Night Run

It was well after 11 by t he time I headed out for the run. This would be the first thing I did for myself all day, the pool having been closed by the time I arrived this morning for a swim. I'd accompanied my sister on a long bike ride at a leisurely pace at her request, and when we were done, she wanted me to cook dinner and asked that I wait to run later. She was hungry and didn't want to wait. I was here to take care of her after all, so I agreed.

The night run was probably better. It doesn't get dark here until after eight pm this time of year-- something that I've just started getting used to-- and I wanted to perform this one little ritual, the pilgrimage of sorts, with as little fanfare and attention as possible. I was still slightly embarrassed by the idea of it. Twelve years ago it would have been one thing. I was younger, more easily given to romantic notions, and a real runner back then. Now I'm not even a has been; not even a wanna be; just a never was.

I headed out the gate and took two quick rights to head east on fifteenth street. I remembered the hard concrete surface from my last run, but this was the direct route and would take me everywhere I wanted to be, past the house parties and drunken college students. Past restaurants bikers: by Friday, Eugene was finally showing itself to have a nightlife, albeit one consisting mainly of frat parties and dorm room keggers. No one shouted though, no one stared or made rude comments about my too short shorts or my too skinny legs. They were used to the runners, no doubt. This was Track Town USA.

Up the hill and into campus... I hadn't looked at this part on the map and didn't realize that 15th street dead-ended at a campus building. I had to loop around the place, then cut diagonally across the field past he library and back out to 15th on the other side. Buses lined up outside the athletic fields, maybe dropping athletes off from an away meet-- I'm not sure. They were empty and still no one paid attention to the lone runner. Here, especially, they would be used to it. I am doubtless not the first to take this pilgrimage at night.

I came up upon the stadium and rounded the corner to the front entrance, hoping, at least, to get a glimpse inside through the bars. I was surprised to see the gate open, even the inner fence to the track itself unlocked. Hayward field for all to use... and it was empty. I walked in and leaned my arms over the gate, giving my out of shape legs a little break. In the distance, down the track, I saw two figures walking-- security guards perhaps. I decided I'd better wait for them to get a little closer before I went onto the track itself. I was half expecting them to shoo me away angrily, but when they got close-- a man in a security guard uniform and a woman in what appeared to be a janitorial outfit-- he merely greeted me in a low, booming voice:

"Beautiful night for a run."

"Yes. yes it is."

"We decided just to walk."

"Well, that's probably better for you."

He laughed, "I doubt it! But it's better to us."

"That is is. Have a good night."

"You do the same."

and with that I turned lightly away and ran off. He would have let me on the track if I wanted, but running laps there was a conceit I couldn't permit myself. I wasn't a runner anymore, was never a very good one, and that track held the sweat of those far greater than me. It was enough just to see it. I wouldn't be coming by on my way back.

I sped out the gates with a little renewed energy, and pushed East. I must be getting close now. The lights grew further apart, the street more remote and after a few blocks, I saw my turn off. Even before I saw a street name, or the "Dead End" sign ahead that indicated where I was, I knew this had to be it. It has that feel to it. I turned right and tried to remember the name of the next left I had to take, running by it a few feet before I realized my mistake. I doubled back and started up a long, dark hill. This was going to be rough. The woods closed in on me, dark, almost a little spooky. I was going to a place of death, I thought. That is a little scary, but no this was Steve. It wasn't that type of place, not that type of death, solemn, I'm sure, but not scary. Along the road, laughter and clicking of glasses seemed to come from every other house, perched above me on the embankment. This was the fancy part of town. These were not college parties-- professors perhaps, or rich benefactors of the university and town? Their merriment cheered me on. Up I ran.

I am in no shape for this. My calves ached by now and my hip flexors still had not recovered from the run a few days before. I had had a mild side stitch since a few minutes after starting. I thought for perhaps the tenth time about stopping to walk. There was no reason for me not too. I was training for nothing. There were no races left for me to win. All that was over. I pressed on as the road wound, through alternating patches of light and dark under streetlights and trees. A sign pointing to my destination confirmed my next turn and I headed right again, still twisting uphill, past more parties, up far further than I had thought from the map, the road getting smaller, darker and scarier, undulating up and down, the sounds of parties further away, until I had looped full circle and found myself on a stretch of road I'd already run on before.

I must have passed it. I ran all the way back down, passing party goers calling cabs, still paying me no heed. Especially here, they must be used to it, I thought. Especially in this neighborhood. I ran all the way down, back to the sign, staring at the embankment inside the road, trying to find it. Nothing. I stopped, running, turned back around and walked along the other side, and a few feet in, there it was: A rock wall with a small plaque on the ground in front of it. There was Pre.

I crouched down in front of it and read the inscription, though I already knew what it said. In front of it, runners had placed their bib numbers under rocks. Roses had been left by many, as well as other offerings. I searched through them, trying to be respectful, but curious at the same time. I almost threw out what I thought was a cigarette butt, till I realized it was hand rolled, just for him. Not quite the right idea, but somebody's gesture nonetheless. And what had I brought. I searched my person, but had nothing on me but my clothing and the key to my sister's house. I had nothing to give. On the way here, I had considered taking some stones or pebbles from the site, but after scratching about in the dirt and finding only lumbs of asphalt, I realized that I shouldn't take something from Steve without leaving part of myself behind. I whispered a few words to him there in the dark, stood up, my shadow from the nearby car lights casting long over embankment, and looked once last time into those haunting eyes, before stroking my hand across the top of the marker and heading back home.