Awkward Running Interactions

I'm socially awkward.

Every now and then, I have a successful social interaction and I walk around feeling confident and proud of myself until my next social interaction when I start talking about my cats.

(Side note: In some of my social interactions, talking about my cats is not only accepted, it is expected. I am, however, trying to expand my social circles and the realization that not everyone wants to hear about the funny thing Stinky Butt did yesterday has saddened and devastated me. But I am adjusting.)

One might think that, as a runner, I would at least be spared from socially awkward interactions when I'm out on the road running away the stress of the day. For most people, that is probably true. Not for me.

I'm pretty sure it's an illness. There is some major imbalance in my brain chemistry. I'm just....awkward.

Let me give you some examples.

I am one of the few female runners in my neighborhood. I enjoy running alone, but every now and then it's nice to have that social interaction to make the run more fun. Now, there are several male runners in my neighborhood. I've tried running with them. I can't. It hurts. Physically. They run something inhuman like a two-minute mile. I don't ever want to run that fast. Ever. So, I'd prefer to find some other normal chick in my neighborhood to run with every now and then.

I was out walking my new foster dog the other day. She's a short little Dachshund mix. A slow walker. Well, fast for her, slow for me. About a mile into our walk, a female runner begins to pass us. This is where the awkwardness begins. My brain gets all excited. Potential running partner! And she's not running too fast, so I could probably keep up with her. I should make conversation and see if she wants to run together sometime. What do I say? Hey, you running that nighttime trail run this weekend? Yeah. That's a good intro. Make a running connection. Most people around here aren't trail runners, but still. It's a running connection.

As I'm processing all of this, she has passed us and is a good ways up the road. I start to pick up my pace to catch up to her, but small dog stumbles and stops moving. Fine. I do the only logical thing. I pick her up and start to run towards my future new best friend running partner. I had to run pretty fast, though, because she had put some distance between us and looked like she was about to make a turn down a road where the not-dog-friendly dogs live.

Now, it may just be me, but it seemed perfectly normal that I go running up to some stranger with a Dachshund tucked under my arm asking between gasps if she was thinking about running through the woods in the middle of the night this weekend. Apparently it's not. That realization hit when I saw the look on her face.

Soooo, I'm not sure when I turned into a 15-year old boy stalking the prom queen, but I decided to just stop the interaction there, turn around, and carry my Dachshund home. Home is where the cats are and they almost never judge me. Right.

Not convinced yet? Let me give you another example.

One of my favorite things about competitive runs is the camaraderie. You get to yell out at perfect strangers, "Great job! Go get it!" and feel really cool about it. They smile back and yell, "Yeah, girl! You, too!" We pump our fists in the air like we're competing for the Olympic gold and pick up our pace a little bit. It's fun. It makes me feel like I'm still connected to the human race.

But, apparently, those kinds of interactions should really just stay on the race course.

As I was driving out of my neighborhood recently, shortly after my stalking incident, I passed a different woman running and pushing a jogging stroller up a nice little hill. I was impressed, as I had never had the desire to jog with my babies. They were fat babies. Big fat babies. Heavy. Too much extra weight.

Anyway, I was so impressed that I quickly rolled down my window, pumped my fist in the air and yelled, "Yeah! Way to get at it! Woo Hoo!"

I don't know. Maybe if I had just left off the woo hoo it would have been less...freakish. Perhaps it was the unnecessary fist-pumping. Whatever the issue, the woman picked up her pace and placed a protective hand closer to her child. At that point, I desperately hoped she could see the 13.1 magnet on the back of my car. See? It's ok because I'm a runner, too. This is what we do. Isn't it?

So, yeah, I think I'll just stick to running alone and save the woo-hooing for my cats.