Running in the Time of Corona
Running in the Time of Corona
By Barbara Zirl
You never know who you might bump into on a run. Really – you can’t tell anymore. I’m stopped at a traffic light across from my apartment complex on the way home from a run on Los Alamitos Creek Trail and across the street another runner clearly recognizes me in my Too Legit tank top and waves. She’s friendly and knows who I am. She looks vaguely familiar, but I’m not sure yet who it is. She’s wearing big sunglasses and a blue face mask. I wait at my light for her to cross the street. Then I realize it’s Fernanda with her dog and I remember she often runs at Almaden Lake. I didn’t know she lives so close to me. We chat a little from six feet apart and take a picture.
With everything else shuttered during the shelter-in-place, I’m thankful we are still allowed to exercise outdoors. It’s my only respite from the daily claustrophobia of my 900 square foot apartment that only has three windows and a view of the parking lot and trash dumpster. Quarantine for me is solitary confinement, so I’m determined to break out once a day to breathe in some fresh air and get in a workout.
The next day, while running along the trail, trying to incorporate some speed work and remind myself that I’m training for a marathon, the park maintenance crew was busy wrapping the exercise stations in heavy orange plastic netting to keep people away from the pull-up bars, rings and other equipment. The playgrounds have yellow caution tape blocking off the entrances and the restrooms are closed. It looks like a crime scene. I was surprised they hadn’t covered the water fountains yet but I would not go near them anyway. There are signs everywhere with CDC language warning park visitors to steer clear of these areas to prevent spread of the virus.
Later in the week, the water fountains were wrapped in black plastic bags secured with the yellow tape. Further along on the trail, a Jeep marked “Park Ranger” is sitting just off the trail surveilling us. It’s creepy. Was he going to stop us if we weren’t six feet apart? Would he check with a tape measure? Issue a fine? Or maybe poll the groups of people for IDs to be sure they were a family unit all residing at the same address? Suddenly we’re living in a non-fictional dystopian society, straight out of Steven Soderbergh’s Contagion or Mary Shelley’s eerily prescient 1826 novel The Last Man.
Running solo has taken on a whole new meaning. It used to give me peace to run by myself, listening to music and just concentrating on achieving a particular distance goal for the day or working through some issue in my head. The Almaden trail is never very crowded with other runners – mostly people walking their dogs, pushing strollers, or just meandering and chatting, along with bike riders coming up too fast behind you. These people already weren’t particularly friendly, though I’d see some familiar faces each day and either smile, nod or wave. Now everyone’s dodging each other like bumper cars, veering off to the side of the trail as we encounter each other – keeping our social distance. The unfriendly walkers are even more distant and cold and keep their heads low, as if avoiding eye contact will keep them from seeing germs as we pass each other. It’s very lonely running alone and it’s not relaxing or stress relieving. These are the only real people I see all day, these unfriendly strangers. I return from my workout to my too quiet apartment and for the rest of the day the only humans I see are on TV or on shaky Zoom chats.
I’m a few weeks in to training for an end of July marathon, just waiting for it to be canceled. I’ve mapped out my training schedule all the way through to early December when the next race falls. Will these races take place? I’m training as if they will. But what will the future hold for road racing? I’m certainly not going to register and pay for a virtual race, just to run it on the creek trail.
I’ve been chatting on WhatsApp with my cousins around the world. One cousin is in southern Spain and on a complete lockdown. They are not even allowed to leave their buildings. She goes up to her roof and walks around for some air and exercise. For now, we can still venture out to walk or run and I’m doing my part to stay safe. I’m avoiding the more crowded trails and sticking close to my neighborhood. It’s boring. But I’m running each day to maintain my sanity.
We all need to wear masks. Someone has instantly made a video tutorial showing how to make a mask out of a bandana and hair elastics. I rummage through my winter running gear drawer and pull out several bandanas. The first one is too thick; the second one too small; the third is okay, I guess. I used to wear these to cover my face in sub-zero New Jersey winters when it hurt to breathe in the chilled air. The makeshift mask will be fine for walking into the grocery store, but it won’t stay put to run with it. I dig through another drawer full of race swag and find a scarf from Amazon and another bandana from Live Strong. I tie the scarf around my face and knot it under my ponytail. It’s going to have to do. I’ve spent way too much time settling on a mask option and it’s taken me an extra half hour to get ready to run. The mask immediately obscures my vision and impedes my breathing, but I try to ignore it and just run. It’s hot and sweaty under there. I’m not running in the cold in January in the East, but out on a California trail in April. It’s 70 degrees.
As I run and pass other people, some have masks too. But others are seemingly oblivious and are out for an ordinary stroll or bike ride and it makes me angry. Here I am, uncomfortable, doing the only thing I have left since we became un-free in our own world, and I’m not enjoying it. I’m wearing this annoying scarf on my face so as a collective society we can prevent the spread of this contagion, and you - unconcerned family of four plus your dog – aren’t doing your part. It will only work if everyone participates so we can return to some form of normalcy.
There are several benefits of wearing a mask while running. These people can’t see me cursing at them. No one can see me singing along to the music in my earbuds. It doubles as an actual kerchief in which to blow my nose. It narrows all forms of communication down to eye contact, nod, or wave. Sometimes I don’t have the emotional energy for any of them and I give a half wave or just glare as I pass by. In truth, we all look ridiculous – like bandits on the lam from a toilet paper hold-up job.
One by one, the parks and trails are closing to discourage people from the parking lots and crowding the trails as if everything is fine. It was raining for days and with the gym off limits, I couldn’t hop on the treadmill. So I work on cross-training exercises indoors; catch up on the core and strength work I’ve been neglecting.
We share our individual workouts on social media and try to encourage each other. But it’s hard to stay focused on fitness and training when there are people dying by the thousands across the country and around the world. I miss the easy camaraderie of a long group run and leisurely conversation over breakfast. I miss our team. I miss all my friends. Now we’re all doing virtual run challenges or just meeting up with a few people at the same trail or hill, but staying so physically distant you can’t really chat. If we do, it’s to share our stress and anxiety from grocery shopping or our confinement with or without our family.
I know we are all in this together. All of our races are canceled or postponed. All of us are struggling. All we can do is push forward, use the energy we gain from running as a mental boost and motivate ourselves each day.
It’s a new day. The sun has come out this morning and I’m going to take advantage of the clear, dry weather. I wrap that scarf around my face and head out the door.
Barbara Zirl
April 15, 2020