A lot of my friends are runners. “My runner friends,” I call them. They run fast, slowly, every day, only on weekends, since January, since 1995, on roads, trails, or both. They have somewhere between one pair of running shoes and a wardrobeful. They participate in races or don’t.
None of that is why I call them my runner friends. What makes them runners is something else entirely.
✤ ✣ ✥
My runner friends don’t all like to call themselves runners. “Why the hell not?” I asked one of them recently, deftly blending affection and antagonism. Her response was as baffling as it was predictable: Her “shuffling” was too slow to qualify as running, she felt. As if speed is relevant in any way. As if being a runner can somehow be measured by the same metrics we use to measure running itself.
We runners are a supportive bunch, as demonstrated by how supportively I rolled my eyes at her. But if you want a more articulate example, there’s this famous quote by John “The Penguin” Bingham:
❝If you run, you are a runner. It doesn’t matter how fast or how far. It doesn’t matter if today is your first day or if you’ve been running for twenty years. There is no test to pass, no license to earn, no membership card to get. You just run.