Driven By Darkness

Hey there,

I quickly cross the street. Empty. Not a car to the right nor the left. The breeze rustles through my thin long-sleeved shirt and seems to chill my bones in the 28-degree weather. I immediately see the first barrier to successfully completing my journey. A hill. One of the most famous hills in Gowanda. Maltbie. Snow is still coating the surface of this incredible specimen and I quickly notice several sets of footprints from people who have made this climb before. The chances that they have been running are minuscule.

I charge up this hill, forfeiting sure footing for speed. I slip, but my free hand catches me, and without skipping a step I continue on. As I reach nearly halfway, all the footprints that littered the ground like leaves on the dry autumn ground are no longer there. The snow is blank, like a canvas begging to be filled. I am the artist. My feet have become the brushes. My feet grow cold from the snow seeping in through the various holes in my worn-down shoes as I continue on. These shoes have carried me to many places, walking and running. Mostly running.

The hill begins to draw to a close. The last 50 meters is a straight path leading up to a guardrail. My legs grow tight. I know if they grow too tight and begin to burn too much, I will have pushed too hard and sacrificed too much energy in the first mile. With eight miles to go, it would be unintelligent to expend my much-needed energy too early. I swiftly pass by the open guardrail. The feeling in my legs tells me that I didn't go too fast on Maltbie Hill.

I run along the roadside that connects Maltbie Hill to Maltbie Road. The road is lined with faintly glowing streetlights. The yellow beams slightly flicker while I pass beneath them, and I grow thankful for the light they give off. The sun has settled and now my eyes must begin to grow accustomed to the darkness growing all around me. As I am guided to a four-way intersection, I can make out the faint outline of a faded red stop sign. I look around, not a single car around to stop at this sign.

A new hill stands in my way. It is only half the size of Maltbie Hill, therefore it deems itself as an inadequate opponent. As I bolt up the meager opponent, I realize that it is a large hill to most, but my worn shoes have seen much greater. I round over the top of the hill, and I see it- lurking less than half a mile away, one of the largest hills I have ever challenged in my life. I begin running down the hill I have just finished. The monster I am heading for is called Stafford Hill. It would be less difficult if the first hill I went up didn't lead the way to the base of Stafford. I lengthen my stride and gallop down the last stretch of my last battle with the earth. Once I reach the base of Stafford, I find that I am at the base of two hills. I have finished one trial and am beginning anew. One is behind me and now one is before me, just as in life. It is filled with ups and downs, and my journey is about to start on a down. It may be the most opposite of a down, considering it is a massive incline, but I know that it will be far from an "up" in my mind, so I consider it a down.

As I begin the hill, I am sure that this will be far from a simple endeavor. I look up and am unable to see the summit of this giant. I look towards the top and just Push. Pain begins to come alive in my legs and it seems as though I am making no progress. The peak of the hill seems just as far away as before. I start to push even harder. It grows more difficult to drive my knees unlike when I began this savage knoll. I ponder if my body will eventually just stop, swiftly and unexpectedly. I feel my shoes giving in to the onslaught of strides and pray that they can last. I see the top. My legs are on fire despite the icy breeze and gusts all around my body. It may be cold but there is an inferno inside me, and the pain strengthens my will. My mental fortitude is to push myself harder than I thought possible. Then it is over. This run is vital to my journey as a runner and failure is not an option.

I race to the crest of the unbelievably large hill and leave it behind me. Even after finishing the fierce battle, it is difficult to run. My legs need to trust that they won't be put through anymore as I gradually work back into my normal pace and stride. Any pain left from the hill has leaked out of the many holes in my shoes. My headband is drenched in sweat as I take a left off Stafford Road onto Jolls Road. I have never run along this road, let alone in the dark. There is an open field to the left and I can make out a towering tree line to the right. I am lucky to be able to see that with the sun long gone and the darkness setting in for the night. Why did I start this run when the sun was setting? To challenge myself. What better opponent than myself?

No one can do it better.

No one.

The road pulls me along curves and turns with little ups and downs. I am pulled past houses that are enshrouded in shadows. I pass dark woods and I thank my lack of eyesight for not being able to distinguish what is lurking, waiting, watching in the darkness. I continue on. I am suddenly yanked back into reality when I feel a tug and sharp pain like someone stepped on my heel. I turn around and see an animal with anger in its eyes. Its mouth barks fear into my soul and as I kick in the direction of the beast, I yell with a newfound maturity, and it scampers off into the darkness. This encounter is the catalyst for a newfound energy. I am running at a new level of speed as fear fuels my legs. The encounter sparks me into a blaze. Tunnel vision overcomes me and everything around me blurs into black.

I see a long winding hill in front of me connecting to Route 62. I dash up the snaking hill and I’m suddenly illuminated by lights at the top. It gives me some sanity, a reprieve from the darkness. I run to the left, off Jolls Road, and onto Route 62. In my mind when I was winding up the long hill, I thought that this highway would be a chance to rest and relax, but now I know that I have to get off this road as soon as possible. My shirt is not light enough to let a speeding car know that I am there. Route 62 leads downhill back into the Town of Gowanda at a gradual slope. As I gallop downhill this road off to the side, I see off in the distance two glowing yellow beams cutting through the night. Flying up the hill. Sure enough, they did not realize I was there and speed past me. If I had been a full step to the right, my life could have fully ended there. Once again, the thought rushes into my head to get off this road, but from this point, the only way is to go forward or back, and rather than go back, I continue on.

A sense of urgency rings in my head as I run down this road. The last thing I need at this point is a reckless driver and my life to end. It is at times like these, on runs like these that I question why I run. Why do I run? I run because it is who I am. It is an extension of what is inside of me. I run to challenge myself like no other will ever be able to. I run to feel the thrill of pushing myself and feeling the benefits. I run because I want to be better. Better at one thing. I run so that I can step off the track after my race and know that no matter the outcome of the race, I gave it all. I left it all on the track. The rhythmic sound of my breathing harmonizing with my footfalls pulls me back into the run. It always does. The process of my body's biomechanics helps me believe even more that running isn't just something to do, it is an art.

Some people draw, others write.

I run.