Tales from the Trail: Good Samaritans

Runners are, on the whole, a rather cold lot. I’m often surprised how often fellow runners won’t so much as wave to one another while they’re running, as though expending that ounce of energy on simple friendliness could add a second to their time. It’s all the worse at races when, having prepared for months, no one wants to slow down for anything. But not always.

Last spring I ran a great half-road/half-trail half-marathon. At about the 8-mile mark, deep into the trail portion of the race and a good three miles from the nearest first-aid or water station, one woman lost her breakfast. She stood there on the side of the trail, heaving, and looking miserable. I suspect the misery had less to do with getting sick, though, and more with her being disappointed and embarrassed.

But the beautiful thing: As I approached her (yes, even the vomiting runners were ahead of me), she was surrounded by fellow runners. A good six or eight — probably more attention than she would have liked, frankly, but welcome nonetheless — were all there offering water or whatever help they could provide. I remember hearing one man, apparently sensing her embarrassment say, “We’ve all been there.”

There were a lot of good Samarians running that race that day, truly being “neighbors” to a fellow runner in need.