When running after dark, metaphors and symbolism abound

Because of a midmorning meeting in Cambridge, lunch with a friend, a phone conference in the early afternoon, and the necessity of grocery shopping later in the day, I put off my run until after dinner. By the time I headed out, there was a half-moon high in the sky, but our long dirt driveway was still very dark, with heavy tree branches blocking out any moonlight. I wore Tim’s headlamp, which casts a circle of light straight ahead but does nothing to illuminate the surrounding woods. I brought the dog, but she seemed uneasy. She kept twisting her head around to look behind us. I don’t necessarily think she heard anything that alarmed her; I think she’s actually a little bit afraid of the dark, which seems odd for a dog, but I’ve observed this a few different times now, and who says dogs should be fearless?

For the first three-tenths of a mile, I was on the dirt road, which was shrouded in darkness and a little eerie. Then I got out to the footpath, which runs alongside the main road. Its pale gray crushed gravel reflected the headlamp and the moonlight beautifully. So even though darkness still surrounded me, I could see the path ahead of me with no trouble. At first I still felt a little jumpy but then told myself, “The path is well illuminated, and you have the dog with you, which will prevent the extremely unlikely possibility of any person or animal with harmful intent approaching, so stop being scared and just enjoy the run.”

Yes, the metaphor seems a little heavy-handed, but there it is nonetheless: when the path is well-lit and you have company, just enjoy the run and don’t be scared of the surrounding darkness.

It reminded me of an interview I heard earlier this week on NPR. Author John Geiger was discussing his new book, The Third Man Factor, which explores the experience shared by, among others, Everest climber Ernest Shackleton, NASA astronaut Jerry Linenger, and World Trade Center rescuer Ron diFrancesco. The Third Man Factor, whose name comes from T.S. Eliot, is a concept in which at moments of extreme physical crisis, people experience the presence of another being. As Geiger explains it, believing in this doesn’t depend on any particular religious inclinations, because you can envision the Third Man as a spiritual presence or a psychological one; the point is just that a perception occurs that wards off a paralyzing sense of aloneness.

This wasn’t an issue while I was out running tonight – I wasn’t that scared; I wasn’t in any kind of danger or crisis at all as far as I know; and being alone wasn’t a problem since I was no more than a mile from home – but the combination of dog, moonlight, path and headlamp made me feel that I was both safe and accompanied, literally and metaphorically. And to believe both of those things is a very sustaining feeling, I imagine, whether you’re out running at night or climbing Mt. Everest.