Into the black

I’m sitting on the bench by my front door, staring at my running shoes. It’s 5am. My wife and kids are asleep. My two dogs stare at me, moaning slightly, waiting for me to lace up and leash up. I don’t really want to run this morning.
There was a time when I used to feel frightened, scared almost, by the anticipation of a seriously hard workout. They seemed so intense they made me nervous. I don’t feel that way anymore. But I also used to train at 3:00 in the afternoon, and had all day to think about it. I don’t really care what it feels like anymore. I don’t care if it hurts. I sort of like the pain. I’m more scared of losing momentum. I’m scared of getting soft, of letting life’s shadows slowly creep in and alter my outlook, that maybe the hard life just won’t be important anymore.
That kind of tough living is difficult to squeeze in these days. I’ve got to make it happen when everyone is asleep. I imagine that’s about all the extra time you have too. It doesn’t get easier with time, does it? I’ve realized that years build upon each other though, and that if you keep the lessons of earlier years close, you’ll find something in them you couldn’t while you went through them.
When a wildfire burns, the charred landscape left behind is known as “The Black”. It’s an austere, uncomfortable place. Dead, in stark contrast to the green world around it. To a wildland firefighter, if things go wrong, its the one place of sure safety. What’s burned cannot re-burn. It’s a place to survive, but it looks and feels like Hades.
A metaphorical fire is burning, in your life and in mine, and if I stay here on this bench I’ll get caught out in front of it sooner or later. Its a fire that’s inside me now, and I have to fight it, harder than before. It’s warm and beautiful and full of lies and wants me to crawl back in bed, hoping that I’ll give in so it can slowly consume me, ember by ember, until each last bit of my soul is turned to smoke and ash. Until each last bit of who I’m supposed to be is gone. Each morning is a battle.
I resist the lull of my tired body and lace up my shoes, leash up the dogs, turn off the hall light, and open the front door. There’s a slight breeze. I stand in the doorway, hesitating, and then I slowly step into the lonely black morning. And then I run through it. Safe, for today.