Running in the Dark: Another Cautionary Tale

When you get down to it, you try to avoid two things when running in the dark: Falling down and getting hit by a car. (Yes, you try to avoid these things running in sunlight, too, but darkness magnifies the difficulty of the tasks.)

Earlier this winter, I offered a cautionary tale about what can happen on even your most familiar running routes. I let my guard down for a second, and I fell down.

Getting hit by a car also happens when you, or the driver of the car, let your guard down for a second. Obviously, you should pay attention at every intersection and street crossing, erring on the side of caution. Most people are lousy drivers, after all.

Now, you can't control how other people will drive, but you can control how you appear to them. One way to make sure drivers see you is to dress like this:

I hit most of the colors of the rainbow here: Red shoes, blue hat, green shirt, yellow vest, black tights and pasty white skin. And this doesn't even include my headlamp, which I put on after snapping this pic when I realized how dark it was outside.

Do I have any evidence that, had I dressed otherwise, a car would have hit me? No. But I imagine I was pretty hard to miss.

Running in the Dark: A Cautionary Tale

In the tips for running in the dark I recently provided, I suggested that, for me, the purpose of the head lamp is less to light your way and more to alert oncoming cars, bicyclists and pedestrians that you are coming. Given this philosophy, I make sure my nighttime runs occur on well-lit roads with which I am very familiar. I know where to find the cracks in the sideways, the hidden driveways and the high curbs. (I’d say “sudden turns,” but I also avoid those on nighttime runs, for obvious reasons.) 

This has served me well in my years in suburbia. I’ve probably finished more than 100 runs in the dark without incident. (Sure, I’ve run through my fair share of puddles, but, really, what’s the fun in avoiding puddles?)

My streak ended on Monday. 

Now, don’t freak out. I’m fine. ‘Tis but a scratch. 

The point is this: I have no idea why I fell. I’m pretty sure I just lost my balance -- I actually made it two steps before I hit the ground, which I’m sure looked hilarious -- but it was after 6 p.m. and my headlamp was pointed straight ahead, not at the ground. 

This happened on an out-and-back route I’ve done dozens of times. It’s great for running at night; there’s only one turn and one street crossing, the turnaround is in a parking lot, and I’m always on a sidewalk with a curb and a shoulder. And I still fell.

I’m sharing this story not because I want sympathy -- had I really been hurt, I wouldn’t have snapped a picture -- but because it serves as a cautionary tale. No matter how well you prepare yourself for a run, accidents happen. Take them in stride, brush (or rinse) yourself off, count your blessings and move on.

Oh, and be careful the next time you approach that mystical spot that, for no apparent reason, made you fall.

Running in the Cold: Hey, You, Cover Up!

A while back I wrote a post about running in the dark and promised to follow it up with one about running in the cold. Now seems like the good time, what with the Polar Vortex threatening to envelop us all and derail our spring marathon training plans.

Above all, don't be a hero. If it's really freaking cold, just stay inside. You can always run another day. (How cold "really freaking cold" happens to be is going to be a matter of opinion, geography, mental stability and what your spouse/partner tells you. For me, it's somewhere around 0 degrees Fahrenheit.)

Cover your head. Nothing frustrates me more than seeing people (runners or otherwise) out and about on cold days without a hat. I pretty mush wear one whenever the temperature dips below 50 degrees -- I have big ears, plus I get cold very easily -- and I tell myself that's a big part of the reason I typically make it through the winter without getting sick. It's worth investing in a good hat that will keep you warm without trapping so much heat that you need to doff the hat because it's wet, sweaty and gross.

Cover your hands, too. This goes without saying, really. If it's really cold, go with two pairs of gloves. Most of the time, I wear cheap grocery store bargain bin gloves -- that way, I don't feel guilty when I rub snot on them -- but when it gets below 20 degrees I need to break out the big guns.


