Day 47: A Runner's Peace Offering to Drivers
Today I woke up and my back didn't feel much different than yesterday, so I decided to take the day off and instead spend my time writing about the ever tumultuous relationship between runners and motorists. If you've spent any time running on the streets, you'll surely be able to relate to it.
A Runner’s Peace Offering to Drivers Everywhere
Dear Motorist,
My name is Trevor Marca. I’m the tall, lanky guy in the bright blue or green shirt you drive by every morning. Lately, I feel the tension rising between us, and I’m writing you to extend an olive branch of peace.
I wear these gaudy running t-shirts, not because I’m a fan of neon or stuck in the fashion trends of the 80’s, but to increase my visibility, so you WON’T hit me. At 6’ 1”, 140 pounds, there has to be enough room for me to carve out a small slice in your lane, even on the days you drive your giant SUV. Can we agree to share a lane, so when you drive by me, I don’t feel the wind from your side-view mirror whisking past my ear?
I understand that at 6:00 a.m. your morning coffee may not have kicked in yet, or maybe you are on your way to Starbucks for that double Espresso. I understand the irritating feeling before the caffeine takes effect, but turning me into a hood ornament is not the solution.
Please understand that running this early isn’t easy for me. My muscles are tight, my back is stiff, and my eyes beg to be closed. I’m usually able to overcome these challenges, but you make it unbearable, when you turn my run into a real life game of Frogger. This game is much better suited for the couch, and truthfully, I’ve never been very good at it.
If your beef with me is a jealousy thing, I assure you there is no reason to envy me. Though I recently passed my physical with flying colors, running has never given me a beach body, won me fame or popularity, or scored me a hot model. I don’t run to show off or make anyone feel bad about themselves. I do it because it’s an activity I’ve enjoyed for as long as I can remember, and because among other things, it helps me clear my head for the day.
I ask you to please see me not as potential road kill, but as a father of two and husband of one. When I step out the front door before 6:00 every morning, it is with the expectation of being reunited with my family one hour later. After all, who is going to make Nathan’s toast and pour his cup of milk if I’m not back by 7? Mommy is way too busy getting Liam ready for pre-school. She needs my help.
We also need to talk about last November. You hit my friend Candela and came within an inch of me while we ran in the crosswalk with the right-of-way. Luckily, she only sustained minor bruises and still went on to win her race the next day, but you probably don’t realize her legs are her moneymakers; she can’t afford to have you break them. They might take her to the Olympics or at least pay her way through college. Surely, you have nothing against a young Argentinian girl pursuing a higher education.
I also implore you to avoid throwing anything out your windows, especially aimed at me and my running partners. Not only is it littering, and thus bad for the environment, but a full can of Dr. Pepper lobbed out of a car going 40 MPH would likely be considered assault with a deadly weapon. Two years ago, said Dr. Pepper came inches from hitting my friend Craig’s head. What makes it worse is Craig has a huge head, so the fact that you missed shows you don’t excel at this skill anyway, and you’re better off finding a trade you have an aptitude for.
Finally, as I mentioned at the beginning of this letter, my name is Trevor. Though it’s not necessary to say anything to me, if you feel so obliged, “Run Trevor Run,” would be an appropriate call. “Run Forrest Run” is neither clever nor fresh, as Forrest Gump was a blockbuster hit over 20 years ago. Even more concerning, please refrain from calling me a faggot. Again, I have a wife and two kids, but even if I were a homosexual, what’s it to you? And what does shouting out such a hateful term say about you? Now who’s stuck in the 80’s? Let’s try to keep it classy.
Through it all though, we’ve shared our good times too. Do you remember that time I was on vacation and you found me lost, dehydrated, and bewildered? You picked me up and drove me back to safety. I never got a chance to thank you for that one. Of course, I’ve had some opportunities to return the favor, like the time I found you on the side of the road out of gas. I was in the middle of a twelve mile run, but still pushed your car eight blocks to the nearest gas station.
Dear Motorist, there is enough room on the road for both of us to coexist. Each morning, there’s no need for us to reenact the historic territorial conflict between the settlers and the explorers. We are both civilized human beings in the modern age, who should be able to peacefully work out our grievances. Even though you are powered by an engine motor and I by my legs, we aren’t so different. We’re just two people trying to get from point A to point B.
Sincerely,
Trevor Marca
Your Friendly Neighborhood Runner
