Night Run

Thoughts at twilight

Photo by Terry Richmond on Unsplash

There’s always the worry of cars. Or coyotes. My neighbor swears up and down that he saw one in my yard recently.

And there was the screaming sound I heard last night. I went outside onto my deck, shining a flashlight around my yard, because I thought a child had gotten out of their home. But it wasn’t human screaming. After nervous comparisons on Youtube, I determined it was a fox.

Tonight, everything is quiet. I pull on my exercise clothes, still freshly scented with detergent. And I prepare to run.

I was never allowed to run after sunset when I was a teenager. My parents forbid it. I’d get hit by a car, or worse, kidnapped. Better to slowly die of heart disease, in a hospital bed when people can hold your hand as you go. But you still go, don’t you, in the end?

I still have reservations. I try not to run at night. I seek out the artificial glow of gyms, or the friendliness of morning runs. Mornings are when people walk their dogs. And people who walk their dogs are good people, the kind who won’t kidnap you.

But if I wake up late, and after I attend to work and homework and my fitness app says I still have 15 minutes to go, I lace up my sneakers and head outside at twilight. I decide on one loop around my neighborhood. Anything else, and it’ll be too dark. A…