Try not to overdress on your long runs. You're gonna start sweating as you run, and then your sweat will freeze, and then you'll get cold. The conventional wisdom says to dress for a temperature that are 15 to 20 degrees warmer than it actually is. If it's 30 degrees, for example, dress as though it's 50. Yes, you'll be cold for the first mile or so, but that will change quickly. Don't forget about win,d too.

On your short runs, though, who cares? If you're not going to be outside for more than, say, 45 minutes, you're probably OK overdressing a bit -- especially if that extra layer is the difference between making it out the door and staying on the couch.

Generally speaking, for shorter runs, I generally wear two layers if it's in the 40s and 30s, three layers if it's in the 20s and teens, and four layers if it's in single digits. (Again, I get cold easily.) The layer closest to my chest is a moisture wicking one, but after that I'm not afraid to wear cotton. (I know this is uncouth, but I have a soft spot in my heart for cotton hoodies.) For long runs, I play it a bit differently and also stick to wicking shirts, since I sweat a lot more.

Stay thirsty, my friends. You still need to hydrate. It's definitely tougher -- on one long run a couple years ago, the water inside the bottle I was carrying up and froze on me -- but it needs to be done. Bonus: If it's cold out, there's probably also snow, and if it's clean, you can eat it! Score!

Pace yourself. Don't make your first cold-weather run a 20-miler at marathon pace. It's been a while since you first ran in the cold. Overdress a bit, run around the neighborhood and remember what it's like before you start doing serious workouts in the cold.

Maintain perspective. If you're training for the Hyannis Marathon, the Lake Effect Half Marathon or even a St. Patrick's Day 5K, then yes, you'll need to stop making excuses and start running in the cold. If your target race is somewhere warm, or in the spring, then you don't really need to acclimate to below-freezing temperatures. My marathon is in May, so while I know I have cold weather runs in my future, I also won't feel too guilty about rescheduling key workouts to days when the conditions are better.

I'll still feel guilty, of course, because running in the cold makes you tough, and I like to think that I am tough.

No Run Is Worth an Ambulance Ride, Winter Edition

A few months ago, in the midst of a heat wave, I said that no run is worth an ambulance ride. Dial it back when the mercury rises, I said, and don’t push yourself too hard. As I watch snow fall for the second time in four days, I’m reminded of this principle again.

I went to bed last night with every intention of running in the morning, only to wake up at 7 a.m. to a temperature of 0 degrees. “Not worth it,” I said, hitting snooze and rolling over. But, of course, I regretted my decision and contemplated an afternoon run in the falling snow. “It’ll make me feel like a kid again!” I told myself, daydreaming as I stared at my monitor.

Then I remembered my advice, which I also relayed to an acquaintance feeling similar frustration with winter weather. The cold’s actually the least of your problems -- the ice, the road conditions, the wetness and the lack of visibility are far bigger issues. Give the plows, the emergency personnel and the folks who absolutely need to be on the road their space. It’s not worth the risk. You can always run another day.

If you’re feeling stir crazy, as I was this afternoon, you can always do some squats, lunges and core work. Oh, and there’s shoveling. Always shoveling.

Running in the Dark: Be Bright (See What I Did There?)

The onset of winter presents two challenges to runners: Running in the cold and running in the dark. I’d planned on addressing the cold first, but then the cold snap that hit New England departed with little fanfare, and I thought it might be odd to write about cold weather running when I’m hitting the road while wearing shorts. So darkness it is. 

As I’ve noted before, I’m not a morning runner, so my “darkness running” occurs in the evening. That said, these tips apply to morning or evening runs, both of which are likely going to be in the dark until March. (Running at night is significantly easier than gardening at night, that's for sure.)

Be bright. Wear a headlamp and a vest. Little blinking lights are optional. (Where I live, there are enough streetlights that it's not pitch black, so I don't need them.) The more ridiculous you look, the better. That way, drivers can actually see you.

Stick to a well-known route. The routes I run in the dark are routes I've done dozens of times -- so much so that I know where to find the cracks in the sidewalk. This serves a dual purpose: You're not gonna get lost in the dark, and you're not gonna get hurt. (The headlamp shouldn't necessarily light your way -- it's more for oncoming traffic.)

