Night Run

In the winter, when the days are short, I usually try to get my run in during the daylight hours, when it is sunny (I do after all live in Colorado) and warmer. When I do venture out after dark or, heaven forbid, before the sun comes up, I usually wear a headlamp. This is both so that I can see where I’m going (ever try running on a trail at night without a headlamp?) and so that others, namely cars, can see me.

Last night, I got out of work late because I had to take an electrical safety class. Since I did not get home until after dark, running during the day was not an option. For some reason, maybe because I planned to run on roads without any stretches on the trail, I also opted to leave my headlamp behind.

Somewhere around 2 miles into my run, I turned up a residential street (Kalmia west of Broadway, for those who know Boulder) and there was suddenly nobody but me anywhere around. The street lights were intermittent at best, and before long I found my focus narrowing, until there was nothing in the world but me, the sound of my footsteps, and a certain trust that the road would be there when I put my foot down.

If this were a book, I would start flying. My pace per mile would steadily drop until I was flying along at sub race pace. This is not a book, and I was taking it easy after a hard run the day before, but that’s not to say I didn’t feel like I was flying. Something about having your world shrunk to just you and your footsteps is incredibly freeing. I felt light, as though, at any moment, my feet would come down not on the road but on solid air, which would bear my weight and take me off into the sky.

That feeling was also fleeting. All too soon I took a left turn towards home, onto a busier road, and the illusion was shattered.

But the feeling is still there in the back of my mind. With any luck, and maybe some practice, I will some day get there in a race, and then we will truly see what I can do.