Darkness Visible

First of all, four thirty in the morning is not morning. It's NIGHT. It's the hour that people sneak home from doing wrong. It's the peak hour of owls, the middle of the day for raccoons, the bedtime for ghosts. But I swear to God it's night, and there I was at 4:28 a.m. in the parking lot near Summit Avenue and River Road thinking "this is all a brilliant practical joke. I've just been punked."

I wasn't punked. Ugly Juice and her friend Tonya did show up. UJ ran two miles with us before fading, her excuse being lack of training. Tonya wrapped it up after about 9 miles, which was excellent considering her late night snacking at the Chatterbox and the fact that her father--a marathoner himself--passed away suddenly two weeks ago. I hustled on and completed about 13 miles before heading in to Dunn Bros for coffee. I wasn't going to stop at nine when I got out there at 4:30 in the NIGHT.

Now, for your literary types out there, Darkness Visible is the title of William Styron's brilliant book about his personal struggle with depression. Read it if you need to understand depression. I won't reveal my own struggle, but suffice it to say that I am happier now than I have been in at least four years, evidenced by my ability to drag myself out of bed at 4:00 and run thirteen miles, starting in the dark and finally ending after the sun comes up. Thanks, UJ, for busting my butt.