Jun '25 (edited) • General Discussion
Church of the Night Run
Leave the driveway and run through NorthWood Hills….Past the 1000 square foot rental house on Oakhurst St where we brought our first baby home from the hospital….Down Elm Street past the historic, antebellum homes to the courthouse lawn….Through town square, down the hill until I see the gates of the track….2 miles on the dot….Stack miles on the track then back out the gate….Past the kid’s favorite ice cream shop and back to the courthouse lawn….Down North St past the friendly older couple on their front porch waiting to wave at me….Down the dark, secluded Robertson Road until I make it to the hill that peers down into my back window. The house is still.
Although I run other routes on occasion, this is the route that I’ve logged 90% of my miles on during the last three years I’ve become serious about endurance training. Of all of those miles, at least 80% of them have been at night, after 8pm, once the kids are asleep and my wife is settled in bed. I have three small children ages 5, 3, and 2. I am fortunate, at 33 years old, to be part of a thriving, busy law practice that keeps me working odd hours. I prefer running in the mornings but unpredictable wake up schedules and almost daily 8:00 a.m. court appearances make consistent early runs logistically infrequent. I used to let this bother me but, somewhere along the way, I decided to embrace it. Almost weekly, someone that follows me on Strava sends a text like this one yesterday from my brother-in-law:
“Did you really run 3 miles at 9:30 p.m. last night? On a Friday night? Why, bro?”
The people sending these texts don’t realize that these nights runs are no longer just a form of exercise. They are a necessity. A part of my newfound identity.
In 2018, my wife and I made the decision to move to the most northern part of Mississippi, away from our hometown nestled in the Mississippi hill country, to accept an associate attorney position at the law firm I continue to work with today. It was only an hour and a half from our hometown but, due to the proximity to Memphis, it felt like moving to the “big city” compared to the small, 3 stop light town we grew up in. Since that move, we’ve had an apartment, a rental home, three babies, lots of tears and heartache, lots of growing up, lots of growing closer, our current home, our church family, and lots of joy. This place is the only place my children have ever called home.
In 2020, during what I would describe as a second awakening in my spiritual life, I purchased a Specialized Allez road bike for $250 from my best friend who was moving to Florida and didn’t have a way to transport it. We lived in our rental (the one I run past on my now-regular route) and I would take the bike down Elm Street after dark. I did this not because I enjoyed riding in the dark, but because I had no idea how to ride with clip-ins and didn’t want the local cycle club to see me trying to learn. I still vividly remember riding 1-mile down Elm Street, past those antebellum homes, starting to tip over, and busting my ass on the asphalt before I was able to unclip.
Fast forward 3 years…I purchased a home fairly close to our old rental, joined Tribal Training, and am signed up for Chattanooga 70.3. I start to run one night after all three kids are asleep, and, organically, my now-regular route starts to become 3-4 times a week habit. I realize that each segment of the route means something to me that is deeper than running. Maybe I’m being naturally guided past these places for a reason? The rental where we brought our daughter home and then, a few months later, after finding out our son was on the way, realized was too small for our growing family. The courthouse where I learned to practice law, experienced my first trial. Running past this historic courthouse in stillness of the dark, the night before a contentious hearing or at 5:00 a.m. the morning before a trial, became a mindset hack for me. I looked forward to sitting in the stillness before anyone else, preparing mentally to enter the arena, while my competition is asleep or debating snoozing their alarm. I leveled up professionally.
And then there is the track….I don’t believe it to be an exaggeration when I say my life changed because of the physical and mental transcendence that occurred on this track. I remember sitting on the rubber surface in November 2023, reading my first Chattanooga-build run workout. I was intimidated. “I’m not a runner,” I thought to myself. Eventually, though, I looked forward to my nightly visit to the track. If I made it there, that meant I had already logged 2 miles and had to run at least 2 miles home. Anything I logged on this track was cake. 4 miles was unthinkable for the guy who busted his ass on the asphalt in 2020. Now, in 2025, it has become a minimum mileage marker due to the route I’ve fallen in love with running.
More than the route, though, I love this habit of the night run for the space it provides mentally and spiritually. Given my family dynamic and my profession of choice, I find that my attention is constantly being demanded at all hours of the day. The nightly 45 minutes of stillness, solitude, prayer, worship is necessary. Sacred, even.
I find familiarly in the sights and sounds of a Mississippi summer night: the old, antebellum home surrounded by the glow of lightning bugs and the chirp of crickets. Frogs croaking in a distant ditch while the thick humidity is broken up by the echo of laughter from a 10:00 p.m. front porch conversation between old friends.
I find comfort in the spring time smell of honeysuckle wrapped around a black, wrought iron fence and the coo of a dove followed by the sound of its wings rising from a fog-filled hay field as I run by.
And I find a deep sense of peace and joy running in the dark, Mississippi winter. My own self-made version of ASMR in the stress-melting sensation of nasal breaths in the crisp, frigid air after a long day in the courtroom. The serenity in knowing that everyone else is inside, by their fireplace, while the only sound in the void of the night is my feet crunching on the thin layer of snow.
I guess one could say that running this route saved me, but I’d have to disagree. I believe that it has simply created and allowed the space to reveal my true self. And for that, I am eternally grateful.
It was while running this route that I began listening to a book written by a lawyer that I admire. In the book, the lawyer describes how, once a year, he returns to his small hometown for no reason other than to drive around town and sit for a while near places and things that mean something to him. He believes that, as he changes from year to year, so too will his understanding of the importance and meaning behind these once familiar places and the people associated with them. He goes on to say, “It (his rural hometown) is a comfortable place for me to return to. I often think we are not much different from the salmon that have a desire and need to return to their birthplace.”
And so, after hearing this and ruminating on it for some time, I decided to do exactly that: to lead my family back to our hometown. My wife and I are fortunate enough to have been able to purchase a home and some land back home in the Mississippi hill country where 7 generations of our people have raised their families.
This, of course, means I’ll have to find a new running route. But, it seems, that this habitual night run through Hernando, Mississippi, has served the purpose it was intended to serve. And it has served me well. A new route will be found and transformation and growth will continue to occur.
And maybe, from time to time, I’ll find a way to return to that old track in the stillness of the dark and be reminded of the growth that occurred during the weekly church of the night run.
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Church of the Night Run
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