On my run today, I realized something about the state of humanity.
I'd been plodding along the section of the bike path that's sandwiched between train tracks and the waterfront, just before the overpass. Even in the daytime, the graffiti, the chain-linked fence, and the stretch of obscured visibility made me a bit more alert. And I'm a thirty-something white guy.
When someone appeared in the distance, I did a quick mental check without thinking. My phone was in the right waistband pocket of my shorts. I could pull off my glove with my left hand and use the touchscreen with my right. If needed, I could also hop the fence into that parking lot. But then I snapped myself out of it and ruled out the need for evasive maneuvers.
The person jogging toward me looked to be in their thirties, with a headband and ponytail bobbing above a puffy jacket. With the distance between us closing, I could see she was wearing an alert face of her own.
Why is it that runners determinedly look up at the road in front of them like it's the most interesting thing in the world when passing someone else?
oh... right.
I do that too.
The irony is that when I'm actually running, my gaze is probably unfocused and pointed about 10 feet in front of me. But when passing someone, it becomes a competitive game of trying to read something in the distance as if we're at the eye doctor.
20 feet.
15 feet.
10 feet.
I glanced over. She, very pointedly, did not. But then I waved. It was a casual flick of the wrist coupled with a closed-mouth smile. Like a Jeep wave, but for runners. All of a sudden, her face broke into an actual smile speckled with relief. Then she waved back. And that was it—we both kept running. But I kept thinking about that moment even after I got home. It crystallized something for me that's been feeling increasingly prominent these days.
People seem to be moving through the world more defensively.
But when you're running on an isolated path where help is far enough away to not be of any actual help, can you blame someone for being scared of what someone else might do? Moreover, can you blame that person for being scared of you?
I couldn't.
But that doesn't mean I'm not dismayed by it.
What if you didn't have to walk a mile in someone else's shoes? What if you just imagined what it would be like to walk it with them?
onward.
For more on this daily column and The MAP Year Project, read the backstory here. And if you know someone who'd appreciate this, pass it along.