What Is It About Runners?

On why they are annoying, and finding the good.

Every year, my partner runs the annual Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Race through Washington. Every year, I, too, wake up obnoxiously early on a Sunday to go on down and support him. And every year, for some weird reason, watching the runners makes me weep.

I cannot be the only one who finds runners annoying. There’s something about this cult-like group of people and how public they choose to make their exercise, as if they are saying, ‘Everyone look at me, I’m so fit!’. And how obsessed they are with all that gear. And sharing their stats. And all the races - seriously, every week, there’s another race - which, by the way, we ALL have to participate in, what with all the road closures and detours.

Feeling like this, why do I suddenly become so emotional at these events? This year, as I joined the throngs of families and friends lining the streets, clapping and cheering and holding up signs of support, I decided to interrogate this feeling a little more.

There is certainly an aspect of seeing people struggling with something difficult yet pushing themselves to do it nonetheless that touches me. Unlike the runners I see daily in my neighbourhood, with their excellent form and breathing technique *eye roll*, this crowd of participants includes people of all shapes and sizes and skill levels. In my last newsletter, I talked about the importance of committing to something, a hobby or a goal, even if we are bad at it. The people who commit to this run, which is so long and arduous, a tough challenge for anyone, and who complete it even though they aren’t particularly good at it (yet), is something I deeply respect. And the fact that they felt brave enough to do it is wonderful. To me, it didn’t matter if they were walking and not running, if they were bent over double, or if they were staggering to the finish line. They were doing it, and I loved that.

The support of the onlookers and also between the runners themselves is beautiful. Young children cheering on their parents, friends yelling each other's names, strangers clapping for each other! The sounds of “good job runners!” and “keep going everyone, you’ve got this!!”. I get teary again just thinking about it. When I staked out my spot near the finish line so I could be there at the end to watch my partner cross over, I saw runners almost at the precipice stop and wait for their companion so that they could finish it together, hand in hand. I saw runners help up those who were struggling. The shared moral support, the unwavering “you can do it” attitude, and the sense of togetherness, of real community, is truly a special part of this experience.

I’m also stuck every year by just how many people get involved in this run. Watching it feels like looking through a window at the fabric of Washington; there are people of every race, age, gender, political party, sexuality. For this one brief morning, it doesn’t matter who you are, where you come from, or what you believe. Strangers are united in one shared goal - the run- where all are welcome to participate.

I’m trying to think of any other social situation where people band together in such a positive and supportive way. There are other sports games and events, although they tend to appeal to smaller, more specific cohorts of people and require a particular knowledge base in those areas. There are organized protests, although these are built on principles of anger and discontent and a fight for something better. Perhaps it exists when parents watch their kids perform in school plays. Or when we organized socially-distanced backyard concerts during the pandemic. Or when we contribute to fundraisers to help other people. Watching the runners, being one of the crowd, I think it was the feeling of community, and just how meaningful that is, that struck such a chord with me.

When asked which elements were most crucial for living a full and enriching life, Freud famously answered “lieben und arbeiten’, to love and to work. But I think he was missing a huge point.

I’ve been wondering how community fits into my life - an introvert, lost in my thoughts most of the time. A few years ago, there was a lot of buzz about having a third place, somewhere that is not one’s home or workplace, where you can go and spend time and be with other people. This might be your gym (or running club), place of worship, local cafe, or friend’s living room. I’d like to say that my third place is my library. In reality, my third place is probably the same as my first and second places; it’s where my practice, rehearsals, and concerts are (#musicianlife), and my community with my colleagues and our audiences. So maybe the library is like, fourth or fifth. Perhaps it’s what I’m attempting to do right here - to create my own community space with you in this Substack.

The dark twist at the end of all this, though, is that all of those lovely warm feelings I got while watching the run were only fleeting, and my briefly renewed belief in the goodness of humanity quickly ebbed away. As soon as my partner finished the race and we began to try and fight our way out through the crowds, it was like everyone snapped back to reality. People went back to their pushing and shoving, and I remembered all over again why I can’t stand runners.

And maybe that’s OK. My city is full of different kinds of people, and they each have their place; runners can have their races, just like knitters have their crafting circles, readers their book clubs, comedians their comedy nights, bikers their city rides, and dog walkers their walking groups. Community means there’s room for everyone, and with that, we just have to find our places within it. The run teaches me every year just how important this is.

And so, I’m working on building my tolerance of runners in time for next year…