11:45pm and we laced up our sneakers. The car idled in the driveway, the exhaust against the night air like the stream from the tea that awaited me when I got home. It was December 21st, the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year, meaning that starting the next day (today), every day gets a little longer. And we–my mom, Michael, my dog Mocha and me–were ready to welcome the longer days.
This is the fourth or fifth year we've ran on the winter solstice. The first year we did it, the solstice fell on a full moon, and we ran by moonlight while the "cows" howled in the distance, or so my mom told my brother. The solstice hasn't fallen on a full moon since that first year, but the solstice runs have become a tradition. There's something about waiting up until midnight, seeing your breath fog up in the night air, feeling your way blindly on the trails, listening to the lull of the night. It's as if the world and we are in on a little secret. "Shh..." it tells us. "Don't let anyone know I'm awake."
This year was kinder than some years. There wasn't any snow on the ground and the air was cool but mild. Although it was cloudy, it wasn't too dark; our eyes adjusted quickly.
We did four laps this year–one for each runner–and then came home to tea and Trader Joe's gingerbread men. We each had four cookies for four laps for four runners. I went to sleep with my cheeks still rosy from the night air and my stomach warm with tea and cookies.
No comments:
Post a Comment