Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence.... ~ Helen Keller
Success! I ran somewhere around 38 miles, half at night, and I was not eaten by bears, ripped apart by coyotes, kidnapped by drunken teenagers, or killed by an axe-wielding madman. Yay!
Although I tried to play it off as just another challenge, I was really quite scared. I bought a whistle, put fresh batteries in my headlamp, had plenty of nutrition, extra clothing layers, charged my cell phone, and remembered my trail maps. I had mapped out a route and told Ron what trails I would be on before I left. I did my best to prepare, but eventually I just had to do it.
The first part of my route was on trails that were new to me. They were steep and tough, but so beautiful! Long sections were definitely not runnable, requiring scrambling on all fours. I worried about how slow my pace was because of this - it was going to be a very long night.
I changed course as I went. I'd come to an intersection and just like the look of a different trail. I would pull out my map and figure out a new route, and then call Ron to let him know. (see, Mom - and Lauren, I really was paying attention to safety!)
The location of the sun in the sky was constantly on my mind. As it hung heavy on the horizon like ripe fruit, I kept checking my GPS watch to see how far I had gone. I knew I was only halfway through my run - that was the plan, after all. But I couldn't help checking and wishing I were further along.
My original idea was to wind around and end up on trails near my house after dark. I know those trails really well, so felt fairly confident that I could be on them without getting lost. This park is around 52,000 acres, with over 200 miles of trails, so there's a lot of territory in which to get lost. With the sun approaching it's bed, I found myself on another trail section that was new to me. It was a big, wide trail that was some sort of old carriage road which led out to a road just 5 miles from my house. It was uneven and hilly, but wide enough that I knew I wouldn't get off. Another route change! I would stay here and run the 12 miles back and forth a couple of times, and then out to the road and home.
Light fades, darkness follows. Now I was getting into the meat of this run. I added layers and put on my headlamp. And I called Ron to let him know where I was.
I felt awkward and unsteady during twilight, as though my eyes and my mind were reluctant to let go of the light. My pulse quickened. But as the darkness progressed, I regained my balance. My focus narrowed as the night deepened. The moon would not rise until much later, so it was completely black. All I saw was the few feet illuminated by my headlamp. I could see the trees and bushes close to the trail, but nothing beyond. I could hear water off to the side. But I was engrossed by the puddle of light leading me forward.
At first, to combat my nervousness, I made a lot of noise - a lot! I shouted encouragement to myself. I gave a friendly toot on my whistle. I sang. I sang Amazing Grace, over and over and over. I sang some James Brown. Inexplicably, I sang the Star-Spangled Banner. I don't know why that popped into my head, but it stuck with me through the night. And I would like to point out that the Star-Spangled Banner is not an easy song to belt out while running. I apologize to anyone out in the woods that night. I didn't hear anyone else, and no one shouted at me to shut up, so maybe I wasn't really disturbing the peace. As I got more comfortable with the dark, I made less noise. Once in a while I would stop to look up. Stunning! It was a perfectly clear night.
Time passes differently during the night. We usually don't have the same time constraints as during our over-scheduled days; the expanse of hours can simply unfold before us. And running at night is equally different. Miles slid past my feet, but I wasn't aware of them in the same way I am during daylight runs. My world narrowed to the light in front of me. I couldn't really pick out a clear path through the rocks, I just had to trust my feet. I kept a steady rhythm and let my feet react to the surface. Interestingly, I only stumbled once, and my pace was remarkably steady and fast.
One of the things I love about long distance running is the meditative aspect of it. That's one of the reasons I don't run with an Mp3 player. It's partly a safety issue, but I like the time alone with my thoughts, the chance to let my mind run free. This is greatly heightened after dark. There are even fewer distractions - just 3 feet in front of me and the rhythm of my feet. It's forced focus on only the present.
Of course, it was not all sunshine and cupcakes on my nighttime run. I had little panics. Like when I discovered the trail didn't come out where I thought it would. I suddenly found myself running across a dam...A dam? What dam? There's no dam on my map. Where the hell am I? Why isn't this the road?!? I took some deep breaths (and cursed), and realized I was at the bottom of a reservoir. There was some pumping station that wasn't shown on the map. But a pumping station means there's a road that goes out to the county road.
The moon was just cresting the hills as I made it out to the road for the final 5 miles home. As I ran along the road, the few street lights looked so big and bright above me.
My neighbors were all tucked safely in their houses. Running along my driveway, I shined my headlamp around, looking off to the sides. There in the dark was a pair of eyes watching me. Not deer. Deer would have moved off, and the eyes were more forward facing. It could have been a coyote or fox, or possibly a young bear. I could see nothing of its shape, only it's eyes. This watcher was not afraid of me. This watcher silently observed my homecoming and let me pass. As I unlocked my door and turned on the lights, I wondered how many other eyes, unseen by me, had quietly watched as a ran past.
Julie
The first part of my route was on trails that were new to me. They were steep and tough, but so beautiful! Long sections were definitely not runnable, requiring scrambling on all fours. I worried about how slow my pace was because of this - it was going to be a very long night.
