The jogging at night bit is causing every single person out there with a little bit of common sense to think, Woah, bad idea there. And yeah, it is. I can not deny jogging down a dark street at midnight sounds like an invitation to anyone who uses sharp tools on soft flesh as a hobby. But I promise you it's so totally worth it. It's like taking a shot of adrenalin. Then crack. And then some more crack.
See, I have a funny habit of letting my mind wander when I run, especially at night. I literally create stories that suite my pace. And they almost always involve intricate plots that could be found in the bookshelf fiction enthusiast. And I'm completely enamoured by these daydreams. I get so caught up with the plot-line in my head that running becomes like a adventure. Which is ideally why I go at night.
However, this was not the case last night. See, usually my day dreams are a great accompaniment to my run, but because I have as much control over my daydreams as a puppy has over its owners this is not always so; sometimes when I run at night my thoughts become preoccupied with the plot of a horror flick.
This will happen to me when my thoughts will mix with the setting of a lit up street, surrounded with very non-lit up everything mother-fucking else. When this happen going for a jog turns into my own self created run the fuck home as fast as you can and cry session. Which really isn't the same as jogging as the former is much harder on the heart.
So last night, halfway through my jog, the street light above me went out.
And I made the mistake of looking behind me.
Never look behind you when you run at night. I don't care if you're on a street made out of cotton candy and sugar plums, because you will see nothing amiss. And seeing nothing remotely terrifying results in your rational mind taking that to mean that every single monster you've ever conceived is suddenly hiding behind those bushes to the left. Yeah, the ones that are oh so conveniently shrouded in shadows. The ones that you can sorta see, but you really aren't sure if that's a branch or a body preparing to chase you down and cut out your spleen. And you NEED your spleen.
And last night, when the street light above me went out I glanced behind my shoulder and saw nothing. Three seconds later I did it again. Nothing. Nothing but houses on one side and trees on the other. And possibly someone waiting in those trees. With a gun. Or an bow an arrow, so that they could shoot me down and no one could hear. Probably the last one because psychopathic murderers are sneaky fuckers.
Then I made my second mistake. I started wondering what I should do in case there was something preparing to kill me. This is a really really bad idea for one reason; trying to come up with a plan of action against your imaginary imminent death only makes it more real. And no matter what, there is only one solution and I bet you that you'll already be doing it in this situation; You have to run back home. Quickly.
So of course that's what I was doing. Because I knew it was midnight. And every horror story I'd ever watched had told me that if I ran to one of those houses I would trip. Twice. And then the door would be locked. And no one would answer. And I'd scream and bang on the door. And then, eventually, lights would flick on. But it would be too late.
Because I'm the dumb blond who goes for a run late at night at the beginning of the movie and dies. Y'know, that girl in the gore filled moment that cues the ensuing blood bath. The one that dies usually before the movie's title and main cast is introduced. Which unquestionably sucks, but that doesn't stop me from going back out at night. Daydream running makes it worth the panic attacks and possible murder.
Also, I want to add that I bet it would be my best friend who would survive the film, because she's smart, a brunette, and owns a treadmill.
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