I was asking for trouble as soon as I stepped out the door. It was bound to get dark before I returned from my run, and I was only carrying a small light. I went for it anyway! I mean, how often do you get a 55 degree day in December? It started out normal enough for a run in Walla Walla. A car honked as I ran down the road and I waved at a friend driving by. I reached the Bennington Lake, which had been drained for the winter just as the sun was setting, leaving me in a semi-darkness that would soon deteriorate into mostly-darkness. As I set out onto the trails, I regretted my lack of trail shoes. Slopping through a muddy ditch in my Brook's Adrenaline's was a bit treacherous and left my feet heavy and clunky from the sticky mud. I continued along the edge of wheat fields, winding through the brush and tall grass near the lake, the sun disappeared rather quickly thanks to an ominous clump of black clouds on the horizon.
The darkness woke the place up. I heard coyotes in the distance (or was that my imagination?), and birds and critters rustling in the undergrowth. My pace quickened as the wind began shaking branches and moving tumbleweeds across my path. I noticed a horned owl bobbing on a spindly branch overhanging the adjacent wheat field, waiting for an unsuspecting mouse and paying me no notice. As I turned down a new trail, I kept my fingers crossed that it was the right direction and kept running until I gratefully stepped out onto a road. Despite the darkness, I felt much more comfortable knowing where I was. My comfort dissipated as rapidly as it arrived as the wind gained speed and starting gusting. The trees were creaking and bending it a sort of exaggerated waving gesture, and an eerie sound was emanating from somewhere above and behind me. The noise resembled a jump rope being swung hard enough to make a whistle, but accompanied by a squeaking of metal on metal. I whirled around with surprise, but there was nothing behind me. Several strides later I pinpointed the sound to the power lines over my head, straining and stretching under the force of the wind. As I got closer to a major road with street lights, the power lines and their spectral sound veered off in another direction. I sighed with relief, and mother nature responded with a sudden pelting rain. The wind and the rain combined quickly soaked me, reminding who was in charge (it definitely wasn't me). I still had 3 miles to go, pushing into a headwind and squinting so much that my eyes were barely open. I'm pretty sure all the cars driving by thought I was absolutely insane. I stuck to the sidewalks, assuming that the cars had limited visibility, much as I did. I rolled into my cul-de-sac just as my Mom was driving out, hoping to rescue me from running on the wet, darkened streets.
My hot tea has never tasted so delicious. Humbled once again. It seems like this is a common theme throughout running experiences
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