dark trails

The inevitable happened.  Our meetup time fell after the sun had set.

We went on a dark run, and I realized after driving twenty minutes and digging through the glove box of my car that I had failed to put fresh batteries in my headlamp.

We were headed into some unlit trails in the dark.

Up here in the middle of the Canadian prairies we’re not quite at that never-ending night that they get up at the  arctic circle, but here the days do get awfully short. By the time the solstice rolls around we’re probably going to be lucky to see eight hours of sunlight per day. In fact, thanks to getting rid of daylight savings time this year our share of the sun is not due to rise in December until well after 9am, and then be set and gone again around 5pm.

Unless I start doing exclusively lunch runs, I’m going to need to find some fresh batteries for my headlamp.

Night runs are not a bad thing, of course. They are moody and quiet. The world looks different after dark. Safety and mental alertness becomes more important—watching for cars on the street or stray roots on the trails—and I fully recognize that my gender and size put me into a bit of a privileged place to enjoy these runs for their vibe and not necessarily be so wary of them for their other dangers.

We took our first night run as there was still a bit of lingering sunlight in the west, but within a klick or so we were deep into a dark trail, me holding out the light from my phone to check for tripping hazards, and the group of us little more than bobbing lights ahead and behind, occasionally calling out names to do a running roll call.

It was cool and creepy, just days from Halloween, the snow not yet arrived but the air feeling like it wanted it. And by the time we finished we were exhausted from the focus and shivering from the drop in temperatures.

I cranked the heater in my truck as I drove home, and wondered where I left my spare batteries.