Catharsis

To my new friend, Laura.

I've read enough to know that for whatever reason, when humans aren't face to face, there's some element of anonymity that causes people to veer toward greater disclosure. Try it with your kid! After a day of battling over house rule violations, computer time, or why they can't just bring down their dirty laundry, just lay side by side 30 minutes before lights-out. Suddenly, you learn about how their day really went, hopes and fears, and simple, enjoyable conversation.

I experienced a stunning version of this recently on a weekend trail run. I was in the back seat of my car (with the passenger seat jammed all the way forward, it's a spacious changing room) switching into my trail shoes when I felt someone looking at me from the parking lot. She just stood there, patiently. While a little strange, I figured she was going to tell me my tire was going flat or something as I exited the car.

"Nice shirt." Huh?

"Nice shirt! I designed it."

Oh! I looked down; I wasn't even sure what I was wearing. It was my Army 10-Miler shirt. I hated that race because I scored a stress fracture on my hip that almost made it the Army 8-Miler for me. I would have absolutely quit if it weren't for the inspiration of the men and women crushing this race with prosthetic limbs. I'm amazed at what we can do when we refuse to back down from a challenge.

"No way! Tell me how that came about?"

We immediately started walking into the woods at Scott's Run as she started to tell me about her work, an ad agency that did the promotional materials, media buys, website, and clothing designs for the Army 10 Miler. They lost the account in 2017, but had it the two previous years. I was a little antsy to get running for two reasons: I'm a trail runner, not walker, and I didn't want to creep her out by buddying up, having met her 60 seconds earlier as we started striding into the woods. However, my damned Garmin wouldn't catch a GPS signal, and there's no way I was going to bolt off on a long run and forget to hit start on that stupid thing.

We talked about how we loved being near the Potomac River, stumbling on wildlife, and watching the seasons change. We talked about Northern Virginia, we talked about running. Talked about her step counter, I showed her the Strava app. Out of nowhere, she said, "I'd like to run, but I'm just not in shape." Trail running is basically my religion, and she just spoke the magic words to send me on an inspiring rant about how amazing it is. 30 second run, 2 minute walk. You're going to love it!

However, I was stopped in my tracks. "I have Type I diabetes. I'm scared to push myself too hard. Do you ever obsess over when you're going to die?"

The look on her face and the tone of her voice made the entire world disappear. The forest literally faded from view. For a split second, I panicked, because I had no idea where this conversation was about to go. "I'm so sorry." It was all I could say. We walked in silence for what seemed like an eternity, and then she started talking again. She told me about seizures, the food she avoids, the damage to her body that will shorten her life. We talked about medical curses and miracles, people who were killed in their twenties and people living well into their 60s and 70s with careful management, and isn't this place just amazing? Isn't life so precious?

If I didn't feel like we were back from the ledge, I would not have budged on her next statement. "You came to run, you can go ahead now." I stuck out my hand. "I'm Brian, it was so incredibly nice to meet you."

"I'm Laura*. Have a nice day!"

I hit 'Start' on my watch, and off I went. The next twelve miles were a celebration of life, a great fall day, and the incredible gift of serendipity.

Funny thing, the GPS running watch. If it had immediately grabbed a signal, my life would have been short by one amazing person.

*Not her real name