It was just after 10pm when I finished throwing on my running clothes. My legs were tired, my body was tired, and after a full week of teaching and coaching, I was ready for sleep. Nonetheless, I must run. Searching through my bag, I quickly realize I forgot my running headlamp at home. No big deal, I reason to myself, I've run these gravel roads in the dark without a light before! Having no GPS watch either, I tie up my Brooks and head out the door. With no wind and an overcast sky, it is quiet and quite dark.
I start jogging, unable to see the road or anything that it might contain. There are some folks at camp this weekend, and I immediately worry about hitting one of their vehicles in the parking lot, so I swing as wide as I think I need, and turn to continue down the road. I'm nervous. I go past a staff housing unit, with a yard light, and for a few moments, all is well. Then, I'm thrust back into the darkness. I can barely make out the outline of the gravel road, noticing the line between the gravel and the grass ditch. I quickly become terrified. What if an animal jumped out at me? I couldn't even see if it was there!
I stopped briefly to think. I used to run in the dark all the time- what changed? Well, I suppose living in a town where in the past there has been supposed mountain lion sightings has me realizing that I might not be as indestructible as I once thought. So, I quickly run back to the house to grab something to protect myself with. I go into the kitchen and open up the utensils drawer. I pull out a butter knife. Would this be enough to protect me? Nah. I open another drawer and grab a much sharper vegetable-cutting knife. Yes, this will work. I take a short moment to consider the unreasonable-ness of carrying a sharp knife with me while running for 30 minutes, but I conclude it's my only option and head back out the door.
Into the dark.
I start down the parking lot again, carefully monitoring my arm swing so I don't impale myself. I pass the staff house with the light, and plunge back into the absolute darkness. Why couldn't there be a moon or something to at least shine SOME light? I seize up with fear immediately again. Each step forward allows me another chance to picture a predator pouncing at my throat, tearing at my jugular, when I didn't even know it was there in the first place. My pace slows to a timid hop, until my shuffle stops and I listen. Every whistle of grass, every movement of the twigs in the slight breeze is a death sentence of a strong animal running towards me. I hear something and immediately call out "GO!", because I've heard that you are supposed to make noise to deter mountain lions and other predators.
But I am no big cat- nay, I'm a scaredy cat. I turn around and quicken my pace all the way back to the house. I'm angry. I recall a few years ago running this very same gravel road with no light assistance, and having to run in the ditch because a car was coming and I didn't want to die. Why am I so afraid now? Why do I believe mountain lions lie in wait around every dark corner? The most important question though: is this an irrational fear, or was I irrational to no-light run in the dark previously?
I take a moment to do what I always do: think about what people did before the advent of one of our joys today: electricity. Before our lights of today, what did people do? My first thought was that they probably didn't go running around at night, for risk of, you know, being eaten or falling somewhere without the ability to get up and no lifealert available. Heck, maybe it was so dark that they wouldn't even be able to get home. Even though it's completely dark here, there is still a slight glow in the distance from lights.
Of course, it then occurs to me that people had fire, and could carry it around like they do on Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones (right?). I mean, is that reasonable? Would people have torches that they would walk around in the dark with? Was there any other light besides fire? I would suppose not, but what do I know?
I was now faced with a problem that fewer people every year in the US are faced with: what to do with a legitimate darkness that cannot be overcome with simply our eyes. Most people these days live somewhere with street lights, or even if they are out of town, the glow from the city bouncing off the clouds can illuminate the area just fine. Fewer and fewer places remain that are truly dark, even to the point where places that are naturally dark can get special names (check this out). Western North Dakota- outside of the Bakken Oil Field- is one of those areas. On a clear night, I can look up in the sky and see the Milky Way streaking across above my head, with millions of tiny little dots that makes my head spin. Just the other night I was running and saw a magnificent shooting star go across most of the sky, destined for the west. And, like I've said before, there are times when you can go outside and not see your own hand in front of your face. This was one of these nights.
I then remembered that lately at track meets, I'll be running across the track-bound football fields with my phone, (it's my stopwatch ok, I'm a millennial) and suddenly the flashlight will turn on. It must be something to do with a feature. I picked up my phone and shook it left and right. It vibrated, and the incredibly bright flashlight burst on. I shook it left and right again, and this time it vibrated and the light shut off. I had my solution! I would carry my phone in my hand! Naturally, this solution wouldn't work in the winter because phones shouldn't be exposed to below
I confidently strode outside and flicked my phone light on. The path ahead of me illuminated, and I was off. This time I cut through the darkness like a gazelle, my feet bouncing off the gravel, making that distinct scratching sound that only running on dirt and rocks can bring. Then, I encountered my scariest moment of the day: a bright light came flying towards my face. I immediately ducked out of the way, and struggled to breathe as my heart rate rapidly increased.
Alas, it was a moth. Even with a light, I had been scared by a moth. My weakness had now been fully revealed. I was a wimp, plain and simple. Humans have fought darkness for thousands and millions of years, and even with my in-hand lighting technology, I was almost brought to my knees by a tiny, flying light (a moth), that I only saw because my phone light was on. I decided that it was time to suck it up and go. I continued down the road with fervor, occasionally using my phone light to scan my surroundings for eyeballs sticking out of the tall prairie grass, but otherwise keeping it in front of me. I was reminded of a time I went for a 10 mile run at 11:00pm on a Sunday night, with school on Monday morning. Ingrid drove behind me with her vehicle and lights, because she was worried about my safety.
As I clicked off the first mile, I decided to give darkness a try again. After all, I hadn't seen any eyes in the prairie, and even if I did, they would likely belong to a white tail deer. I flicked my phone off, and for a few seconds, all was dark again. I was running, but the only thing I could see was the faint outline of the road where it met the grass. There could have been a brilliantly colored statue of Pope Francis in the middle of the road, and I would've slammed into it. After a few moments, I flicked on the light again and made a pass around me to make sure there were no animals. There were none.
I realized at this point that a few years ago I had come across a bull in the ditch right here. Somehow he had gotten through the fence, and when I came around the corner, he just stood there and looked at me. Naturally, I went and ran in the ditch on the other side and nothing happened, but I imagined if that had been in the dark and I was running without a light. These bulls happen to be black, and any hope to see it would be naught. I started to wonder if maybe it never was a good idea to run in the dark without any light. Forget mountain lions, I could be killed by an angry fugitive that was destined to be burger someday.
Towards the end of my second mile, my phone vibrated and the light shut off. I was instantly scared and flicked my wrist back and forth. With a sigh of relief, I watched the light come back on. I must've moved my arm back into my normal running cadence without realizing, and shut it off. That was a good sign for me, because I was starting to relax and daydream again. One of my favorite things to do when I'm stressed is to go for a run and let my mind wander. Eventually it'll settle on visions of past races, or visions of races to come. Today I was dreaming of the Maah Daah Hey Trail race later this summer, maybe the 10k. I ran the marathon last year, and it killed me (evidence here).
And so the rest of my run I alternated between turning my light on and off to see the dark, but also making sure I was safe. I saw no person, no predator. I allowed my mind to be freed from the fresh stresses of schools- the adults, not the students. And you know what? When I came back into camp, I thought I saw an animal cross the road ahead of me. I was nervous for about a second, but then I realized:
It was a moth.
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