The majority of my runs from my home take place between 4:30 PM and 6:30 PM. Which is fine. I think my body is able to work at its peak during those hours. There is usually ample daylight, but also there is usually the most traffic. But this entry is supposed to be about a couple of runs that I did this week that reminded me of the beauty and serenity of early morning and late night runs.
On Wednesday night, I didn't get out until 9:30 PM because of obligations at home. There had been a light thunder storm in the early evening. The storm cleared out the heat of the day an left the pavement a bit damp. The air still had a lot of moisture in it, and it became that kind of atmosphere where it seems like you can hear little things clearly and sharply - like somebody sneezing inside the house down the street; like a phone ringing on the next block; like a dog barking across town. There were few cars, few stars, and the streetlights carried their light a greater distance from refraction in the moist air and reflection off the damp surfaces. This was a most enjoyable 5 miles. It reminded me of a poem I wrote in 1978, but I can't find a digital copy of it on this computer. I found this, though, with a similar sentiment, and I could have been reminded of it had I remembered writing it in 1993.
The next morning, Thursday, I did a run at 6:15-7 AM. It was barefoot through the wet dew in Greenbrook park. I wrote about it yesterday. It was a very enjoyable run, done at a time that I have been known to say that I hate running. But it set up a day for me during which I felt more awake and productive than usual. It is like when I used to ride my bike to work in my triathlon days, before kids. People used to actually get upset that I was so awake and happy in the morning. I think I will continue these morning runs, if I can get up for them, every-other day perhaps. Even though I layed out my shorts and shirt for a run this morning, when the alarm went off at 6:00 AM, I felt the need to just roll over and sleep until 7:15.