There was a time when running spread like a communicable disease. In the 1970s, the bug was caught by hundreds, then thousands, of ordinary folks. Citizen road races and marathons sprang up, drawing increasing crowds, giving lie to the expression associated with a 1959 short story, “The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner.”

In short order, runners weren’t lonely at all. The first few infected by Frank Shorter’s televised 1972 Olympic marathon victory began to pass on what Shorter has benignly called a “disease.” Underlying causes included the headline feats of high school mile phenom Jim Ryun, the dawning of cross country and track opportunities for women opened by the passage of Title IX, and a contagion of fitness. Over the next five decades, those contributed to such developments as the New York City Marathon’s more than 400-fold increase in participation.

So the new irony, now that we’re on Coronavirus Standard Time, is that running suddenly can represent a form of social distancing. It is, by nature, a solitary pursuit. Once described by Shorter as “selfish,” running in fact can be altogether altruistic, a handy way to stay away from other people and thus to avoid contributing to the problem. It is “the perfect sport,” according to a recent New York Times item, “for a pandemic.”

With New York City banning all contact sports in local parks and shuttering playgrounds as part of restrictions on gatherings of more than five people, running need not violate such decrees. It requires nothing more than a pair of shoes and open space, with the simple proviso of staying at least six feet from fellow runners. Runners World magazine is advising that “the best plan for running right now is to go out for a solo run and enjoy the outdoors, in non-crowded areas.”

Further, running serves as an antidote for cabin fever in these shelter-in-place times and has been touted—like all exercise—as a boost to the immune system and to mental health.

But, yes, there are more incongruities. Because running has become so mainstream—a reported 60 million Americans participate in running and jogging each year—vastly populated Spring races, including the 30,000-strong Boston Marathon, are among the rash of postponed events triggered by the current health crisis.

In “The Loneliness of the Long-Distance Runner,” English author Alan Sillitoe used running as a metaphor for his protagonist, an impoverished teenager guilty of petty crime, to run away from society. But Texas-based historian James McWilliams, in a 2016 essay on the Boston Marathon for the Paris Review that referenced Sillitoe’s tale, nevertheless conflated contemporary society and running, community and individuality.

“When the Boston Marathon ends,” McWilliams wrote, “there will be tens of thousands of runners marked by a shared experience, even if each runner will ultimately be alone, a novella unto himself.”

There is no getting around the reality of having to share this coronavirus situation. Still, might a leisurely daily run—alone—be doing one’s part in slowing the galloping chain reaction?