The other day I was on yet another phone interview in San Diego, and I was asked if I would be comfortable working in an IT industry that was very different from my previous jobs. I paused for a second, and then commented, “I had a feeling that you might ask, and I actually thought about that while I was running today.” I then stated that I was indeed up for the challenge, that I would, in fact, like to jump into something that is not necessarily in my comfort zone.

I didn’t actually mean to bring up running, or the that fact that I run. Or that I’ve run several marathons. We were having a fairly relaxed conversation, and I thought I’d throw a little more about me into the mix. Sure, I could easily have stated that I was a trapeze artist or ukulele player just to get a reaction, but I chose to give him “runner” as a hopeful talking point.

The conversation moved forward as if I had told him I thought about this while I blew my nose that morning. Another 10 minutes later of IT foggy-cloud talk, the interview had run its own course. “That went surprising well,” I said, patting myself on the back for a least getting a laugh for, “Yes, I am allowed to leave the country,” while discussing any travel restrictions. I think he knew that I was joking. But I also got off the phone thinking, “Really, nothing else? Not even with the running thing thrown in?” And then I remembered the last time this bombed.

My first interview in San Diego was with a publishing company the day after the San Diego Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon. Because I was living in Atlanta at the time, I had pitched that I would in town for the race. Although I got the interview, the disciplined art of running marathons was hardly a selling point. Not only did the subject not come up, but it was completely avoided despite the fact that I had flown across the country, ran a full marathon and was subjected to a four-hour interview. I was the big, sweaty elephant in the room. I watched as the pencil-thin interviewer (who I later nicknamed “Stick”) got pleasure out of seeing me painfully hobble around in 4-inch heels. Her affection for my agony must have helped me land the job.

After this experience, I’ve always assumed that most people do not care that I run marathons. And I’ve learned to avoid bringing this up in most places. Not even in the Nike running store (I’m pretty sure the sales guy didn’t even believe I was a runner anyway). The normal reaction in most social situations is an uncomfortable silence or quick change of subject, like I am talking about Aunt Betty’s divorce or Cousin Clint’s incarceration. Others run the spectrum from a polite, “Good for you!” to a sadistic, “Why would anyone ever want to do that?” while secretly wanting to rub my face in the dirt. Other people scatter like they are being sucked into a cult.

If the topic is so taboo, this does not explain why thousands of people run marathons on any given weekend. Nor does it explain why I would chose to bring up the topic of running in the middle of an interview. As my comfort blanket, running is my private sanity that comes with no explanation for sudden outbursts or reasons why I run. So the interviewer didn’t get it. I’m fine living in a world where no cares except for that obnoxious runner in the bright neon outfit happily running laps before the race even begins.