Community

"Grow up and stop being so self-centered! The running world does not revolve around you," I wanted to shout at a monthly columnist who writes about his experiences as a new runner. It seems that every rambling column has the same underlying refrain: what is everyone thinking as I breathe hard, try a new gadget, attempt a new performance record? In this most recent article, the author detailed his struggle to strap a heart rate monitor to his chest, a device he'd never tried before. When his first attempt ended with the device girdled around his upper shoulders instead of his chest, his first thought was to look out the door and window to see if anyone could see his gaffe.

The columnist would have saved an immense amount of effort had he just swallowed some pride and called a running buddy to show him how to use the device. The columnist is not wrong to think that runners notice him. They probably do. But the runners I know aren't watching for the purpose of belittling, embarrassing, or shaming another. They look because they care and because they want to see an encouraging face.

Unlike the columnist, I have learned to risk. When registering for my first ten-mile race, I was handed a timing chip and told that if I lost the thing I'd have to pay a huge-to-me sum to replace it (about $100 as I recall). Given the worst case alternative of paying for a replacement, the next worst case of an incorrect attachment not accurately recording my running time, or experiencing a momentary bit of embarrassment by asking another runner to show the proper way to use the thing, I swallowed my pride, held out my foot and allowed a complete stranger to invade my personal space and attach the thing. Worry-free I ran that 10-miler according to plan, smiling and waving at other runners who always returned the greeting. I was so green I didn't even know enough to wait for the awards ceremony; instead I hurried home to fix lunch for friends. And a couple weeks later I learned by e-mail that I had taken second place in my age group. Swallowing my pride was worth the engraved duffle bag I won as a prize.

As an asthmatic, I have often noticed others watch me struggle to breathe and ask me if I am okay. Even if I can't speak, I still nod and eek out a smile, grateful that they care. Their compassion keeps me running, even when I don't feel like it. Other runners' praise and comaradarie provides the gumption to push harder and faster than I'd have dared. Though I have no intention of ruining their run by going out too hard and causing an asthmatic attack, it is nonetheless comforting to know that if I do inadvertently push too hard someone will care enough to help.

One runner I know often leads the pack. Otentimes he even wins. Almost always he turns around and runs the race in reverse until he sees the last straggler cross the finish line.

I have taken on the runners' attitude. When I see a struggler, I call out words of encouragement. If I see an awkward gait or stumble, I watch to see if help is needed. But, unlike the columnist, I choose gratitude for every runner who has ever noticed me for I know runners as a compassionate bunch.

And I fear the self-centered, lone-ranger columnist has unnecessarily deprived himself of the energy he could gain from the energy showered on by other runners.