To The Young Couple Heading Out on Your First Run Together

I’m walking the dogs and they are all caught up in some smell on a tree trunk outside the apartment building at the end of my block. Out the main door comes and man and a woman, mid-twenties, dressed in running clothes.

 

But newbie-runner running clothes. Cotton t-shirts. Hers is tie-dyed. The guy has a headband. White. They look at each other like each is thinking the other should lead the way. She looks down at her watch, gives him a friendly little push and says, “Let’s do this!” and the head down the block, her ponytail swinging. New shoes shining.

In about 7 minutes, they will have figured out who is setting the pace. In 9, whoever is not setting the pace would like a turn. They are either running too fast or too slow. For minutes 10-13, they will be quiet as one of them tries to figure out how to say, “Can we slow it down?” without sounding like a wimp or “Can we speed it up?” without sounding like a boss.

Finally, minute 13.5: “I’d like to start slow. Let’s slow it down and pick it up at the end.”

Then, they have to figure how to slow down. Harder than it sounds without a hill or a wind to do it for you. Minutes 14-17 will be figuring that out.

I’ve taken the long route today. My house isn’t a fun place to be--work, angst, and a yard with more weeds than grass--so I’m staying out as long as I can. I’m walking the bigger square of blocks today. I hear behind me footsteps and pull the dogs onto a lawn, out of the way. The young couple passes me. Now they are sweaty and breathing heavy.  They aren’t talking; clearly this is work.

It would be great to have a running partner that is also your life partner, but don’t take it as a bad sign if you cannot get this one together. If you can run together, good. Great. But it’s rare. Couples bike together a lot. They go to concerts together. They eat dinner together and all of these things happen with so little effort, especially in the beginning when it seems hard to remember what biking and concerts and dinners were like before.

Running is different. The breathing. The silence up a hill. One of you will want to talk and the other can’t understand it. One wants to run in the sun; the other finds the shade. Music, no music. You may be able to convert the other to your religion or convince them to love boiled crawfish. But don’t try to change the other person’s running. It’s a damage you cannot undo.