Memories of Being in the Dark
Hitting the road in the early mornings here reminds me of when I lived in Elizabeth City, N.C., and did about 80% of my running before, or just as, the sun came up. During the fall and winter especially, I ran a 3- to 5-mile loop weekdays from a health club near my house. It might seem strange to not run from home, just a few blocks away, but this way there was always someone who knew when I left…in case I didn’t return.
During summer marathon training, to escape the worst of the heat and provide minimal interruption to the family, I started my long runs as early as 3:30 a.m. on Saturdays or Sundays. I was fortunate to live in a neighborhood in which I could repeatedly run 3.2-mile loops that never left me more than about a half-mile from my house. It could get monotonous, but at that stage in my life the familiarity and solitude were just what I craved. Plus, I could stop for a drink on the porch and hit the bathroom as needed.
Other than the occasional thunderstorm that snuck up on me or a loose, territorial dog, the pre-dawn long runs went smoothly. But one night/morning I got the fright of my life. I had been running for about 90 minutes and was already soaked with sweat when I heard a car speeding towards me. I turned, still running, and in the blinding headlights could make out the flashing blues of a police cruiser. So did I stop? Nope, I turned and began jogging like nothin’ was up, and that’s when the officer zoomed up to me and told me to hold it. He pulled over just as another cruiser quickly came up behind me. I’d seen enough Law & Order episodes by then to impulsively raise my hands above my head and ask what was going on. I tried, in my heavy breathing, to not appear “guilty” of anything. After all, how many times on that show have the police initially fingered the wrong guy?! The officer asked what I was doing out at this hour. My heart was racing, and I had trouble telling him I was running. (“For the record, Your Honor, the defendant was wearing a Jogbra, Coolmax singlet and nylon Nike shorts at the time of her arrest…”)
The cops wanted to know exactly where and what I was running from. I told him I lived in the neighborhood, gave my exact address and my route and explained that I was trying to train before the kids woke up. By then, my hands were resting nonchalantly on my hips. Convinced I wasn’t a crook, they explained that I’d just passed (probably more than once) a home being robbed!
I remember feeling my legs go limp. My heart began beating wildly as I realized the danger I’d just averted. Suddenly I was so glad to be in the company of these officers, one of whom offered to escort me back to my house after I was unable to provide any more information. That scared me too; I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, like someone sitting in an idling getaway car on the street. By then I could see more flashing lights, and people coming onto their front yards for a better look -- at me.
I declined the police ride and felt everyone follow me with their eyes as I picked up the pace and hauled ass towards home.
During summer marathon training, to escape the worst of the heat and provide minimal interruption to the family, I started my long runs as early as 3:30 a.m. on Saturdays or Sundays. I was fortunate to live in a neighborhood in which I could repeatedly run 3.2-mile loops that never left me more than about a half-mile from my house. It could get monotonous, but at that stage in my life the familiarity and solitude were just what I craved. Plus, I could stop for a drink on the porch and hit the bathroom as needed.
Other than the occasional thunderstorm that snuck up on me or a loose, territorial dog, the pre-dawn long runs went smoothly. But one night/morning I got the fright of my life. I had been running for about 90 minutes and was already soaked with sweat when I heard a car speeding towards me. I turned, still running, and in the blinding headlights could make out the flashing blues of a police cruiser. So did I stop? Nope, I turned and began jogging like nothin’ was up, and that’s when the officer zoomed up to me and told me to hold it. He pulled over just as another cruiser quickly came up behind me. I’d seen enough Law & Order episodes by then to impulsively raise my hands above my head and ask what was going on. I tried, in my heavy breathing, to not appear “guilty” of anything. After all, how many times on that show have the police initially fingered the wrong guy?! The officer asked what I was doing out at this hour. My heart was racing, and I had trouble telling him I was running. (“For the record, Your Honor, the defendant was wearing a Jogbra, Coolmax singlet and nylon Nike shorts at the time of her arrest…”)
The cops wanted to know exactly where and what I was running from. I told him I lived in the neighborhood, gave my exact address and my route and explained that I was trying to train before the kids woke up. By then, my hands were resting nonchalantly on my hips. Convinced I wasn’t a crook, they explained that I’d just passed (probably more than once) a home being robbed!
I remember feeling my legs go limp. My heart began beating wildly as I realized the danger I’d just averted. Suddenly I was so glad to be in the company of these officers, one of whom offered to escort me back to my house after I was unable to provide any more information. That scared me too; I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary, like someone sitting in an idling getaway car on the street. By then I could see more flashing lights, and people coming onto their front yards for a better look -- at me.
I declined the police ride and felt everyone follow me with their eyes as I picked up the pace and hauled ass towards home.
