The Secret Language of Runners

On Friday night, my cousin Emily and her on-again/off-again boyfriend Stephen came down. We all ran a 5K road race on Saturday morning. Emily & I used to run all the time, and now every few months we'll get really excited about some race, talk about signing up, and then find 100 reasons to justify why we can't run it. When we do find a race and actually run it, more often than not we'll get misty eyed with nostalgia and vow that we're going to start running religiously once again. That feeling wears off by the time we've eaten our fifth post-race bagel. Part of what we like about running road races isn't the running at all, but everything else that is a part of that subculture.

Like most subcultures, running has its own language. You know you're a serious runner when you can say "fartlek" without giggling. In addition to sharing the language, we also share a lot of the pre-race rituals. My favorite ritual has to be the pre-race dump. That's right, taking a dump. Having a poo. Dropping the kids off at the pool. It's not really the act itself that I find so rewarding, but it's the moments between the dump and the firing of the start gun that I feel a sort of nirvana, confident that I will not shit my pants at mile 2. That sort of thing works for Uta Pippig when she's winning the Boston Marathon, but doesn't get met with the same sort of social acceptance when a 200 pound back-of-the-packer does it during a measly 3 mile race.

At the race yesterday, about 20 minutes prior to the start, Emily & I were lined up at the port-a-potties. A girl came out of one of the stalls, walked up to her friends, gave them a defeated shrug and said, "I got nothing." Emily and I stifled our laughter and shook our heads. Doesn't she know we all speak the same language here? Hey lady, we just cracked your code! Then it was my turn, the last big push before the start of the race, literally. Sadly, just like our friend announced moments before, I got nothing. I walked over to Emily & Stephen and told them I thought I just did more harm than good. "What do you mean?" they said, to which I replied, "I just moved it to the starting line and left it there." Now, that, my friends, is proper code.