Be safe. Run with a buddy. Avoid dodgy areas. Stick to well-lit roads. Cross the street when a) there are no cars coming and b) you are under a streetlight, in case a car manages to come out of nowhere.

Don't go crazy. Most of my nighttime runs aren't insane workouts. I save my long runs for daytime, for example, as well as my long tempo runs. But I'll do a short tempo run or fartlek workout in the dark, since there's much less chance of bonking.

Fuel appropriately. If you're running at a time when you usually eat dinner, you're obviously going to be hungry. Have a carb- and protein-rich snack an hour and a half or so before your run so you don't spend the duration of the workout listening to your stomach growl like an angry dog.

Tell folks where you're going. Let your spouse, roommates, parents or close friends know how long you're going to be gone and where, roughly, you plan to go. Granted, you should do this all the time, but your loved ones are going to worry about you more when you run in the dark, no matter how garishly bright your gear.

Running in the dark doesn't have to be difficult -- or, for that matter, different. A little bit of advanced preparation and scheduling will go a long ay.

Autumn Running Is Awesome, So Make the Most of It

It's mid-October, which means New England is enjoying autumn: The pumpkin-flavored everything, the postseason baseball and the near-perfect running weather. It's chilly in the morning and evening, but you can still get away with wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and warm and sunny in the afternoon.

Autumn is my favorite season for running. Honestly, it's not even close. That awesome weather brings welcome relief after suffering through the summer. (Yes, other parts of the country are warmer, and more humid, but those parts of the country aren't full of people too stubborn to accept that sometimes it's just too damn hot to be outside.) The foliage makes for stunning scenery, too.

Autumn , it should be noted, differs from spring. Yes, spring starts cold and gets warmer, but the threat of a freak snowstorm looms over us until mid-April. (My mother tells a story of snow interrupting my brother's birthday party one May in the 70s.) The eventually melting snow begets mud, too, which is more widespread than you'd imagine because of all the sand used to keep roads and sidewalks free of snow. And New England spring realistically only lasts a few weeks; by Memorial Day, summer has arrived. (I've previously described why I dislike summer running, so I won't rehash it here.)

Autumn, on the other hand, provides a slow, gradual progression toward winter. This makes it easy to get acclimated to dropping temperatures -- first by enjoying them and then by dressing for them.

Here are a few ways to make the most of your autumn runs.

Especially if you're new to running, you can use the fall to see how your body reacts to cold temperatures. Try different layers, different hats and gloves, and different pants, and remember that, uncomfortable though it may be, you should be a little cold when your run starts.

Sign up for some races. October and early November are increasingly popular marathon dates, but the later weeks of November and December are filled with shorter race options. These races will serve several purposes: They'll give you goals to focus on, they'll keep you active as the holiday season commences, and, crucially, they'll lay the foundation for running through the winter.

If your races are in fact shorter, use the opportunity to cross train. Hit the bike, the gym, the indoor pool or the backyard. This will work different muscle groups, which in the long run will improve your running, and it will make things a bit more interesting. (You can even count yardwork as cross-training, provided your yard is big enough.)

Try to work out at different times. Because autumn weather is so cooperative, you can run at any time of day without fear of overheating at lunch or freezing in the morning or at night. Daylight Savings Time brings an earlier sunrise, too, so it's not quite as hard to drag yourself out of bed. Darkness does come earlier, yes, but the crisp fall air makes up for it. This also gives you a chance to see how well you acclimate to wearing a headlamp, vest and other reflective gear -- all of which are essential for safe nighttime running.

So there you have it. Get out there and enjoy the fall weather before winter comes -- though, as I will write in a couple months, winter running has its own advantages, too.

(Note: If you live in the Southern Hemisphere, please bookmark this and read it in six months.)

Sometimes, You Gotta Let the D-Bag Drivers Win

I made the mistake of running during Monday morning rush hour this week. In a span of 20 minutes, distracted drivers narrowly avoided hitting me five separate times. (A sixth such driver was shaving at a red light. Luckily, he was on the other side of the street.) 

