In this great wide world, there are two types of people: wavers and assholes. By the great wide world, I mean the national park where I run, the Gettysburg National Military Park (aka the Gettysburg battlefield). By wavers, I mean runners who wave or nod to other runners as they approach. And the assholes? I’m writing about those runners who don’t.
“Whoa, too harsh dude!” That, I imagine, is what you’re thinking right now.
My response: “Is it? Is it really?”
I lived in a city environment for twenty years. From age twenty-two until forty-two, I lived in Washington, DC. Most of my running there took place in national parks as well. Specifically, Rock Creek Park and the National Mall. Busy parks and favorite running locations for thousands of runners. In that environment, I might pass a runner or two (or more) every couple minutes. Too many to lift a hand and waive each time, but I could never pass a runner and not acknowledge them.
As I hit that sweet spot, close enough to feel like the other runner and I share space, but still far enough away that no head turning is required, I lock eyes with the runner, jut my chin, and make a slight snapping upward movement with my head. A universal gesture for “Hey, what’s up?” The runner, hopefully, will reciprocate the movement. But in DC, with so many runners to greet, I could forgive the odd runner who ran by without a nod. At times the volume of passing runners seemed ridiculous.
On the Gettysburg Battlefield, this certainly isn’t the case. On a typical five-mile run, I’ll cross paths with zero to two runners. I’d estimate my average number of runner-encounters is less than one per run. How hard is it to lift your freaking hand one time during a run to acknowledge someone who has at least one major thing in common with you.
This is on my mind right now, not because of a run, but from a bike ride last week. Pedaling down an empty roadway, I saw a cyclist coming the opposite direction. I did the eye lock, I slid my hand off the handlebars and waved a loose, sideways peace sign. In the many cycling events I used to take part in, this was the acceptable wave. Now I primarily see motorcyclists do a version of this every July when thirty-thousand bikers descend on Gettysburg to celebrate Bike Week. Still, it’s a cool wave for bicyclists too, and I exchange it frequently as I pass others. Last week, when I waved to the approaching cyclist, he made a big production of turning his head and looking the other way.
What the actual ….? This has bugged me all week.
Even though the weather was beautiful last night, clear, temperate, with a bright setting sun, I took a spin class at the fitness center. I really enjoy spinning and only feel slightly guilty about riding a bike indoors while the sun is up. I set up on the bike I always use. They’re all a little different, and using the same bike week after week helps me get the most out of my workout. How can I be sure no one will use “my” bike? The calorie/mileage/wattage monitor doesn’t work. People like a visual of how hard they’ve worked, so no one wants to use that bike but me. I can tell how hard I worked by the size of the puddle on the floor.
Just as class started, a guy named John hopped on the bike directly next to me, one nobody ever uses, maybe a foot away. I could never get on a bike that close to someone. It triggers my Tourette Syndrome to have someone bumping up against my personal space. In a spin class, my Tourette tics are primarily jerking motions and grunts—most noticeable to someone right next to me. I held on as long as I could, but after fifteen minutes, I got off the bike and pulled it farther away from John.
Rude?
When the class ended, still feeling a bit agitated by John’s proximity, I cleaned up my bike, thanked the instructor and made a beeline for the door. Just before I exited, John called out “See ya, Jeff.” Maybe he was being friendly, more likely, he was pointing out how badly I snubbed him.
Crap. I’m just like that cyclist who looked away when I passed him. Maybe I’m an asshole too. Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he has something going on that precludes him from feeling comfortable waving, offering a greeting to a stranger. Maybe something like Tourette. Maybe he has social anxiety, or depression, or OCD. Maybe that simple wave makes him feel raw.
Or quite possibly, he’s just an ass.
One final rule: when passing a slower runner going the same direction (something, at age sixty, I just don’t do any more), I believe it’s incumbent on the faster runner to say “hi” first.
The Other Stuff 
Subtle nod and sideways peace sign, man.
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Chin jut and head snap back at ya, brother.
