Paradox

How can it happen that each of us was better than the other?

In bright running togs, we leapt down the stairs from City Hall to Faneuil Hall, past the striding statue of Mayor Kevin White, and off to the Greenway, thence to Charlestown and Bunker Hill. We didn't have much to say to each other, apart from my commentary on the route. From the beginning I could feel I was exerting more than usual. He was audibly breathing, perhaps also stretching. Apart from the traffic and the general hubbub of the city on its way to work on a bright summer weekday, I could hear the slap of soles on surface.

We made it through the troublesome intersections, stopped at fountains to take on water, commented a little on the dead trees by the river and the crochet installation on the Mass Ave bridge. Basically, though, we were pushing each other the whole way: he made me run faster than I normally do; I made him run farther than he usually does. It wasn't competition, neither aimed at victory, but I didn't want to fall behind and he didn't want to drop out, so each kept inviting the other to match his strengths.

I hadn't expected this; this is a new (for me) way of thinking about people working together: each showing the others what it does best, and the others striving to match those capabilities. Running is just one kind of activity that may work this way; others come to mind.

This is all probably common knowledge, but it does resolve the paradox I felt when we split just beyond Community Boating. You're not a talkative guy, partner--at least I haven't been able to get that engine to turn over--but your example was eloquent today. I was impressed by your speed and your stamina, as well as what that taught me. Thanks.