Just Add Running

So, I finally got around to reading a little bit of the January 4 Sunday Richmond Times-Dispatch today, and in the Flair section, I came across this delightful little article by Tom Allen, which caught my eye with its title, "Sharing and caring abound on the trail." "Sharing" and "caring" sounded pretty good to me, but pair those words of love and supply and human goodness with the word "trail," and I have to read the article, the word "trail" evoking images of hikes with my dogs, views of the rolling mountains from Skyline Drive, and running races through the woods.

The article relates the experience Allen's sister had when she spent five months hiking the Appalachian Trail from Georgia, all the way to Maine. I was struck by how similar her hiking experience was to so many racing experiences I have had. Allen writes that "nearly all of them [the hikers] found the wilderness an excellent place to lower their normal defenses." I find the same thing happens when people run together. There's something about taking on the same physical challenge together that makes us want to tell our life stories to each other. I am confident I have divulged--and become privy to--more personal information while out for a run with someone than in any other circumstance. In another situation, I might not make it much beyond "Hello. How are you?" But tie a pair of running shoes on my feet and drop me on a trail or a sidewalk, and I'll tell you almost anything; we're instant best friends. Just add running. As Allen's sister explains, "'On the trail, people are willing to share their stories with one another." She herself "had conversations she wouldn't have had back home in upstate New York."

I have never heard the term "trail angel," but this article taught me that trail angels are people who look out for hikers by leaving "trail magic," such as food or supplies, along the trail for any hikers who happen by. In a race, these "trail angels" are the many volunteers and spectators who cheer on the runners, and supply them with water, sports drinks, wet wipes, and snacks. Last February, I participated in the Donna half-marathon in Jacksonville, Florida. That race can boast some of the most angelic spectators I have ever encountered. People who lived along the route had decorated their houses for the event as if it were Christmas. They had streamers and crepe paper and lights and live music. They provided homemade sausage biscuits, rolls, and cookies. They passed out wet wipes and Twizzlers and water. And surely they buoyed the spirits of every runner, giving us wings to finish our 13.1 miles.

In other races, I have seen equally selfless, encouraging demonstrations of human kindness and spirit. I have watched people without legs finish races in wheelchairs. I have seen runners sacrifice their times in a race to stop and help an ailing fellow runner. I have made some of my closest friends running in races or training for races. Allen's sister said she "came off the trail with a great belief in the goodness of people." I have felt the same way after many a race. On the trail, Allen's sister met people who had just returned home from war zones, people who were looking to meet their soul mates, people who were trying to heal from various traumas. Running, I have met a twenty-something going through a divorce, a young woman whose father's trusted employee had gotten her pregnant, a woman who couldn't decide if she wanted to have children or not. If we had met off the trail, outside of the race, we never would have become each others' confidants-- but just add running, and see what happens. Such camaraderie, compassion, effort, and determination are rarely seen anywhere else. But something about the trail--and the race run on it--exposes these timbers of the human spirit.

As I prepare to start training next week for the Petersburg Half Marathon, I admittedly look forward to my many solitary miles. Running for me is a kind of meditation. But I also look forward to hearing the footfalls of fellow runners pounding the pavement beside me, in front of me, behind me. As Allen's sister said of her fellow hikers, "We were all doing the same thing, and we all knew how hard it was.... We were all in the same struggle...." I know when I run my next race, I am running with thousands of friends. Every time I run a race, I am running with thousands of friends. They may not know me, but we have the love of running together in common, and if necessary--if I stumble in my race--they will have my back, and I will have theirs.