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Dear Jeff, I am an A hole runner. When I run I am in my own world. That is my space. Love this one.
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I’m glad you liked this even though I tore mercilessly at “your kind.”
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I laugh at myself. We are a very sarcastic family. Not much offends me.
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I live in an area with narrow roads that require judgement, weaving and giving way to each other in order for cars to move up and down the streets. Mostly a finger is raised, and it’s a gesture of acknowledgement, not a rude finger. No point worrying about Iceholes.
~
I’m sure things will sort themselves out.
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When mountain biking and I need to keep my hands on the handlebar, I’ve raised a finger (a good one) in greeting.
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it’s all relative, right? had to laugh about the spinning class, and how someone took the bike right next to you (when there was probably 400 other bikes to choose from). why do people do that?? tho, i remember a time when i was running a lot at the gym on a t-mill. i’d arrive every night at the same time, and run right next to this other girl that was always there. reason why: she smelled like juicy fruit gum. 🙂 . P.S. no one ever returns my wave when i’m out running these days, but i continue to wave. and the only thing anyone yells at me when passing is, “ON YOUR LEFT!”
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That’s so sad that everyone leaves your wave hanging in the wind. I probably get snubbed one out of five times including bicycles. Runners here almost always wave. *Almost*
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It’s impossible to account for the other person’s lack of response on the road of life, but keep waving, Jeff.
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Right, I Can only control what I do. And maybe a little bit of chatting in the spin room too.
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I tend to nod or smile at everyone, some people are so lost in themselves it’s sad.
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Hits home. I’m one of those lost souls EXCEPT when I bike and run. Then I’m exceptionally present to what’s going on around me.
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I’m a waver or nodder or good morning sayer whether biking or walking or on rare occasions running. Around here, most respond, even if they’re doing a work phone chat whilst walking, they’ll usually nod.
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I would expect that in an area with lots of outdoor recreation. I honestly can’t understand those who don’t wave back. I genuinely want to know what they are thinking.
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It’s not hard to be polite, although sometimes it does take a conscious decision to do, so my guess it could also take a conscious decision not to. I like to wave and smile at people, I don’t worry about what they do.
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See Wynne’s comment below. You are a guru of wordpress.
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This one is so fascinating to me – and your self-awareness as you beautifully write the full-circle of it is fantastic. Love the comments that we can only control what we can control because I often forget there might be some reason a stranger wouldn’t wave back.
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When I started writing this, I was simply annoyed with the guy who didn’t wave. A pretty clear message emerged to me while writing and then reading the comments. My only concern can be how *I* relate to others.
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Thought-provoking post, Jeff! As a former runner (whose runs now probably are better qualify as jogs these days), I am often mystified by the non-wavers, especially when they can manage to do so on a narrow trail. I love how you turn this irritation inside-out to examine it re: the spin class experience. I have never known how best to handle the passing. I used to more frequently be the passer, and would always say “good morning” but notice now that I am sometimes passed this doesn’t happen too often. If I pass anyone anytime soon, I’ll be sure to remember to do this. I agree with you, though. Onus on the passer : )
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I am at best a jogger. At one point, not too long ago, I didn’t consider my current pace even worthy of that title. I’ve found joy in trotting along not worrying about my pace. I used to stress about it all the time as I got slower and slower. With so few runners in my environment, the chances of a ‘same direction’ pass are really slim. I can’t remember the last time I overtook someone. I’m on the overtaken team now.
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Such a great post! I used to be someone who would look down or look away because of my anxiety. It was seriously terrifying for me to say anything to anyone, and if I did I’d start obsessing about how awkward I was, how stupid they must think I am, etc. I’ve gotten better in recent years, however. I walk and hike a lot, and I try to actually make eye contact with people and wave or say hi and only have good thoughts after. There are so many things we just don’t know about other people and the reasons they do or don’t do certain things.
