Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about trail-running at night.People used to fear almost everything about the hours after sunset. It was “not a place for respectable men, and especially not respectable women, to ever be, ” according to U of I historian Craig Koslofsky. But by 1700, as lighting technology evolved, “night was now seen as an opportunity.” From a trail-running perspective, as headlamp technology has evolved, night is an opportunity for respectable runners to experience the trail in an almost magical way.
Most people try to find well-lit areas to run in at night, for very good reasons, including the obvious: It’s less risky to run when you can see where you’re going. Seeking out dark trails on purpose is done for other reasons: It’s an interesting challenge. Having less psychological distance from the stars helps you feel connected with the universe. It’s a hoot!
As a runner, how better to embrace the night than to run in it? Some nights might have a moon, and it’s a heavenly experience to run by moonlight. A full moon presents itself every month, and many local trail runners take to the Buffalo Trace trail at Lake of the Woods to partake in a Moon Run. There are several variations to the Moon Run. If the full moon falls on a Tuesday, there may be a Burrito Loco run. This entails the Fun Run at Meadowbrook, followed by a Burrito Loco at El Toro on South Neil, followed by running the 5-mile Buffalo Trace loop. (There is a beer variant to this one as well.) Another variation is the Moonathon, which happens if the full moon falls on a Thursday. Moonathon rules are simple: The runner who logs the most miles between 6 and 10 pm wins the traveling trophy (a beautiful sculpture). The Buffalo trail is practically a grass sidewalk, but if you don’t know the course, it is possible to get lost. Also, in fall, care must be taken to avoid peril by fallen walnuts or hedge apples. The trail is run in the opposite direction than usual (usual is counter-clockwise). The trail is not run in reverse solely to be confusing. It’s just that going the usual way, you hit the woods first and field last. Run the opposite way, the woods are more illuminated the higher the moon. To some, wearing a headlamp or carrying a flashlight, is cheating. (It was more fun, too, before the park eliminated the stream crossings and replaced them by gravel minefields.)
Another popular place for night-running is the North Woods trail at Clinton Lake, a ten-mile loop. On August 19, about 20 of us showed up to celebrate/mourn the end of summer. Some were first-time night-runners, many were first-time-Clinton night-runners. I’ll describe this run as an example of what you can expect when you do a night trail run.
First, everyone gathers at the starting point and trades notes on gear, mostly headlamps. What kind do you have? (I have a Petzl Tikka.) Do you wear it over the bill of your hat, or under? (I don’t wear a hat with a headlamp, never tied it. Cindy Ginsberg wears hers on her handheld water bottle.) Are we crazy? (Yes, I said to the guy in the truck—the last of the fishermen to leave the parking lot.) And then you take off.
At first, it’s no different than any other run, but once you enter the woods and plunge into low light, your pace slows way down. (Tip: If you have any doubt at all about your headlamp batteries, bring extra. Otherwise, you will drive yourself batty with angst.)
One of the first things you’ll notice is that it’s nice to be right behind someone. You can light-draft off their headlamp, copy their footfalls, and have a warning if there’s anything to trip on. “Ooof! Root.” “Whoa, slippery bridge.” What’s not so nice is that if it’s dry, you can see the dust blown up by their footsteps—the dust that you are inhaling—because that little cloud of Brownian motion is illuminated by your headlamp. Sometimes the trail looks like someone sprinkled chalk on it. I guess you don’t notice it in the daylight, but I think it’s just what clay powder looks like in a headlamp.
In my case, it’s not long before I’m alone. This time, I had a group in front of me and behind. The Clinton trail is hilly and windy (as in winds around), so there are chances to see both groups when the trail jackknifes. Tiny bobbing beams, like little spaceships containing friendly aliens. (Tip: If you are truly alone out there, make sure someone knows where you’re going and when you’ll be back. Remember Aron Ralston.)
As evening turns into night, you’ll feel pockets of warm and cool air as you dip in and out of depressions along the trail. You’ll hear different sounds rise and fade as you pass certain areas. Wee-ah wee-ah wee-ah cicadas give way to chirping crickets, the trills of frogs and drones of bullfrogs herald watery areas. Owls talk to each other in otherworldly hoots, gliding on soundless wings. (Tip: Don’t bring an iPod.)
Alone, you will soon grow used to your moving circle of light, and your focus will concentrate as you travel inside your cocoon. Your senses will be heightened. You may notice a dark outline below your eyes, as if your cheeks lead down into a black hole. It’s a sensation hard to describe, but you swear you have glasses on when you don’t—that the blackness is the lower rim of your glasses. You reach up to adjust the phantom glasses only to touch your eye directly. It’s unsettling, too, when you attempt to make this adjustment several times during the course of your run, even if you have never run with glasses on before.
It’s Clinton, so for me, this always involves some walking. It’s during the walking parts that you can turn your headlamp off the ground to look around you. It’s so cool to see the eye-shine of spiders, whose eyes glow like little stars the size of pinpricks, which are everywhere in places, reflecting your headlamp. You may come across the proverbial deer in the headlights, only the headlight is you. That their eyes seem to glow is caused by the light-reflecting surface behind the retina, which helps animals see better in the dark. If you stop running altogether, turn your headlamp off to see what your setting is really like. Melt into the night scene for a moment.
In spite of your headlamp, you can’t quite see enough to anticipate the physical sensation of the ups and downs of the trail. Surprises abound, even if that part of the trail is devoid of roots and rocks. This is another reason to keep the pace slow, especially on an unfamiliar trail. Another thing you can’t quite see is where the heck you are. Sometimes the familiar landmarks—the rickety bridge, the tree with the tin can in it, the trashed appliances—are out of light-beam reach. This actually works in my favor. If I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how much more I have to run. If I don’t know a hill is coming up, I won’t dread it. If I don’t know where the steep ascent ends, I get that heroic feeling when it’s over before I know it. Plus, there’s the exciting sensation of being on an entirely new trail, even if you’ve run it many times in daylight.
From a critter standpoint, it’s nice to run at night in the Midwest. No mountain lions, moose, wolves, bears, oh my! For thousands of years, though, Christians identified night as a time of evil, natural and supernatural, full of the devil, ghosts, and witches. It’s hard to shake this notion. You are on high alert. So I about jumped out of my skin when a rather large, tan animal bounded past me from behind and cut in front of my path. What was that!? It turned out to be Cayenne, Ken Welle’s dog. Ken had gotten off to a late start and was catching up to the front group. When the adrenaline rush subsided, I laughed.
When the run was finished, we gathered in the parking lot for well-deserved calories, liquid and solid. We talked about how neat it was to have just done such a thing, and we just enjoyed hanging out. (Tip: when you talk with a fellow runner during a night run, do not blind them with your headlamp. Some folks sport fancy headlamps with a red-light setting for this and, according to Elliot Brinkman, for sneaking around in areas you shouldn’t be.)
Yeah, you can trip in the dark, but I would argue that you can trip in the day, too. It’s all a matter of focus. During the day, an interesting bird or view of the lake may take your eyes off the trail at the wrong moment. At night, your eyes are almost always on the ground in front of you. Because you can’t see very far ahead, your brain has to process visual feedback more quickly. You are more in the moment on a nighttime trail run. (Tip: If you are older, expect your eyes to react more slowly to adjustments in light.)
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete