A New Thing I Love

I ran at night for the first time today. I have a couple workout DVDs that I tend to do when I get home late and it's "too dark" to go running.

Too dark?

Very shortly it will be "too dark" by 4:30. I refuse to relegate myself to that awful, annoying woman on the DVD who tells me to "dig deep" and then tells me if I want abs like hers I have to "grunt and pant" myself through her workout. No. Thank. You.

I don't know why it took me so long to run at night. I suppose there's the safety element, being a woman. But I live in a very well lit, very suburban area and I only ran on the busiest street with ample sidewalks. I suppose the chill scared me off a bit, too, but it was warmer tonite than it has been on a couple afternoons I've hit the trail.

I loved it and I think I ran faster. I don't time myself so I'm really just going by my gut.

I think, with the darkness, I'm forced to focus more. I'm not sidetracked by pretty leaves or other runners or avoiding the barking dog or wondering if my ponytail is lopsided. I concentrate on the sidewalk, concentrate on the cracks and fissures and the curbs and the grates. And I count the headlights rushing towards me, take note of the ones that have a dimming bulb. I wonder who is in the cars and where they are going. It is Friday night, after all, and I can only assume that the bulk of humanity is out socializing instead of waxing poetic on the beauty of night running. I wonder who is getting divorced, who is falling in love, who hates their best friend, who shouldn't have bought those shoes, who misses their Dad, who is late for a first date, who is singing along to songs they don't admit to knowing, who is moving away, who just arrived. I like to think of all the people inside those cars, extraordinary people with ordinary lives, vice versa.

And I'm outside, wrists bared to the wind, concentrating on sidewalks, counting headlights.