Yesterday I challenged myself by piggybacking on a Boston
marathon training group through my run club.
It’s sponsored by Fleet Feet Sports, who also support my charity team. While I am hours from a Boston Marathon
qualifying time, I’m glad to have the opportunity to participate with some fantastic runners.
While I was clearly the only one there who had a marathon
pace over 10 min/mi, I never felt excluded.
My club is very encouraging of people who are at all paces—the point is
to be out there running instead of sitting at home—and even the organizers were
encouraging of my pace. I had a lot of
fun being out there with really good runners and exploring new roads.
However, I don’t like being slow. I’m trying to work very hard to *not* be slow
anymore, but you don’t just magically wake up and take three minutes off your
marathon pace. It takes time and hard
work and dedication and overcoming obstacles and determination. So when a runner flew by me, saying, “Good
job! Keep it up!” it came off as
condescending, like encouraging a newbie.
I was a rookie in 1989—over 25 years ago.
With 10 more miles to run, it gave me a lot of time to think
about it. When I see another runner on a
path, I don’t assume their history, their background. Every runner’s story is different, and rarely
do you know a runner who has a career filled with success and devoid of
failures. I don’t know if that strange
runner is on mile 2 or mile 20, a beginner or advanced, going as fast as they
can or having one of those days where they’re sucking wind.
My mind then wandered towards the situation when I’m faster
than the people who I see walking and jogging in my area. I have read stories and blog posts about
women being harassed because they’re trying to get in shape or lose a few extra
pounds. I can imagine that the petite girl jogging at
11 min pace would look intimidating to the person already self-conscious about
being out of shape and just starting a fitness program. Especially if they were a competitive athlete
as a child.
In general, the running community is extremely supportive
and encouraging. As we pass each other
on the roads and trails, whether on an organized run or going solo, an
acknowledgement is common, so I know the other runners had the best of
intentions by encouraging slow little me.
Because of all of this, I tend to say, “Nice day for a run”
or “Good morning” when I see another runner.
I may just wave, saying nothing, especially if I’m doing a tempo or
interval run. A familiar face, where I
know the background, gets whatever they appreciate: a fist bump, a “go you,” or even trash talk. The point is to connect without seeing one
runner as “above” another, since, in the end, there is no ranking, only PRs.
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