Running in the Dark

A few weeks ago, on a chaotic family holiday, I escaped for a run. Our Airbnb gite was tucked away at the end of a 2.5km dirt track, twisting steeply uphill. I set off, hoping for peace, but instead found myself shadowed by that old ear worm: “Are you sure you’re safe?”

Even in broad daylight, the fear arrives uninvited. The panic, the bargaining, the compromise. Half an hour uphill became a “hill session,” but really it was another run cut short. Another reminder that the freedom men often take for granted is still something I must negotiate.

When I told my husband why I’d turned back, he scoffed. He’s never known what it’s like to feel unsafe on a run. His very presence changes how others treat me. Me? I’ve been hardwired since childhood to think of my behaviour as the risk factor. Tight shorts, headphones, running alone, why is it always my “fault.”

And here we are again - darker nights, shorter days, the inevitable wave of “safety tip” articles. I’ve written some myself. And yet I loathe them. They remind me that instead of freedom, I get curfews, compromises, and conditions.

Still, here are a few things to (reluctantly) think about before you run in the dark:

• Wear lights and reflective clothing - see and be seen.

• Stick to well-lit routes, vary them or join a running club!

• Tell someone where you’re going if you’re running on your own.

• Limit headphone use.

I hate needing a checklist to do something so simple, but I also want to help others keep running safely.

Put simply, I love running in the dark, no univited comments or advice, just the stillness, the sharpness of the night air, the unruly defiance of being outside when I’m “not meant” to be. Why shouldn’t we all feel that freedom?

So, we will keep going, lit up like ninjas, glowing under streetlights, head torch bouncing with each stride. Because the more of us out there, the more normal it becomes. And the night belongs to us too.