To be fully within your body,
allowing it what it needs to accomplish amazing things, yet being present
enough of mind to truly see and appreciate those around you is a blessed state
in which to exist. I am not there
yet, Michael, but thanks to your example. I’ll keep running and I’ll keep
trying. Eventually I’ll become the
better person that I imagine you to be.
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