Stranger: So you must be a big cyclist, huh?

Me: HA. No, I’m actually a runner. But running across the country would take too long. I’m not Forrest Gump.

It’s surprising to hear myself identify as a runner. I’ve been running since I was 15, but I’ve never felt like I was “good enough” to call myself a runner; I’m just someone who runs. Even after running a marathon, I still shied away from the term. I thought of runners as people who won races, trained in the rain, who “fueled” and joined running clubs. I just ran to stay fit and sane.

But presented with the even more foreign-feeling label cyclist, runner suddenly seemed right. I’m more at home on two feet than two wheels. I’m in control, I’m moving at human speed (sometimes sub-human speed), my whole body is working together. And I’m in the elite sidewalk-cruising class of pedestrian, insulating me from the stress of the open road. It feels good to finally embrace this this native mode of movement as a part of me.

So for all of you out there on the road, don’t be fooled. I may be riding a bike, but I’m a runner.