On a recent Friday evening, after I had dispatched my concluding feature of the week, I was preparing myself for a jog. Prepping for this activity took longer than usual, as beyond the comfort of my cosy room, rain was falling and the climate was frosty.
In the midst of my work, it seemed as though the residual days of September along with the entirety of October had been unexpectedly skipped. It appeared as though we had jumped directly to the gloominess of November. The outside environment was far from welcoming.
However, in even the best climate conditions, heading out for a run in the metropolis after spending several hours engaged in a quiet, intellectual task indoors, necessitates a time of mental gathering. This is especially true if there’s any remaining intellect left that needs to be harnessed before diving into the bustling city streets.
Although it’s manageable if there’s a tranquil park conveniently located nearby, this becomes less and less feasible as the darkness of the evening falls.
When autumn arrives, for me at least, a night-time jog implies stepping out of my writer’s sanctuary, eyes bleary, and engaging with the pandemonium of Dublin’s rush hour. If this step is too hastily taken, or an ill-judged road crossing is attempted, the results can be deadly.
Undeniably, age plays a role in this. Still, it seems to me that the frenzy of the urban evening rush hour has escalated from what it used to be.
In the past, it was somewhat easy to assess the varying velocities and paths of pedestrians, cyclists, and motor traffic while threading through crowded pavements or navigating street crossings.
These assessments would have me constantly contemplating scenarios such as: I can weave in and out of that couple strolling hand in hand, then around the dog walker, and sharply veer right to dodge the cluster of slow-moving American tourists.
Assuming I can increase my pace, I can enter and exit the road swiftly enough to dodge the crowd waiting for the 15A bus. You just have to ensure you allow the man on the racing bike to overtake before quickly skipping back onto the pavement before the 39B bus arrives. And so on.
In the past, people only needed to consider traditional modes of transport. Nowadays, however, there’s an array of options including electric bikes, scooters, monocycles, trams, and of course quiet electric cars.
Pedestrians have become more unpredictable too, as remote working has left many still absorbed in work, whilst some are too engrossed in their mobile screens to even bother being aware of their surrounding.
Running in these conditions is far more complex, resembling the transition from ordinary maths to quaternions as one has to consider three spatial dimensions and the four-dimensional movements of all moving objects.
Factor in the effects of a light drizzle on Dublin’s drivers, which somehow equals the effect of a full moon on werewolves, coupled with wind and darkness, and you’ve got a wholly chaotic environment.
A typical evening run for me includes a lengthy stretch along the Grand Canal from the tranquil haven of Inchicore, through to the metropolitan frenzy of Leeson and Baggot Street bridges.
I regularly pass a bronze statue of Patrick Kavanagh, where he once sat in serene contemplation watching a swan “sail by with a wealth of apologies”. These days, a jog across the bridge at peak hour gives little room for quiet contemplation.
You need to constantly survey the positions of pedestrians, bikes, scooters, cars, taxis, and buses. Just as you’re set to bolt across, a speedy Deliveroo e-biker appears, nose down, devoid of apology, ready to mow you down for a shortcut.
Despite the madness, sometimes there’s enjoyment to be had, even on those stark, cold Friday nights. The Irish weather’s bark is often worse than its bite, once you’re out in it. And running through the rush-hour hustle can be invigorating. As long as you avoid a fatal collision – through my experience, at least – the experience can be rather exhilarating.
For me, though, given the choice I’d opt to depart earlier in the day. I can’t muster the energy to run before breakfast: a potent coffee and a banana on toast is absolutely essential. An hour or two later, assuming work permits, I’m all set to tackle the day.
The leafy expanses of Phoenix Park are my usual preference for a wander, but occasionally, I opt for the smaller city-center greenspaces. With a dose of caffeine before 11 am, Dublin can certainly feel like Eden, as suggested by a near accurate quote from a popular song. This rings particularly true when I find myself jogging in Stephen’s Green, as I did last Monday – a sole day without the commitment of penning a column.
As midday approached, navigating through the footpaths wasn’t a walk in the park. A mixture of fair autumn weather and cooler temperatures invited a larger congregation of nature lovers. Birds were part of the crowd. During my run, a cluster of tourists made me swerve through them, prompting a group of startled pigeons to take flight heading straight towards us. One’s undercarriage skimmed the top of my head due to the low altitude of their flight.
Still, Dublin’s avian locals, such as pigeons, are more akin to light aircraft, so despite the encounter, no harm ensued. Had it been an adult seagull, I may have lost my head. I continued my jog, however, unhindered by the incident. I was under a sun speckled canopy of trees and trampled over a yellow leaf mosaic with a sense of serenity bordering on euphoria. There was a point during this experience when I was convinced I’d crossed over to the other side.