The reclusive runner

I'm a loner. I admit it.

It's not that I dislike people. I adore my coworkers, I love my friends, I've even had functional relationships. (Gentlemen...)

It's just that, when forced to choose between a fun-filled day with people or a solitary Twilight Zone marathon with some Chinese take-out, I'll usually choose the won-tons. In the past two months, I've gone out to dinner with coworkers twice and went out with a friend once.

I lead a fast-paced life, folks. It's true.

So it doesn't exactly come as a surprise that my favorite kind of running is exactly how I live my life: quietly, and mostly alone.

Part of it is genuine enjoyment. I like being in solitude, surrounded by little more than the crunch of my feet on the path or the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees above. Getting lost in the woods with a friend would be fun, sure, but how much would I miss? Would I have heard that hawk cry in the distance, or seen the way the sunbeam stretched through the branches right there?

The other part is less poetic. It's my insecurity, the idea that I'm not meeting the goals I've set and now someone else knows. It's not being able to keep up with another runner, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to say.

Many of these insecurities are old friends. Not being good enough, fast enough, smart enough. Some of them have largely been conquered. I've buried most of the hate speech and I'm pleased to say it doesn't come around here anymore.

But I know that my skills are limited. I have come far, but I have even farther to go before I can begin to be satisfied with what I've accomplished. Running with friends triggers the thought that my mediocrity is holding them back.

In fact, having a seasoned runner keeping pace with me feels even worse than watching them run on ahead. Do they wish they were running faster and are just too nice to leave me? Would they even tell me? Oh god, can they smell that?

So many neuroses, so little time.

And so, while I've considered joining the local running club for the camaraderie and post-run chats over breakfast, I am wary of actually running with other humans. It is, of course, a no-win situation for me. How fast do I need to be running in order to deem myself worthy of running with others? Ten minute miles? Nine? How many years will it be before I can sustain that kind of pace?

Bit by bit, these inhibitions are falling away, and I suppose the only way to discover if I can handle group running is to go out and do it. And I will.

Eventually.

Meanwhile, I'll continue my solitary runs, just me and the sky.