I’d been waiting all day. And it’s school holidays, so a day can be a very long thing indeed. All I needed was one short hour, and yet, it was hard to find. I didn’t want to miss the trip to Waves that my husband had suggested (the local swimming pool), because such trips will be the things of memories in a few years. Even though it was frigid cold and the last thing I wanted to do was strip off any of the four layers of wool I had on and get into a swimming pool. So I tricked myself (yet again). I got changed in our super-heated laundry room/drying room, and double-tricked myself by packing my running gear to change straight into after the pool. We set out at 2:30 pm, and I was doing the calculations in my mind, okay, if I’m out running by 4 that will be just enough daylight to squeeze in my hour…I can do that…
At the pool, it struck me again how much the kids have grown, how waves in the wave pool that used to be terrifying, now seemed calm and easy to manage. Both my kids have had swimming lessons for years, and my son in now in swim squad. They can bob in the water without danger, and my daughter has the knowledge to be afraid of the appropriate things. I was glad I’d gone. My husband played with our son in the deep water, and I shared time with my daughter, laughing in the shallows, hopping in the waves.
The car ride home was ugly though, with tired children and spitting and nasty words directed my way. Like most moms, I become the target when things go awry. I held it together, as I’ve done many, many times. But it is tiring. And it hurt. Despondency crept in and sat with me in the front seat. I stared out the window and noted it was already growing dark. The clock on the dashboard read 4:43.
Yet I was determined. And a little bit angry at the way things had turned out. We got home, and I bolted from the car, raced in the door, changed to my running shoes, got my cap, and found the head torch I’d bought for the North Face 50 but never had cause to use. I tested it; it still worked. It was 4:45 and with an hour’s run, it would be well dark on my trail on my return. But I was upset and frustrated, so I went anyway.
Oh, the freedom. Even though I’d run 18k in the Dandenongs the day before, my legs felt fresh and bouncy. It was meant to be an easy run, but I was wound up and didn’t feel like going easy. I pushed the pace, in pursuit of a calmer self, and also conscious of the orange sun setting over my shoulder. If I made it out fast, it might not be totally dark on the way back.
The kilometers flew by, my stride was short and strong. I was alert to tree roots and rocks but I knew the placement of most of them on this, my usual trail, so I could still run fast. I switched on my head torch early, thinking it would lull me a bit as the darkness increased, that it might not seem so scary as sudden darkness. At the halfway mark, up on the cliffs on Red Bluff, I stopped for only a moment to stare at the horizon, then sprinted back down the way I’d come, taking care on the steep set of stairs.
By this time, dusk had gathered and I had five kilometers between me and home, along a narrow, wooded trail. I felt strangely unafraid; somehow my headlamp reassured me. It lit up the trail well in front of me, and I thought any bad guys would be simply blinded by the light, and that would give me time to get away. I also figured I would make an unappealing target, moving fast, and with assurance. And I just loved the freedom of being out there.
Night came quickly, and I noticed how my feet became more sensitive to the earth, feeling their way on undulations and rocks. I felt more stable than I’d expected. Running in the dark on a trail felt glorious, I discovered, similar to running in the fog on Mount Dandenong. I had a sense of being cocooned somehow, and safe. A woman ran by in the other direction, and commented that my head torch was a great idea, and I smiled and thanked her. I agreed.
Though the run was meant to be easy, I made it back in 57 minutes, one of my faster efforts on that particular trail. I’m not sure whether it was emotion or fitness or fear that enabled my feet to fly a bit more than usual.
Returning home, all the gunk that had built up over the long, long day had suddenly disappeared. I was calm and content, and I wasn’t up for a fight with anyone at all.
Running in the dark had somehow brought me back out into the light.