Night Thoughts

I am running in the night.  I like running in the night.  There is something about running in the night that makes me feel alive.  Really alive.  I live for nights like this.  The night air is very refreshing.  The sky is clear and the moon is big and full.  It is a relatively quiet night.  Of course, there is still the occasional honking of car horns, wailing of sirens, and screamings of madmen.  These are inevitable sounds one is bound to hear year-round in Madtown.  On this night, however, the screams don’t seem to be quite as loud or as frequent as they usually are.  

It is a chilly night, but not too cold.  Actually, it is fairly mild considering it’s February.  There is a slight breeze in the air which makes it feel colder than what it really is.  I probably should've worn my good deerskin gloves, the ones my mother gave me for Christmas.  All I’ve got on my hands are my white felt gardening gloves—the same type of gloves that Bill Rodgers wears.  Sometimes I like to envision myself as Bill Rodgers when I run, cruising along at five minute pace, twenty miles into a run, breathing easy and feeling strong.  I am breathing easy and feeling pretty good right now.  Except my hands are just a little cold.

I look at my watch.  It is quarter after two.  I am thinking about the way the world is turning.  Sometimes I wish it would stop.  Maybe not stop completely, but at least just slow down a little.  Give me some time to catch up.  I think it was Bob Dylan who said, “Time is a jet plane, it moves too fast”  Time certainly does move too fast.  Now I have that tune stuck in my head.  

I turn a corner and head down a narrow alleyway.  This alleyway is dark and sort of creepy.  An old tomcat darts in front of me.  I ease up on the pace a bit and call out to him, “Here kitty kitty kitty, here kitty kitty.”  He doesn’t pay attention to me.  

Not far up ahead, I notice a tall, shady looking man wearing a trench coat.  He is walking towards me, on the other side of the street.  There is a cigarette dangling between his lips and a bottle of Jack clutched in his right hand.  “Good morning!” I say to him in my friendliest voice.  He looks at me, looks away, looks back, and tells me to bug off.  I keep running slowly.

Something shiny catches my eye, under the glow of a streetlight.  A quarter.  I stop and bend over to pick it up.  Nope, only a washer.  Darn it!  I stick my hands into the pockets of my running jacket.  They are empty.  No quarters.  I must’ve lost all my quarters in the washer down at the laundromat last Monday.

About a hundred yards ahead of me is another streetlight.  I kick into high-gear till I reach it, then I slow down and run easy again.  Every hundred yards or so, are these streetlights.  I decide to throw in striders between every other light.  Fast, slow, fast, slow, fast, slow.  I continue this fartlek for a couple miles, until the road with the streetlights comes to an end.  A few blocks south of here is a nice, residential neighborhood.  I think I’ll head that way.  

I am running through a maze of residential streets.  Most of the houses’ lights are turned out.  The city is fast asleep and I am wide awake, running quite fast.  A couple blocks in the distance, I can see something pink, glowing in the darkness.  The pink thing is coming towards me.  Could it be?  Yes!  It is another runner.  I am not alone out here.  A girl, wearing one of those neon pink light-up running vests, is also trudging along through the night.  I smile at her and say, “Good morning!”  Unlike that bum in the trench coat I passed by earlier, the girl returns my smile and replies, “Mornin!”  

It is not terribly uncommon to see other runners in the middle of the night, here in Madison.  This is very different from Marshfield, WI, a smaller town in the middle of the state, where I grew up.  Nobody in the Dirty Marsh ever runs in the night, or in thunderstorms, or days when the temperature drops to fifteen below zero.  Only in Madtown, will you find people crazy enough to run at any time of day or night and in any weather conditions.

I look at my watch.  It is 3:05 am.  I have been running for a little over an hour now.  My hands are really starting to get cold.  I ought to start heading home.  Yes, I am going to go home and have myself a cup of hot chocolate.  Maybe I’ll put on some fuzzy warbles.