I changed course as I went. I'd come to an intersection and just like the look of a different trail. I would pull out my map and figure out a new route, and then call Ron to let him know. (see, Mom - and Lauren, I really was paying attention to safety!)
The location of the sun in the sky was constantly on my mind. As it hung heavy on the horizon like ripe fruit, I kept checking my GPS watch to see how far I had gone. I knew I was only halfway through my run - that was the plan, after all. But I couldn't help checking and wishing I were further along.
My original idea was to wind around and end up on trails near my house after dark. I know those trails really well, so felt fairly confident that I could be on them without getting lost. This park is around 52,000 acres, with over 200 miles of trails, so there's a lot of territory in which to get lost. With the sun approaching it's bed, I found myself on another trail section that was new to me. It was a big, wide trail that was some sort of old carriage road which led out to a road just 5 miles from my house. It was uneven and hilly, but wide enough that I knew I wouldn't get off. Another route change! I would stay here and run the 12 miles back and forth a couple of times, and then out to the road and home.
Light fades, darkness follows. Now I was getting into the meat of this run. I added layers and put on my headlamp. And I called Ron to let him know where I was.I felt awkward and unsteady during twilight, as though my eyes and my mind were reluctant to let go of the light. My pulse quickened. But as the darkness progressed, I regained my balance. My focus narrowed as the night deepened. The moon would not rise until much later, so it was completely black. All I saw was the few feet illuminated by my headlamp. I could see the trees and bushes close to the trail, but nothing beyond. I could hear water off to the side. But I was engrossed by the puddle of light leading me forward.
At first, to combat my nervousness, I made a lot of noise - a lot! I shouted encouragement to myself. I gave a friendly toot on my whistle. I sang. I sang Amazing Grace, over and over and over. I sang some James Brown. Inexplicably, I sang the Star-Spangled Banner. I don't know why that popped into my head, but it stuck with me through the night. And I would like to point out that the Star-Spangled Banner is not an easy song to belt out while running. I apologize to anyone out in the woods that night. I didn't hear anyone else, and no one shouted at me to shut up, so maybe I wasn't really disturbing the peace. As I got more comfortable with the dark, I made less noise. Once in a while I would stop to look up. Stunning! It was a perfectly clear night.
Time passes differently during the night. We usually don't have the same time constraints as during our over-scheduled days; the expanse of hours can simply unfold before us. And running at night is equally different. Miles slid past my feet, but I wasn't aware of them in the same way I am during daylight runs. My world narrowed to the light in front of me. I couldn't really pick out a clear path through the rocks, I just had to trust my feet. I kept a steady rhythm and let my feet react to the surface. Interestingly, I only stumbled once, and my pace was remarkably steady and fast.
One of the things I love about long distance running is the meditative aspect of it. That's one of the reasons I don't run with an Mp3 player. It's partly a safety issue, but I like the time alone with my thoughts, the chance to let my mind run free. This is greatly heightened after dark. There are even fewer distractions - just 3 feet in front of me and the rhythm of my feet. It's forced focus on only the present.
Of course, it was not all sunshine and cupcakes on my nighttime run. I had little panics. Like when I discovered the trail didn't come out where I thought it would. I suddenly found myself running across a dam...A dam? What dam? There's no dam on my map. Where the hell am I? Why isn't this the road?!? I took some deep breaths (and cursed), and realized I was at the bottom of a reservoir. There was some pumping station that wasn't shown on the map. But a pumping station means there's a road that goes out to the county road.
The moon was just cresting the hills as I made it out to the road for the final 5 miles home. As I ran along the road, the few street lights looked so big and bright above me.
My neighbors were all tucked safely in their houses. Running along my driveway, I shined my headlamp around, looking off to the sides. There in the dark was a pair of eyes watching me. Not deer. Deer would have moved off, and the eyes were more forward facing. It could have been a coyote or fox, or possibly a young bear. I could see nothing of its shape, only it's eyes. This watcher was not afraid of me. This watcher silently observed my homecoming and let me pass. As I unlocked my door and turned on the lights, I wondered how many other eyes, unseen by me, had quietly watched as a ran past.
Julie
6 comments:
Wow-what a story. I would be a little freaked too. How did you carry your extra layers before putting them on? A backpack? Glad to hear of your latest success!
I had no idea you were going to do this on your own. Thought your trainer would do it with you. How absolutely terrifying. Love the idea of your singing. You are one hell of a brave person and I admire you and all your endeavours.
I have a little hydration pack. It holds 2 liters of water & has a couple of pouches. It also has a bungie cord that I stuck my extra clothing under. I carried a second waist pack for more water.
You inspire me. What an incredible post.
jms
"Time passes differently during the night." I love those words and really relate to them. It's so true!! I'm in awe of your accomplishments. Thanks for sharing and inspiring.
Thanks, Jody & Nancy! Really appreciate your words. Gillian, no, my coach was home safely in bed. He's full of crazy (but really useful) ideas for me.
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