Track 14 - A Voice In The Darkness

I like to run at night.  The evil over imposing sun has gone to bed along with most of the world.  Night's are calm the air is less cluttered and it is easier to disappear into my own thoughts as I fight my ever increasing belly.  Summer nights are my favorite.  I have had evening runs all over the place from the water fronts of St. Petersburg, FL to mountain trails in Montana.  This story begins in Roseville, California.

I headed out for a short run.  Leaving the front doors of the hotel at approximately 9:30 PM.  I had found out that there was a pretty running trail at the bottom of a dried riverbed ravine called Miner's Ravine Trail.  I dropped off the main road and descending down into the ravine.  It was quiet and felt very remote.  I had my headphones in and my glow in the dark yellow running shoes and I was feeling pretty good.  But that was all about to change.  

As I continued on the trail that meandered down the side of the creek bed, my thoughts were interrupted by a voice in my head that said, "turn around."  It was a common occurrence for my imagination to take over in the solitude of a night time run so I ignored it and brushed it off as me just being paranoid and freaking myself out in the secluded little canyon. I trudged on.  No more than five minutes later the voice returned.  This time the steady calm was replaced by a stern commanding one, "turn around now."  Twice?  That was unusual.  My mind raced through the options, ignore it and keep running or do as it said and flip a u-turn.  I decided to reverse directions and turn the 180 degrees and continued the jog heading back from where I came.  That wasn't good enough to satisfy the invisible watchmen whispering in my head, "run faster!" were the next instructions.  I took off to as close to a sprint as I could muster.  Around a few bends, down a small hill and across a bridge I charged.  Once I cleared the bridge the final words were uttered, "you're ok now."  You're ok now.  What was lurking in the darkness ahead on the trail?  I don't know.  I may never know.  The only certainty was I was being warned and I listened.  Sometimes, the best lessons learned are the ones you never had to learn the hard way.