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Thanks for your comment on this, I’m glad your situation has improved so much. I have always been able to wave/nod, but in situations like that spin class I have a really hard time being congenial before and afterwards. My brain fogs up and I can’t think of anything to say. One of my defense mechanisms is to stream music through my hearing aids and tune out the world. It comes off just as standoffish, but I don’t notice because I’m otherwise occupied.
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I loved this post, Jeff. As you know, I’m not a runner, walker, or cyclist. But I am a speeder in my wheelchair! I don’t get to keep up with cyclists and am, on the whole, treated by them as a second-class citizen or someone who has just momentarily dared to go in their cycle lane whilst overtaking some walkers on the pedestrian’s side. I’m definitely not popular with them. As for the pedestrians, I always smile and say good morning to them as I speed past them. I think it’s partly just good manners and also makes the world go around a bit better than it might otherwise. If they didn’t reciprocate, I would think they were a real bad-tempered old grump!
However, when I began to analyse why I felt so strongly about this, I came to the conclusion that, perhaps, that person or people might have something else going on in their lives, and who am I to criticise or judge them for not responding to me. Who was I, after all? How did I know whether they’d recently lost a partner, parent, child, or pet? Who knows? Perhaps they lost their job the day before or had an incurable disease. I realised how selfish I was in thinking only of myself. Since then, if I get someone who looks miserably and unresponsively back at me, I stop and think of the possible reasons, and rather than calling them a grump (in my head), I smile again and hope it might just soften the edge of their world right now.
I can just picture you doing your chin jut thing; I’ve seen others do it. Is it a man thing, though (not being sexist here), as I’ve rarely seen a woman do it? Strange that.
As for having your personal space invaded, I’m right with you there. I just hate it when people insist on doing that. It doesn’t seem to bother them if they almost sit in my lap at the hospital or doctor’s surgery. I mind, though, very much. Even when the waiting room is nearly empty, I’ve known someone to come and sit right up close to me. What is it with that? It annoys me no end, and I can’t think of any excuses for doing it, unlike the pedestrian with problems. I suppose they could be lonely or wanting to be close to someone. Not me, though, chum! Give a girl some space.
It’s good to be back to writing about things other than the still ongoing pain. You can probably tell I’m feeling more myself when I’ve just penned another dissertation on your blog. I decided it was getting too tedious for my readers to keep reading about my woes. After all, I was getting a bit fed up with it myself. I hope you and yours are all well, Jeff ~ Ellie x 😊.
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I wonder, back in the day when I considered myself an athlete, what patience I would have had for someone in a wheel chair causing a traffic jam. I hope I would see their right to be using the path as equal to mine, but probably, I would have given you the side eye. I’ve changed a great deal for the better in terms of patience and understanding.
I know exactly how you feel about getting sick of your own topics. Were you around during my year of dizziness? That’s all I wrote about because it was the only thing on my mind. I’m surprised people stuck it out with me.
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Glad to hear you’ve softened a bit regarding other road/track users. It took me a while to change my attitude, too. It may be something we become more aware of as we mature.
I’m not sure I remember your dizziness posts, although I read one of two when I first discovered you and was reading a few of your ‘back issues’. I’m surprised that anyone stuck with me during my five weeks of complaining about my pain, too. I’ve dropped a few readers, though. I expect they’ve had enough of my whining about it! I need to start writing some more interesting posts, although I’m a bit stumped right now. Funnily enough, I find simple poetry, perhaps, with a jot of humour in it, as my last one had pretty easy, but I am at a loss when it comes to writing an essay or prose.
You know what really bugs me, though, and that is pedestrians that I get caught behind where there’s no room to overtake and who are wearing earphones. No matter how loud I shout, ‘Excuse me, please’, which I have to repeat several times, they can’t hear me. It infuriates me as I get stuck behind them for ages. I’ve now resorted to going up close and tapping them on the arm and back. Usually, this has the effect of making them jump out of their skin! I always apologise for my action, but underneath, I’m muttering, ‘Hee hee, serves you right for taking up the whole pavement and being oblivious to anyone else’s needs.” Is that wicked of me!? 😊
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