At the ass crack of dawn, in the dark and foggy mist, thousands of people converged on my location, some wearing short shorts, others wearing an elf costume and green tights.
I was volunteering at a marathon. The race director told me the day before, “these people have trained for the last 6-12 months for this moment. They’ll be waking up at 3am. For many of them, this is the first marathon they’ve ever run. When they get off the bus at 5am, in the freezing cold, you’ll be the first face they see. Smile, welcome them, make them feel excited, and help them forget the next 26.2 miles of pain they’re about to endure.”
Even though I normally have RBF and consider it a chore to acknowledge people, I slapped a big fat smile on my face and excitedly greeted runners like I was a golden retriever who hasn’t seen his military dad in over a year.
“HELLO!”
“GOOD MORNING!”
“YOU’RE HERE!”
^That, on repeat for two hours straight. It was actually pretty fun. I calculated the optimal distance to stand from the bus was eight feet away. Stand too close, and the runners were still descending the bus steps and didn’t have time to process my presence. Stand too far away, and they assumed I was just some overly enthusiastic volunteer having a borderline religious experience.
Once I optimized the greeting distance, I observed people’s reactions to me fell into four different categories:
After the marathon for the rest of the day, I found myself smiling and greeting other people I encountered: at a restaurant for lunch, and at the coffee shop where I’m writing this. I smiled at every stranger I made eye contact with, and every one of them smiled back (with one of the four reactions I listed). It just happened naturally, and it felt amazing. I think it made them feel good, too. That’s why we love golden retrievers—they love and greet us unconditionally.