Running on neighbourhood Watch

There they go; my Turkish supermarket owner friends. They’re at it again, muttering incomprehensibly about manic women running at the break of dawn when common sense dictates otherwise. I smile and run past, like I do every morning. And they smile and laugh sheepishly-like they do every morning. It’s been like this for several years. It’s as standard as the cup of Turkish tea they’ll be sipping from their tiny, clear glasses.

 

I move on. Oh here she comes, my running neighbour. She smiles cheerily at me as she whizzes past the Turkish men who start muttering about manic women running at the break of dawn when…you get the gist. I smile back and keep on running. Very soon, I run into Dreadlock Man, otherwise known as The Cyclist. Resplendent in spandex, he urges me on; “At it, sister, you’re doing good.” Tell me something I don’t know. I give him a cheesy grin and almost step into dog poodle on my right. Ah, it’s Monday, the aftermath of a robust, gastronomic weekend for the neighbourhood dogs. Cheesy grin off my face, I sidestep and almost run into the ‘gentleman’ admiring my sweaty self under the pretence of waiting for me to go past his car. I grit my teeth and solemnly promise to take another running route.

 

Ooh and what’s this? The concrete jungle and the least favourite part of my run and who should I run into but the bloke who wants to engage in conversation-on a morning run?! I grimace and run on-swiftly. I can’t see my fellow African runner, usually immaculately dressed in lime green shiny leggings, orange trainers and a somewhat subdued white T-shirt but I know I’ll run her into at some point. We’ll give each other a ‘sister wave’ and run on determinedly knowing the hairdressing challenges we’ll face that day as we prepare to go to work and our Afro locks suddenly develop minds of their own.

 

It’s the return journey and I can see the Walker. Her face as hard as stone and legs equally determined to make an impact on the concrete beneath her feet. I try to smile and fail abysmally. She wasn’t interested; I was a runner and she was a walker and ne’er shall the two meet. But I’m not deterred. Tomorrow, we’ll meet again and tomorrow, I’ll try smiling again and one day, we’ll both smile cheerily at each other. It can be done, after all we’re runners and walkers and gunning for the same team.

 

Praise be! I’ve finished the return journey and I’m at the park. There’s the lovely couple with the dog. “You put me to shame,” the woman says, like she does every morning. I smile, do my stretches and wave goodbye, my run complete. Tomorrow, I’ll run again and I’ll meet my neighbourhood friends. We’ll grimace, smile, wave and I’ll side step dog poo safe in the knowledge that I’ve been here before. It’s reassuring and comforting; all that running is to me.