The Parable of the Runner Who Needed a Partner

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, with Pi Day being a day of infinite possibility, and with our lives so centered around particulars, what is the best way to capture the infinite in our lives?”

Josh spoke thus:

There was a runner who needed a partner.

“It’s so hard getting up in the morning,” the runner said to no one.

No one watched as the laces of the runner's right shoe were artlessly yet gracefully knotted.  No one pretended to attempt to steal the runner’s left shoe and begin a game of teasing keep-away.

“Is it so hard to find a partner?” the runner asked no one while stepping out the front door, “Lots of runners have partners.”  

The runner’s breath fanned visibly, frostily in the air, then vanished.  These were the moments when a partner would have been valuable, these cold moments before movement unfogged the runner’s lungs and unfogged the runner’s brain, when the warmth of the runner’s bed dissipated along with the runner’s breath.

It was a Saturday morning, and Saturday mornings were when the runner ran on the high school track, running timed intervals, working on pace and control, as well as on speed.

“If there were an infinite number of partners,” the runner said to no one in mid lap, “Perhaps I could find a partner to help me write all of Shakespeare’s plays.”  The runner shared the joke with no one.  No one smiled at the runner’s wit.

“If someone were to join me as I ran,” the runner wondered aloud, “If one person were to join me each and every time I ran, I wonder how many people would join me in a lifetime.”

No one replied to the runner’s conjecture.  No one joined the runner as the runner ran.

The Saturday morning air was warmer as the runner completed the morning’s track work.  The runner stopped at the solitary municipal fountain that stood beside the track.  It was a unique fountain in the runner's experience, specially designed not to freeze in winter, by keeping the above-ground pipe clear of water until the fountain’s lever was pressed.  As the runner waited for water to rise above the ground and into the fountain’s bowl, the runner wondered at the novelty of such a system.  No one shared the runner’s wonder.

The runner was dissatisfied with the morning's track work.

“I could have used a partner to pace myself,” the runner mused, “I think a partner would have helped.”

Apart from the runner, however, no one was dissatisfied with the morning's track work.

The runner jogged home in the late morning thaw.  The runner’s breath was invisible as the runner breathed regularly and deeply.  No steam rose from the runner’s hand as it turned the key in the front door.

This was the moment when a partner would have been most valuable to the runner: the moment when the runner stepped inside.

This moment, like every moment, no one shared a cold drink taken from the refrigerator filled with a single person’s provisions.  No one chose a second of the four chairs that surrounded the kitchen table.  No one was happy the runner was home.

The runner needed a partner.