I just went out for a run. In Seregno, Italy. Not a friendly run. Nobody says hi. I mean, what’s wrong with Italian runners? Or is there something wrong with me?

It was good to be running again. My first run in four days. Or better said; my first run since I got food poisoning. I still don’t feel very energized, but I was happy to be outside again. Not sure if that can be said of all the Italian runners I passed as well.

Being nice

But again, it might be me. See, there is this thing in the Netherlands that when you pass another runner you give a little wave, a nod or even – drum roll – say hi. You don’t have to know each other to be nice to each other. Seemingly in Italy that’s not done. In Italy when somebody is running towards you, you look away. You stare at your shoes. Or, in most cases, you look as pissed off as possible.

Now I’m not at my prettiest when I’m running. Especially when I’m doing my intervals. But still, I smile. Come on, we’re all running. We’re all weirdos in the eyes of those walking their dogs, walking their kids, walking their grandparents. Let’s at least be weird together. Let’s acknowledge each other in our weirdness. Who puts on a pair of bright orange running shoes on a Sunday morning and goes running, when it’s cold and rainy? We. The weird ones. The ones in tight tights and fluorescent raincoats. Let’s be weird together.

Community

Where is the community feeling? Where is the togetherness? We clearly share the same passion. Maybe not at the same pace, but we love running. Or do Italians run for another reason? One I don’t know. Don’t Italians have fun when they go for a run? Looking at a lot of the cranky faces I passed today, probably not.

Or is it a cultural thing that you don’t greet each other? Like on the highway, where Italians don’t give eachother space to merge? Or at zebra crossings, where you have to give way to pedestrians – to be clear that’s including runners – but Italians prefer to hit the gas instead of the brakes. Maybe that last example is just me being cranky, narrowly escaping being on the hood of a car, twice in two runs here.

Chianti Ultra

Next week I’m running the Chianti Ultra in Tuscany. It’s been almost two years since I did a race in Italy. I’m curious how it’s going to be. Am I going to share a laugh with some Italian runners? A chat maybe? Or is it everybody for himself?

And to that one girl, with the beautiful glasses, that laughed at me, when I made silly gestures trying to avoid all the puddles on the street, thank you. It’s nice to see that there is at least one Italian still smiling to another human being, when they’re out running.

Keep on running, and please, keep on saying hi.