My first pair of running shoes had three dashes of reflective material stacked vertically on the back of each heel. They were so small, I didn’t see them until they flashed one day in the bright sun. I turned the shoes in my hands and the heels blinked, and I imagined when I was running, they might look like drunken fireflies in the beam of a headlight.
I learned how to don a headlamp and safety gear for night runs in an overnight relay where I ran 8 miles uphill on the narrow shoulder of highway 395 in Temecula at 2am, having been awake since 4am the previous morning. It was one of the weirdest things I’ve ever done.
Night running is my absolute favorite. It’s mostly quiet, mostly cool, and your whole world is your heartbeat, your breath, your headphones, and the tiny patch of ground illuminated in front of you. When you can hardly see anything, you can hear/feel/smell everything.
I’m a tiny little woman, and, naturally, I am as frightened of running at night as I am exhilarated.
I have to say, though, this part really got me. I still don’t wear my Nathan crossing guard vest outside of Ragnar, safety be damned. “A friend once gave me a vest that would make a person visible to passing drivers partly because it was so reflective and partly because it was so ugly.”
We should be friends. These other people are idiots.
— Mary Karr, Cherry (via climbthestacks)