I try, when I’m running, to acknowledge runners and pedestrians with a cheery greeting, though I’ve never settled on what that greeting should be.
Before noon, it’s fine: “morning” rolls off the tongue nicely, and does for runners and walkers alike. After noon, it’s a different story, since I rarely have the breath for the three syllables of “afternoon” or “evening”. As “Hello” and “Hi” are far too familiar to use without a formal introduction, I fall back on “Cheers” for anyone who has made any effort to save themselves from colliding with my lumbering form and try for eye contact and a nod for any passing runners.
This evening, one of my “Cheers” elicited a rather unusual response: “Cheers and good luck!”.
But good luck for what?
Good luck out-running the pack of wolves I can see closing in on you from behind?
Good luck evading the lurking mugger I spotted in the doorway round the corner?
Good luck getting home without being hit by a bus?
Good luck with the race you are so obviously training for?
If it was any of the first three of those options, it worked a treat, keeping the wolves, muggers and buses at bay.
But I’m choosing to believe that it was for the last of them, and will squirrel the luck away for my ultra. It may be just the charm I need to get me over the finishing line.