I never realized how much I love running in the dark.
One of my earliest and fondest memories of my high school running “career” was in eighth grade, a time that feels like light years ago yet could have easily been yesterday. It was late fall, early winter, and I’m almost positive the end of cross country season. We had a long, long workout [probably repeats of 1000s or 800s or maybe a ladder or a cat and mouse drill] and we most certainly dawdled and before we knew it, the sun had gone down and our home was dark. I remember hammering, running without limits, through the darkness along the far turn and the backstretch. As you approached the 500 meter mark, you would bathe in the dim, orange light that barely illuminated the entire curve, and suddenly plunge back into black as you flew past the bleachers. I remember the sense of accomplishment that went along with this workout, how Coach joked around afterwards and we all seemed to smile, despite the pain, as we ran the traditional mile cool down.
Tonight, I went on a similar run through the dark. I ran to the track near my house, 2.13 miles away, and started running laps. The night got the better of me; by lap three, I decided to race. Race everything that hasn’t worked out so far, everything that has been holding me back. Race the clock, race myself. Again, most of the track was dark -only by the “start” did a small light glow. I raced around the turns, seeing people in the trees and jumping a little in my skin. I pulled through in 6:51 something for a single mile, and while it isn’t my fastest, it certainly left everything behind. The track was damp with the humid air, and as I took a small rest on the rubber, the sweat in my hair mixed with the water and I felt free. Free from any inhibitions, any fear of the unknown or the future, and most certainly from that lactic acid pooling and pulsing through my legs.
And this is where I get this whole “neverthelest” thing. Nevertheless: despite. Lest: for fear that. It is times like these where one throws caution to the wind, disregarding the fear of pain, failure, success, and everything that goes hand in hand with what we all go through. It can occur at any strangest of times and seems to go conjointly with the feeling where I happen to love everything that I surround myself with, beginning with running and all the people it has led me to, ending with myself and being content with the cramps rising up in my ribs and and sound of blood drumming between my lungs.
And it’s at this time that I am truly happy and, in the fullest sense, a distance runner.
