Running in the dark

Sometimes it’s better to just let yourself go

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A few months ago I went for my first postpartum run, even though it required waking up before 5 and getting out the door before sunrise. Not something I would have done pre-baby, but something I found oddly invigorating in my new circumstances.

Besides the fact that my 3 to 3.5-mile jog was one of the only times of day when a tiny human wasn’t on my physical person (which, I’ll be honest, is also wonderful), I enjoyed it because I felt FAST.

In the dark, landmarks were obscured, so it was harder to see how quickly I covered ground. I didn’t notice inclines up ahead and automatically downshift.

I didn’t notice that tree root either

Also nothing has ever spurred me on faster than trying to get home before my baby noticed me missing and woke prematurely, tearing our daily feed/nap schedule asunder.

[Inhales. Exhales. Assumes serious tone.] Another thing that spurred me on was the fact that I was a lone woman outside in the dark. If you run before sunrise or after sunset, maybe go with a buddy, carry mace, and/or tell someone where you’re going and when you expect to be back, etc.

[Resumes breathless, jokey tone.] When I got home to a still sleeping house, it was like I’d time-traveled: the day hadn’t even begun and yet I’d already gone for a run!

Reality sets in

I admit I had no idea if I’d actually run fast. I long ago stopped tracking my pace and aiming for PRs. My main goal with running is to put on a sick mix, get my runner’s high, and have fun.

A subsequent morning I was out there, and my AirPods died. My sick mix died with them, and my fleet-footedness too. Suddenly I could hear my labored breathing and my shoes heavy on the gravel. I was slow!

Sometimes it’s better to be in the dark

I’m normally all for tracking stuff. I’ve mentioned my daily writing tracker. It can be exciting to see your progress toward goals¹.

But get too obsessed, and you can also suck all of the joy out of the process, maybe even turn yourself off from ever doing it again. That’s why I stopped focusing on my running pace years ago. I am not Steve Prefontaine, and the number only gave me something to feel bad about. I prefer to be out on the trail, listening to Prince, relishing the delusion that I am Flo-Jo.

The only PR I care about

Sometimes it’s better to just let yourself go. You can always check in on the numbers later. You might be pleasantly surprised to see how far or how fast you went.

With writing, this probably applies most in the early stages. That’s when I feel like I’m in a sprint to the finish line of a first draft no matter how ugly (forehead vein throbbing, sentences full of TKs and typos) it looks. When I hit that finish line, I can slow down, collect myself, and then go back to review the tape, aka what I’ve written, to see how I might improve.

Wow, I really cashed in on that running metaphor

But this isn’t strictly about running! Or writing. It could totally apply to dating. It should definitely apply to your child’s little league RBI. It can even apply to your self-image—next time you’re nitpicking your appearance, try stepping back from the mirror:

Progress is a function of perspective

The morning when my AirPods failed, I trudged up the hill to my house, feeling like a lumbering galumph. Then I saw my shadow, cast by a streetlight onto a stone wall, and she looked kinda fast? Well, at least she didn’t look like she was lumbering.

Either way, I got back to my house, and the baby was still asleep. I even had a few minutes to brush my teeth.

What is that thing people say? Ah yes, “baby steps”

The baby just hit six months, and now I can take him out in a jogging stroller. This means I don’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn, but the thing is heavy, and I’m wary of listening to music because I don’t want to be distracted while I’m toting precious cargo. All this to say, we are definitely slow. But that’s okay, we’re having fun.

1. Until you realize you’ve queried 200 lit agents to no avail.