on night running

this whole waiting thing sure isn't fun. these are days where no plans can be made or they could be broken just as quickly. my wife continues to ebb and flow in her contractions. at one moment they hover in the eight to ten minute and then just as quickly as they came, they are gone again.

yesterday morning as i was preparing to run six miles, she came out of the bedroom and said that i better not go. this could be the time. i thought this was great. i cannot wait until this new little one is born into the world. i am ecstatic, so excited. so i stuck around. but no baby.

so after a day full of message prep, working on new song, dressing up as lord maestro alfonso cabellero the third, and teaching a message for the high school group, watching the season premier of so you think you can dance, i finally laced up my running shoes. it was ten at night.

night running is a different creature than morning running. and both of these stand in stark contrast to afternoon running. each has their own unique qualities, their foibles, their strengths and weaknesses.

night running feels most of the time like you are in a dream. sensations, questions, is this really happening? am i really running? is this really me? darkness, quietness, stillness, surrounds you broken up by feet pounding on cement, the beating of your heart, your breathing, making it seem like you don't fit in this world.

the glare of your watch shines in your eye. a large bulbous blue green mass blocks your left eye. slowly over the course of a couple miles, he shrinks and finally disappears.

you try and find a road that is a perfect balance between busy and empty. too busy and the freaks which cruise the night time streets yell at you, mock you, pull u-turns to repeat it all over again. too empty and the streets are darker, sinister, more dangerous. the occasional car will speed close to the narrow shoulder.

your shadow continues to appear and disappear as you run from streetlight to streetlight. it stretches out long before you. longer and longer. stretching your neck and arms, distorting your body like so many fun house mirrors until finally it is swallowed up in the darkness.

you are carrying the entire day on your shoulders. all that you have eaten. all of the stress accumulated. your legs are tired. your body cries for bed.

night time runner, i salute you, though i never want to become you. only out of necessity. like last night. and many more nights in the future as we adjust to a new baby.