Running in the dark is scary.

Workout: Friday - 18 mile run; Saturday - Upper body weights & abs

Running in the dark is scary.  I haven't run in the dark in quite some time, but I did on Friday morning when I headed out at 3:30 A.M. for an 18 mile run.

Why so early?  Because I had to go to work that day, and needed to fit in that long run in the morning so I could rest the next day, which happened to be the day before my duathlon.  I can't skip the long run, people--it's the heart and soul of marathon training.

Anyway, back to the dark scariness.

I don't know what those two lines are at the top.  Ghosts, maybe.  OooooWEEEooooo

That was my view as I started out.  It was cool (60 degrees) and there was a slight breeze the entire run.  I was grateful it wasn't windy, especially after the windy winter through which I had trained for my April marathon.  But remember, I run in the country, and the weird glow of small critters' eyeballs in your headlamp is always a freaky site.  Especially when you don't really know to what animal those eyeballs belong.

Besides the freaky night-running animal glowing eyeball thing, the run started as it normally did--with me having to go to the bathroom every 20 minutes.  It was a veritable peepocalypse, let me tell you, in the first hour of that run.  However, I'll have you know that when you start your run in the dark, you can pretty much answer nature's call anywhere you want.  Just sayin'.

The sun gradually began to rise as I ran, and the moisture in the air from the slight fog was sticking to me, soaking my clothes by mile 7.  But it felt good because it was cool, and it was pretty neat-o to gradually watch the sun rise to my right as I ran.

The dirt is where I-90 used to be. 

Country road.

I ran out for about 9 miles.  Those were some slow miles for me, at one point doing almost 13 minute miles (!).  I felt like I was running faster, but apparently my legs were more tired from my almost tempo the day before than I realized.  So I decided to let them run slowly.  After all, long runs are about time on your feet and gaining endurance, not about speed.  Instead of focusing on the speed, I focused on how nice it was to run in the coolness.  And applying Chapstick to areas of imminent chafing (Chapstick works like a dream and is much more portable.  I'll never buy Body Glide ever again).   And thanking myself for bringing toilet paper in a ziplock bag along for the run.

That is, I ran slowly until the turn-around.  And then my legs began to speed up.  I was powerless to stop them.  My legs are trained for the negative split during training runs, apparently.  I just wish that would happen in an actual race for once.  Below are some of the sights on the way back (sights that were too dark to see on the way out).

Sun rising over the corn.  With fog.

"Hey Bertha, what the hell is that thing running by?"  "I don't know, Diane, but it looks crazy.  Don't go near it."

My legs were freaking tired by mile 15.  My quads were screaming and my IT bands were whining.  My right ankle was gibbering crazily.  But they just kept going faster and faster...I think the speed results from a subconscious desire to make the pain end as soon as possible.  My 18th and last mile was a 9:42, close to what my targeted marathon goal pace is.  I was happy to stop running and start stretching, and the morning was still cool and gorgeous to do that outside.

I look like Ronald McDonald in shadow.

While it sucked getting up at 2:30 A.M. to be out the door by 3:30 A.M., it was worth it for a few reasons:

• Like I said before, the world is your bathroom when it's dark outside.  As long as no one is sitting in their house with night-vision goggles on and the police on speed-dial.
• Scary darkness = no sun = no heat.  But it also = scary glowing unknown animal eyeballs.
• No one has their dogs running loose at 4 A.M.  Although coyotes have been known to run about around here....
• You can wear a hydration backpack without anyone giving you strange looks as you run by.
• While you have to start with a headlamp, you can take it off when the sun starts to rise.  Just have someplace to stash it (another reason I love my backpack).
• It's really really quiet.  It was just me and the sloshing of the water in my backpack running along.  And the occasional screeching hawk swooping in for the kill. (Or was that the kill that was screaming?)
• You get your run done for the day.  Then all you have to worry about is staying awake while you're trying to work the rest of the day.

I would definitely do this again.  In fact, I'll pretty much have to until it turns into full-blown autumn.  Better get used to those scary glowing eyeballs staring back at me, huh?