One driver readily admitted, after I yelled “Pay attention!” at his open window, that he didn’t see me. Another was too busy munching on a breakfast bar to acknowledge that he didn’t see me and probably still hasn’t seen me, a day and a half later. The others were making right turns and neglected to look for pedestrians in the crosswalk before inching forward. 

At first, I was mad as hell. I’m still mad, mind you, but I’ve come to a Zen sort of conclusion. (It won’t sound Zen at first, but trust me.) 

People are douchebags. People are also morons. Yelling at them while they are driving and not respecting your right to share the road with them isn’t going to suddenly turn them into MIT-bound saints. It’ll probably just piss them off -- or, if they really are morons, confuse them. 

Instead, do what I did in the remaining few miles of my run this week: Pause. Make sure the driver sees you. If he or she lets you go, give ‘em a friendly wave. If not, put your head down, curse to yourself (not to them) and use the adrenaline burst to make up the whole five seconds of time you have lost. 

By waiting for cars, even when we’re on crosswalks, are we letting the douchebags win? I suppose. But are battle scars from a fight on the side of the road or, worse, months in a wheelchair after a car accident really worth proving a point? Runners, by their very nature, are stubborn people -- but we also all have partners, spouses, pets, children, jobs and friends to come home to. 

Earlier this summer, I said no run is worth a trip to the hospital. The context then was running in the heat and humidity. The context now is different, but the message is the same. Sometimes, even when you’re right, it’s not worth fighting -- especially if it’s a fight you’re pretty much guaranteed to lose.

Why I Never Run With Headphones

Every year, my hometown hosts a 2-mile race on the Fourth of July. It’s a great way to kick off the day’s festivities, which also include a parade and a bunch of booths on the Town Common sponsored by local organizations and offering games, the work of local arts and lots and lots of food. 

The race itself is a bit of a zoo. The logistics are great, the spectators are great (the last mile and a half follows the parade path, where folks often set up their lawn chairs and blankets long before dawn) but the field is crowded, and every year there are more and more little kids sprinting like bats released from hell at the start, only to die about 400 meters into the race, that I legitimately fear some sort of trampling incident. 

I’ve run the John Carson Road Race more than any other -- several times as one of those annoying kids, every year of high school and a few years after that -- and definitely have plenty of fond memories. Chief among them is sprinting to the finish alongside a former assistant high school coach a few years ago. We gave each other plenty of crap over the years, both of us taking it as easily as we dished it out, and I was glad to see that he was still getting after it. 

I haven’t done the race in a few years. For starters, I don’t go home very often. In addition, I seem to get slower every year, while the field remains just as fast, with the latest crop of sub-11-minute high schoolers darting out after the gun, never looking back and leaving old men like me in the dust. (Note: I know many of you reading this are probably older than I am. You know what I mean.) 

That said, this race means a lot to me. It’s the reason I never run with headphones.  

John Carson, in this case, wasn’t a late-night TV host. He was a promising high school runner in the 1980s. According to lore, my town was full of such runners back then, regularly winning conference and state championships. My teams tried to replicate that success, with mixed results. (No thanks to me. I was seventh man on the cross country team on a good day.) 

One day, John went running along a set of train tracks while wearing a Walkman. He didn’t hear a train coming. The first paramedic on the scene was his coach -- and, later, my coach. (Not the one I bumped into a few years ago.) He was the last one to see John alive. 

I’m rarely tempted to run with music. I usually use the time to think -- sometimes about my run, but mostly about other stuff. Whenever I’m tempted, I think about John Carson. Sure, I’m a safe runner -- I stick to sidewalks and crosswalks whenever I can, I wear reflective gear at night and my shoes are obnoxiously bright -- but I’m also easily distracted and refuse to risk something awful just so I can listen to some tunes.  

Many in my hometown call it the Fourth of July race. They’re not necessarily wrong. But to me, it’ll always be the John Carson Road Race. And I will never forget why.