As I train my often unwilling legs to run a marathon, my runs typically take place in Central Park. The good people at New York Road Runners have posted the exact distances of every possible variation on the loops circling the park. As the runs get longer, the loops become more numerous and the hours spent multiply. The weather, for the most part, keeps getting better and on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon, the park is often packed with people looking for an oasis from concrete and pollution. Many of these oasis-seekers are runners, too. You'd think we'd form some little community of people who could feel one another's pain. In a two hour period, I often see the same runners more than once. Nobody would ever accuse me of being outgoing, but I'm generally friendly. I've been known to say hi to passersby, or give a nod if I recognize a face.
Want to know what I get in return? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. People rarely if ever reciprocate my friendly gestures. In fact, one woman recently tried to engage me in a game of chicken, refusing to get out of my way and moving to put herself in my way until we nearly collided. Then, she turned toward me, scrunched up her face like the girl from The Exorcist, and growled at me. Believe me, I'm not capable of making stuff like this up. The bottom line is that despite the increasing number of park runners this spring, my runs are still mostly solitary experiences. I usually like it that way, but every once in a while, running with the oblivious masses can make a girl feel very lonely. It's one of life's great mysteries.
