I usually head out for a quick run in the mornings. I tend to make this a pensive, insular, entirely solitary experience. The last thing I want to do is make small talk with somebody while I can barely breathe.

So, on the morning in question, I started out early. I ventured over to the track near the high school, thought I’d do my time, count laps, head home. There was only one guy out there running, and he was obviously out-pacing my usual clip. Of course, I’d have preferred solitude, or a runner slower than myself, but I decided I’d take my chances. I stretched a bit, and jogged the first lap. Midway through the second lap I hear, as predicted, the long strides of the other guy crunching easily, rhythmically and rapidly on the gravelly surface. As he pulls up alongside me, I plan the “‘mornin'” head nod as he makes his way past me.

Instead, I see a man appear on my right, about my age, saying earnestly, “If you’d like to be alone, I’ll understand. But I’d love some company out here if you wouldn’t mind.”

Great.

I’m thinking, “Yeah, okay Dude, fine. Let’s run.”

He introduces himself (John as well), and tells me he’s in town visiting his parents. Turns out, John currently lives in Oslo with his wife and teenage daughter. He grew up here, and expounded a bit on what he feels are the critical differences between the two cultures:

“If I were in Norway, I wouldn’t care that you drive a BMW.”

“When I’m in the States, I always feel I’m missing out on something. I always want more. At home, for some reason, I’m happy with what I’ve got.”

“Women in Oslo don’t wear these fuzzy boots I see everywhere. What are they called?”

“We want the same things for our kids there, but we worry about our kids a lot less.”

Now, I found myself very interested in John’s homespun wisdom and cross-cultural comparisons, to be sure. In particular, his thoughts on the differences in parenting teens definitely had my interest.

But something else was going on here, something far more interesting.

John and I were conversing and running, running fast, nearly twice my typical pace. And I soon lost track of how far we’d run, as I’d become engrossed in the discussion. So, why was I able to run faster than I thought? Why was I willing to, actually more than happy to, run with someone else?

As I considered the questions, the answer became apparent: John was smiling.

In fact, this guy smiled the whole time. He was enjoying the run itself, enjoying the cool air, enjoying the conversation with a stranger.

And so he smiled.

At several points, I informed John this would be my last lap. Each time, he answered, smiling, “Ah, come on, let’s have another go.” And off we’d go. Guess it’s hard to say no to a smiling guy. All told, I think I ran about twice my usual distance.

Later that morning I thought about John. What a great way to approach any new experience, a smile. How often do we do that? He seemed open to whatever might happen. But I’ll bet he was pretty sure he knew. He knew he’d get that guy on the track to run with him, to talk a bit. I’ll bet all that smiling makes John’s interactions in his life a lot more interesting, more positive and fun.

I was blissfully exhausted the rest of the day. And telling the story of this guy from Norway I’d met running.

Smiling, of course.