Running in the Dark

I love the hours of my new job, but it is not so easy to find time to run. It’s too hot for me at four in the afternoon. My alternative is to get up a four in the morning, which I did Wednesday.

Running in the dark brings back my Army Basic Training. Only then we ran in groups, somebody else set the pace and it was altogether less pleasant. Still, the army is where I learned to run and where I came to love to run.

It would seem that 4:21 of a Wednesday morning would be a safe enough time to run as I do, on the sidewalks under street lights. Most evildoers would have gone to bed and probably sleep in, I tell myself. Still, I have a vivid imagination. When I heard a car motor behind me, I felt sure it was slowing down. It very well may have been, but the jeep drove sedately by me without incident. I ran on.

I always look for lights on in houses. I fell less alone when I see signs of life. One upstairs light was on and the front door wide open. This was a house I had walked by with Tabby the day before. In the front lawn I had observed a bucket and a single pink winter boot. I wondered about it. By the upstairs light I could see a large room completely empty, possibly freshly painted (yes, I run slow enough to observe all that). I surmised that some renters had moved out, thus explaining the garbage on the lawn. I pondered that as I ran on.

A few other lights were on. No movement in the houses, no cars. I started to feel a little lonely. I ran through Meyers Park. Closed from dark to dawn, the sign said. Oops. I decided I was through traffic, which was probably all right.

As I ran down Park Avenue I saw a pedestrian walking towards me. A young man wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood up. Was it that cool at a walking pace? Perhaps he was walking home from a night shift. Or doing the walk of shame from a one night stand. That would explain the hidden face. I did not greet him as I ran by. For all I knew, with his face hid behind a hood he was the Grim Reaper. I think I mentioned I have a vivid imagination.

As I turned up Marion Street I saw a pedestrian carrying a white bag. Head uncovered, didn’t look threatening. She turned up a driveway. When I got a little closer I saw it was a paper carrier.

“I wish my newspaper delivery person was this early,” I said to her.

“I’d love to pick up that route,” she answered, apparently knowing just what I was talking about.

I only ran for twenty minutes, to make sure I had enough time to drink coffee and hang out before work. It was a good run. I was ready to face another Mohawk Valley Day.