It's now Wednesday and I have successfully run for the past four days. Not much to write home about but a victory nonetheless given my inconsistent mileage leading up to this point. As much as I adore running, I've always found it difficult to stay consistent during the week. I've tried running in the morning, running at lunch, and running in the evening. In all cases, there is some factor that discourages my better half from making a consorted effort to force me out the door. In the morning it's the difficulty of waking up. At lunch, it's my pleading stomach, and at night it's the ominous darkness. The latter was especially prevalent this Tuesday.
I got home at about 5:10 and immediately headed out the door. There was still a bit of light on the horizon but I brought my headlamp knowing that the light would soon fade out over the mountains. I decided to do a quick five miles and headed down a familiar route. I ran for most of it with my headlamp off, soaking in the freedom of the darkness and listening to the rush of the nearby stream. Although I was wearing a bright yellow reflective running top, I would quickly turn on my headlamp for approaching cars and turn it off as they passed. It doesn't hurt to be extra safe. By the time I hit mile four, it was difficult to see but I had become accustomed to it. I was truly enjoying being one with the darkness. Soon after, I felt a sudden tug at my ankles. I felt a rush of adrenaline in my body and a chill as I exclaimed loudly (and at quite a high pitch I might add). Could it be a coyote? A bobcat? Perhaps a fabled mountain lion? No, it was but a small black dog who thought it would be funny to surprise me in the night. I laughed to myself as he followed me part of the way home. My headlamp stayed on for the rest of the run.
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