Me and a Shadow

Surprise companionship at rush hour in the city

I’m not sure this is actually what happened, but this is how it felt.

I was running back to Waterloo Station from a job in London. I wiggled through Covent Garden and lurched across The Strand on a red man to wait at the pedestrian crossing in the central reservation. I watched the traffic, hands on hips, looking for my next opportunity to lurch, and a rangy, blonde woman pulled up alongside me and assumed the same posture. I caught a glimpse of her - in her 40s, I suspected, and absolutely glowing. We were both open-mouthed, smiling slightly, eager for the next steps. I saw my chance to cross and took it.

Waterloo Bridge is a miniature nightmare for running. I feel bad for doing it because it’s not really suitable, there are so many pedestrians and so many groups stopping for tourist photos. It’s not as hectic as Westminster Bridge though and this is how I justify it. I’m always keen to keep a good pace, but I also don’t want to startle, annoy or shove any walkers. I’ve been a pedestrian who’s been shoved by a runner, I know it’s bad form. What’s the running equivalant of bad seamanship? Anyway, it’s that.

I ran on the road to avoid some hoarding and scaffolding then I jumped back on the path to avoid some cyclists. When I got some space, I had a quick glance left and right to take in the views that people love to photograph. On one side, the London Eye and the Southbank Centre. On the other, The City, St Paul’s Cathedral and the National Theatre. That’s when I saw the shadow only a few paces behind mine. The rangy blonde woman had come with me and stayed, stride for stride.

Sometimes this can feel threatening. Sometimes it’s annoying, noisey, racey, unwelcome. But something about her energy felt more like companionship. She kept a fair distance, matched my pace and didn’t make a sound. I sped up a little to test whether she really was running with me, and when I checked our shadows again, she was right there. I had acquired a buddy.

It makes sense for runners to work together in busy parts of London - it’s safer and calmer. But it felt like we could have been anywhere together, she had the energy of trails and trees and sweet sunlight. I was simply taking my turn to lead. A cyclist spotted that we were approaching a crowd and he kindly moved aside so that we could run on the road together instead. I waved my thanks. Maybe she did too. We then got a really long stretch of empty cycle path and I opened up the gas, enjoying knowing that this woman could go with me and would be relishing the space as much as I was. I imagined our legs moving perfectly in time, our arms swinging in synchronicity, perhaps even our breath. She never overtook, even though she probably could have done. She remained my shadow, which is how I knew we were happy as we were.

And then I lost her. It was probably my fault, I took a weird turn around a bus shelter and then ducked down to the underpass. I checked behind me to see if she was going this way too, but all I saw was empty space. No shadow. Not even an outline.

That’s how it goes, though. I haven’t had a moment with a stranger like that in a long time and there is a surprising grief that comes with losing it. The unspoken fleeting friendship is offered lightly and softly received. It can tell you - in a moment when you might feel like you’re carrying so much on your own - that you’re not alone. When the whole world is raging with selfishness and anger and hatred, you can still manage to find the opposite qualities in a perfect stranger. You can dare to hope.