Dark Streets with a Headlamp
The season is turning, Autumn is on our doorstep, and the Sun only appears over the horizon after 6 am.
An early run now requires a headlamp. Streetlights are a first-world luxury if you live in Johannesburg.
The biggest dangers for early morning runners are missing manhole covers, open sidewalks after infrastructure repairs, potholes, and sewage overflows. That is before you consider taxis and other traffic. The alternative is to say wrapped up in a warm bed. Who in their right mind would possibly choose that?
If you have ever watched a group of runners running with headlamps, from a distance, it looks like a bunch of bobble dolls on the dashboard of a car. It looks so silly; it is something you can’t unsee. I can picture a scene in Monty Python with John Cleese nodding his head from side to side and going on about some politically insensitive analogy.
One of the problems of running with headlamps is when your running friend has a better and brighter light than yours. When they turn to talk to you, it’s like being up close and personal with a lighthouse. You get that white spot on your retina that adds to the fun of playing hide and seek with open manholes.
There is something quite mesmerising about running in the “bubble” of a headlamp’s light. It is like nothing exists outside of the little world lit up in front of you. It is just the sound of your breath and the patch of tar ahead. To find oneself in this mesmerising state requires a quiet, dark street in suburbia. Another criterion is to be on a solo run. Unless, of course, your running friends have run out of things to say, or you are going up a steep hill. A steep hill is often just enough to quieten the chatter of those who have too many words in their daily quota.
The cynic in me is tempted to believe that most people go through life as if they exist in the small bubble that surrounds them. Oblivious to the world outside of their bubble, only lifting their head to see what is going on around them when the “dogs bark”.
The saying goes, “if you spot it, you’ve got it”. I am guilty of being consumed by my little world. There are times when I want to disappear into that world and be selfish and ignore everything else important in life. This is a “bubble” of a different kind. The irony is that this bubble often involves running. I can be in a bubble within a bubble. There is some second derivative brain-bending going on there.
Some magical things can happen in the bubble. Some may call it being “in the zone”. It is a place where time slows down. It is where thinking speeds up. It is where the future appears clearer, and the past doesn’t exist. In the bubble, those nagging worries that never come to pass, are left buried in those open sidewalk holes.
Time in this magical bubble is often fleeting. One can spend more time trying to get there than actually being there. However, with practice, like fitness, it gets easier and can be achieved more frequently. Specific rituals can help trigger this magical state of clarity. A ritual might involve a piece of music, some familiar words of inspiration, or just running in the bubble of light from a headlamp.
My running friends, Bruce and Dave, like to go underwater and blow bubbles. They take fins and masks with them. I’ve heard them talk of being in this “magical bubble”. They always seem to return lighter than when they left. As if some burden has been left at the bottom of the ocean.
It reminds me that finding time to be in your bubble is essential.
Justin Spencer-Young
