A couple of weeks ago, I ran across an article in a running magazine on winter running. The general theme of the piece was one of encouraging runners not to give up on their outdoor runs simply because it was the time of year when fall transitions to winter. Rather, the article’s author proposed, embrace the elements. Think about running in dimmer light, under gray skies, or in darkness as an opportunity to commune with the self, to approach the workout differently, to think of it as a part of the ritual of daily life, as part of what makes one a runner and a human, to boot.
The exhortation struck a chord in me. Probably because the diminishing hours of daylight, coupled with chill temperatures, dampening rains, and even snow and ice tend to drive me indoors. I am lucky because I am able to run indoors. The Saratoga Springs YMCA has treadmills and an indoor track. But with that drive toward the indoors comes a slump in motivation. No matter how inventive one can be with workouts on a treadmill that offers a mosaic of television sets as its primary view or on a track where nine laps equals a mile, running indoors is more of a task than a treat. The miles don’t just slip by; they tick by slowly, as if they, like the body, are itching for the outdoors and spring.
A desire to remain running outside has lingered particularly strongly in me this year because I have had such a wonderful spring, summer, and fall of running outdoors. From the time that I began hitting the outdoor streets regularly sometime last March, I have rediscovered running as source of spiritual joy. My body has responded by going faster and longer. I joined a community group run at St. Patrick’s Day, ran two fun runs in early April and won a giant cookie for placing second in my division in one of them. I surprised myself by finishing a four-mile Fourth of July race at a pace below a ten-minute mile and, despite testing positive for Lyme Disease in mid-September, I completed an early October marathon in a time that was my fastest in twelve years.
After recovering from the marathon, I have wanted to keep going. And, I have kept going, mapping out fun runs through the holiday and setting goals for 2016.
All of this, though, seems to rest on staying outside.
Last night, I got home at 5 p.m. The rain was falling fairly heavily and the skies were dark.
“I’m going for a run,” I announced to my husband.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” he said.
The smell of pork ribs which had been slow cooking all day and a rather severe sinus infection deterred me. Tonight, however, I was determined.
“I’ll be back by 6-6:15 p.m.,” I reported to my husband in a text message, adding, “I have my phone. The ringer is on.”
It was a little after 5 p.m. when I left. It was a bit warmer — in the low 40s — but dark, foggy, and drizzly. I took a right turn out of my driveway, unsure of which route or how far I would go, and began running up the gentle incline of our road. The light tough of my shoes striking the pavement and the relaxed feel of my legs, hips and back led me to sense that this would be a good run. And, then, within minutes I found myself caught in a tangle of dog leashes, fur and two excited but friendly dogs, pawing me and trying to lick my face as I scrambled to help their owner retrieve the leashes.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “they’re out of control.”
“It’s okay,” I replied. “They’re just being dogs. But you be careful walking them. It’s pretty dark out here.”
The darkness disturbed me slightly for the first mile. I realized that a wristband that included a flashing safety light was barely visible to oncoming traffic and wasn’t giving me enough light to see either. I also realized that the fog settling in over the valleys in our rural neighborhood was going to make seeing ahead a challenge. Nevertheless, my body — like the excited dogs — was itching to run. So I moved forward in a cautious but relaxed pace. As I settled into the run, I realized that homes decorated with holiday lights and the white lines on roads that demarcated the shoulders were proving to be good friends. As long as I followed them, I had enough light. I began to understand holiday spirit — in terms of decorating one’s home with lights — in an entirely new context.
On the first uphill, I slowed to a walk and flipped on the tiny flashlight in my smart phone. I followed one of my usual 4.5 mile routes and decided at one point to tack on another half-mile to create an even five miler. I got home wet but not chilled, relaxed and refreshed, and fully invigorated. The run grounded me in a feeling of familiarity with my neighborhood and my environs, and had — as the running magazine proposed — revealed the “inner runner” in me. I will try and do a large number of runs in the coming weeks of winter outdoors and in daylight for as long as I can. But I no longer feel as if darkness needs to be a deterrent.
Moving Your Body 