Like a normal human, I try to avoid doing things that will cause me extreme pain. Unfortunately, sometimes these things are unavoidable, like taking Orgo or eating in Carm. But sometimes my sense of self-preservation takes a vacation and I decide to do ridiculous things.
I am by no means a masochist and I am most definitely not a runner (I am firmly of the belief that humans should run only when they are being chased), but this past Monday, I inexplicably decided to embark on a five-mile run, and there was only so much my workout playlist could do to distract me from the torture. To keep my mind off what I was putting myself through, I decided to conduct a little social experiment. Any runner I passed going in the opposite direction, I would try to high-five. Just runners, mind you; walkers weren't working hard enough to deserve that sort of encouragement, and I'd have probably gotten run over if I tried to high-five a bicyclist.
I passed seven runners. Are you an optimist, expecting a full seven out of seven? Or are you accustomed to the general coldness of New Englanders - rivaled only by the iciness of their winters - and predicting a measly one or two? Here's a quick recount:
Number one: a middle-aged guy doing a pretty reasonable pace. I run awkwardly close to him and hold up a hand. He looks surprised but grins and gives me a high-five. Success! One for one. Next is a youngish guy in a button-up and dress pants. Respect to this guy for squeezing in a run during his coffee break. He also looks surprised but very happy to slap my hand. Two for two.
Third up is an older woman, steadily chugging along, and I pretty much have to run directly at her to get her to look up. She's a little slow on the uptake, but she manages to hit my hand. Three for three! Number four is a tiny Asian man, running at a pace that puts me (and everyone else on this trail) to shame. When I hold up my hand, he gives me an awkward wave and averts his eyes. Ouch. Three for four.
My confidence is a little shaken after that, so it's with a trembling heart that I approach number five, a young woman in a neon pink running outfit so bright you can see it from Pittsburgh. Again, she looks surprised but gratified as she gives me an enthusiastic high-five, giving me enough energy to finish the last two miles. Four for five! Just 100 yards later, I approach a girl my own age. She regards my proffered left hand with suspicion and fixes me with a glare so hostile you'd think I was trying to skin her baby kitten instead of provide a little motivation. Four for six.
I'm on the home stretch now and really want to finish on a positive note, so as I approach number seven, a buff Army type, it's with more than a little desperation that I flash him my most winning smile and hold up my hand. And, success! He smiles back and hits my hand with enough force to add 10 seconds to my pace.
So, overall, a quite respectable five for seven, and I'd like to think I provided some encouragement to five other runners out there toiling away. Definitely an experiment I would conduct again, especially now that I've mastered the art of getting someone to look up by running directly at them. I'll let you know how it goes the next time I go running, but it takes me a while to recover, so you can expect a report in about five or six months.
Lex Erath is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Alexandra.Erath@tufts.edu.
