Running culture

I've been on a sabbatical from running culture for several months now on account of my wife's pregnancy and the subsequent birth of my son. Taking care of family matters hasn't left me as much time as I formerly enjoyed for things like racing and two-hour long runs on weekend mornings. I've had to be handy, and that's OK. I'm happy to take care of my family. But I have missed being part of running culture.

What do I mean by running culture? Take, for instance, the long run I did last Saturday with my YMCA running group. We ran through Seneca Park. If you know anything about Louisville, you know Seneca & Cherokee Parks are full of runners most weekend mornings but especially on Saturday mornings in the weeks before the Derby Mini-Marathon. Running there, as opposed to my neighborhood, is akin to running through NYC's Central Park, comparatively speaking. There are hordes of runners everywhere, running in groups and individually, struggling up and down the hills. Every few steps, you enjoy (or endure, if you're hung over) the wave or nod of another fellow runner.

And in a couple hours, I am going to my first race packet pickup since April. The Anthem Fitness Classic 5K is this weekend; and I'm going to pick up my t-shirt and bib, like I have done dozens of times before for so many races. There, I will see chubby first-timers and lean, FRBs (front-running bastards.) I'll see vendors hawking all sorts of gear and gaggles of cheery volunteers answering the same questions over and over.

All of this is part of what I call running culture. Shared rituals, experiences, symbols. The shared rituals like Saturday morning long runs in an idyllic, hilly suburban park. Like picking up your t-shirt before a race. Like pinning your bib on the night before. I've missed being a part of this larger community. And tomorrow morning, at 8 AM, I will line up with a few thousand dear friends to run another race together. I can't wait.