Jogging in New York
THE CONTRIBUTORS’ CLUB
THAT little paper on “ The Jog ” in the Contributors’ Club for March touched my sympathies. I also am a jogger, born, trained, established. If I had but the honor of the acquaintance of the gentle lady who steals away for her one month of jogging every year, I should go to her for a heart-to-heart talk. From certain shades in her local color, I take it she lives just around the corner. But my remarks to her would not consist altogether of gratulation; I should exhort her, adjure her, as follows: —
“Madam, do you not understand the responsible nature of your position ? Do you not know that the world has need of your order — our order — nowadays ? Has it never occurred to you that to jog in New York might be, not only a privilege attended with much amused edification to yourself, but also a definite mission to the fevered multitude? Good madam, pause (superfluous caution!) — consider.”
New York is my favorite jogging ground in all the tranquil world. I amble with a better zest down Broadway than along a country road. This is not altogether out of perversity, though every one recognizes the spur which violent opposition gives to a dear mental hobby; it is largely a normal healthy desire to help strike a balance of life. Where every one rushes, somebody must jog. It has long ago been brought home to my mind that the commonwealth demands of me that I jog in New York, and I jog conscientiously, with an admirable success. It may be questioned what good I can do, what balance I can hope to strike with my poor little feather-weight against the dragging mass of New York. That is not my business, I do not meddle with ultimate results. Providence has set me here to jog, and I jog thoroughly.
The occupation pursued on Broadway is one of indescribable charm and fresh piquancy. It is not a lazy performance at all, but requires mental alertness and watchful self-control. To refuse to run after a street-car; to decline a policeman’s proffered shove under horses’ noses and between the wheels of impatient automobiles; to back up against the street’s hurrying stream instead of rushing blindly with it; to stand on the corner and wait a clear space in which to saunter across. An unstable equilibrium is that which the mind achieves for itself, a poise of delicate constant adjustments, very vital and good. Apathy is further removed from this kind of jogging than from any reckless speed. An occasional glance of reproach and wonder from a policeman or from a careering pedestrian, obliged to deflect the straight line of his course a foot’s fraction to pass me by, does not disturb me in the least. “My friend,” I make answer, with a reciprocal regard. “I do this for the good of your soul. I am a professional jogger.”
Not infrequently it happens that an acquaintance overtakes me from behind and falls into line for a chat. Then the ratio of our progress presents a curious study. Little by little, my friend gains on me, quite unconsciously forging ahead, talking rapidly all the time, until, behold ! she turns to address some question to me and I am not there, but a strange and unresponsive profile whizzes cheek by jowl with her. Then she brings herself up with a start, arrests her footsteps, and waits for me, and we begin over again. Out of courteous considerations I would accelerate my pace under these special circumstances if it were possible for me to talk when my feet are at full speed. But struggling, breathless ejaculations, gasps and sighs are no conversation for a lady to offer her friend, and I am obliged to maintain my jog against her dash as best we both can manage. Sometimes her ear is a good two yards ahead of my lips, and I call out my amenities at the top of my voice.
The most constant of all the bromidic remarks one hears about the world in these days is, “Of course you are very busy.” Busy? Of course ? What a sequence is that! I always take pleasure in shaking my head and replying serenely, “Oh, no.” There is generally a blank stupefaction on the face of my interlocutor at the apparently unheard-of answer, — sometimes a pained look of disapproval, or pity, or disgust. But I always make haste to explain my position; I do not belong in the ranks of those who enjoy shocking their neighbors. “ See,” I submit, “ it is this way with me; I cannot do anything when I am busy, I lose my bearings at once. It is not life to me to be always doing, I must just be a good deal of the time. Moreover, my friends lead such strenuous lives, careering like meteors; hair on end, it has seemed to me kind to them to set up a little centre of rest in their midst where they may swoop down and have afternoon tea.”
“ How do you manage it ? ” once in a while the question is put to me wistfully. Manage it ? Cannot the spirit control the forces which itself originates ? All these many concerns, in which “ there is so much to be done,” owe their importance, their very existence, to the spirit’s initiative. When we have created them, we can surely regulate their claim on us.
Rarely it happens to me to encounter a sister jogger along the way, and then how I rejoice! Not long ago I met such a one astray in a desperate company of frantic kindergartners. Never shall I forget the gleam pathetic in her eye when she apprehended my sluggish nature. I took her gently by the hand and led her apart and we sat and talked of Trollope’s novels and of going to bed at nine o’clock; that was real conversation.
I have sometimes thought it might be pleasant if we formed a Society of Joggers and had a club where we might meet and converse. Ours is perhaps the only fraternity in the world which is not organized. But no; the meetings would present one more duty for us to perform, one more claim upon our leisure. We should but defeat our own end by and by, and the end is too noble for that. It is better for us to keep our eyes open as we amble about the world, and to hail each other and love each other and wish each other god-delay. Just as I hail now and bless and exhort the March Contributor. Go, jog down Broadway, good madam, do! Perhaps I shall meet you there.