The Perks of Running in the Evening

By: Greg Payne

Before we begin, this is pretty cool:



The final months of spring are upon us here in New England, ready to usher us into the sweltering days of summer. Some would say they've already arrived, based on the 85+ degree days we've been forced to endure lately.

For those of you who don't know, I'm an avid runner. I average anywhere from 8-10 miles per day during the week and I creep into the low-to-mid teens on the weekends. Usually I'm an afternoon guy. Between 4:00pm and 5:00pm is usually my go-to time for running. But lately, I've become somewhat attached to the evening, specifically between 7:00pm and 8:00pm, as the sun begins its descent below the horizon, and last night I think I figured out why.

I tied the laces of my Nike Lunarglide IIs and set off, my feet quietly tapping Paine Road (yes, I live on Paine Road. It's a coincidence, I swear) as I proceeded into the earliest stages of my run. And that's when I realized what separated 7:00pm from 4:00pm, what distinguished the late afternoon from the early evening: The sense of quiet that seems to envelope the world, as if everything's taken a collective sigh and plumped itself down on the couch to crack a cold one, finally at peace with the fact that the rigors and demands of the day are firmly behind it.

The hustle and bustle of the morning and afternoon have ceased, and everything is so much calmer. I'm not sure the responsibilities of every day life ever allow for a true sense of tranquility throughout the standard work week, but if it's possible for such a feeling to be obtained, it would come within our grasp during this time. For most people and things, the work is done for the day. Even the extremes of nature retreat to an almost sedated state. The sun doesn't shine so bright, the winds calm themselves to gentler breezes, which compliment the still humid, but far less hot evening air. Even the birds chirp less, as they revert back to their nests and their young, perhaps sending out a final note of elation at having survived another day against the threat of predators and other dangers. Another night safe with those they love. Even the pounds of choking pollen have retreated to wherever it is pollen hangs out at nights, freeing us of the feeling that we've just swallowed two pounds of sticky white rice in one gulp.

And then there are the people. As I meander through the local back roads, passing through my favorite neighborhood -- Sheldonville -- I can take stock of those around me. During the day, people are rushed. There's the pressure to get to work on time in the morning, beat the traffic, rush out to lunch and back, sprint home, again trying to avoid the jam up of cars on the highway, each person and car with the same goal. There are children to pick up, sport practices to attend, dentist and doctor appointments.

But examine those same people after dinner, with that flurry of activity behind them, and you see them as they want to be seen. You see them in a state of calmness -- they are once again in control of their lives. They are no longer at the mercy of their bosses, the traffic report, or necessary errands. I see a man in his mid-40s walking his black lab, and he greets me with a friendly, 'Hello,' as I pass by. I witness another couple walking down Farmhill Road, dressed in matching khaki shorts, with the father pushing a pink stroller with a shade over the top. I pass by one of my favorite houses -- light grey with blue shutters, with a driveway that ascends straight and loops into a circle at the top, like an upside down exclamation point -- and see a familiar site: An elderly couple, sitting on a short, swinging bench that sits close to their front steps, hand-in-hand, still embodying the idea that love can persist through time and all of the obstacles life has to throw at us. And I know in my own heart that these two are as in love now as the day they first told each other they couldn't live without one another.

These are the things I don't see when I run at 4:00pm. I see the prelude to all of this: The asinine driving, the furrowed brows, the seemingly unshakable feeling of go-go-go. I much more enjoy these people just a few short hours later, when their sense of calm, and peacefulness, and happiness, engaging in perhaps their first truly voluntary actions all day, helps to remind me that this world isn't just a highway to our eventual expiration. Our daily responsibilities routinely exhaust us, frustrate us, and push us beyond our breaking points, but it's these hours of calm that provide us the solace we need to endure. It's just a shame that there are so few of them throughout the day.

But their calmness is what calms me. In fact, it energizes me. The stillness of the evening reminds me that I'm not competing with the pace the daily grind thrives upon, and as I increase my own foot speed, I feel like I'm soaring, like a paint brush being stroked across a blank canvas for the first time. Houses, and fences, and slower-paced cars streak by, as my breathing gets heavier, but almost easier. I'm not laboring, I'm embracing the fatigue, fighting it with longer strides, bottled up by the atmosphere around me. My worries pour off of my body, encased in the beads of sweat that glisten my skin and eventually disembark into the evening air. It all pushes me, drives me, and just when I feel like I'm running fast enough to get pulled over in a school zone, my run is complete. I come to a halt in my driveway, my hands drape over my knees, the sweat begins to amass and wash over me, as if a bucket of water has been poured over my head and is cascading down my exposed limbs.

But then I stand, breathe in through my nose, and further embrace the world around me. A world of peace, composure, and serenity.

If you're a runner, I suggest you try running at this time. But don't go in with expectations I've laid out for you. Leave room to make your own. Run, and as you run, keep your eyes and ears open, and the world will find a way to cater to whatever it is you're searching for.