Shades of grays, muted dark browns, blacks are all I can see. Blurs that loom up and then rush past me. A twilight run in the forest on the shortest day of the year at 42 degrees North latitude.
The sun set two minutes before I hit the three kilometer loop through the woods and over the rolling fruitless zone prairie. A run racing the darkness down in the hollows. Forested ridge backs hide backside cliffs, the trail threading past them. In the gathering darkness widow makers loom over the trail, helping mark my path over the forest floor.
Amidst the trees I run at full open gait, time is against me. The dying of the light drives me ever harder in growing gloom.
At speed – alone in a chilling forest – I am on fire, my mind completely focused on the run at hand. Form is everything. Drag my feet for even a single stride and I pick up a branch with my foot. Tripping is not a useful option in darkness.
Sometimes you only have a single shot to get something right. Sometimes there is no second chance. Running reminds me of this. Running happens fast, raising children happens more slowly. There are still times in your relationship with your child when you have only a single shot at getting it right. At those times focus on placing your words as carefully as footfalls in a dark forest.
The run was not going particularly well. Pings and pangs in various odd and sundry leg muscles, no rhythm, no energy into the uphills. My tennis ball tosses lacked control, errant tosses being fumbled and lost to the ground. I was dragging bottom on the way home, still trying to find shards of shaft, pieces of power. As I headed up the final hill on my home stretch I saw a friend headed out on an evening run.
Despite my dysfunctioning form, I swung around to join him. As we headed down the hill I had struggled up, he noted that he was headed out for a run up Sokeh’s ridge. I had not run up that road, walked up a number of times, but never tried a run. The first section is a long, slow, climb up to a switchback. As we climbed I felt stronger and better than I had on the roads of Kolonia.
From the switchback up the road steps up the slope, like a treadmill gone way too high. I started at an uphill jog, and made it past the first couple gentle bends along the rock faces, but the hill eventually exceeded my ability to feed oxygen to my muscles, broke my pace, and I walked the final meters. Still, I felt fantastic, much better than at the end of my short little lower town loop right.
I had headed out the door to run a short out and back to Spanish Wall. I had no intention of seeing if I could run up to the top of the ridge. The presence of a fellow runner, however, caused me to push myself to see what I could do on a day when I was not running all that well. Good friends do that – they push us to do more, be more, reach farther. Good friends are encouragers. My thanks for the push I needed.