Logan Green looked like the fields of Vietnam in Apocalypse Now.
I closed my eyes for a moment, spinning in a circle as the powder flew around me. When I blinked, I saw a vision straight from a Hunter S. Thompson novel. The air was thick with red and green mist. We were sealed in a floating chamber of dust.
I inhaled. Big mistake. The powder flooded my lungs. I started coughing like I’d returned to the smoker’s corner in my high school. The atmosphere felt heavy, as if someone had tied barbells to every oxygen molecule in the area. I tasted chalk on my lips. I wouldn’t taste anything else for an hour.
Dozens of people darted around me, all coated in streaks of red and green. They were chatting and laughing. They disappeared into the haze, lost in the colours. Everything was swirling together. It was ten in the morning and I felt like I’d just plunged into hour three of an all-night field rave.
My friend told me to reach into my pocket. I pulled out a small packet. Still trying to reorient myself, I ripped the package open, releasing a cloud of red powder. I sprinkled it over my friend and myself, dousing our white shirts in crimson. We leaned in close for a selfie, looking like two survivors of a grizzly bear mauling.
A voice came over the loudspeaker. It told us to go to the starting line. The pack wandered to the path. Someone shouted and people at the front began to ran. My friend and I followed suit. The blitzkrieg of sensory overload was merely the opening ceremony. We still had a race to complete.
We were in the Colour Run 2018.
I have a...complicated history with running. I’ve been jogging semi-regularly since I was 10. I’ve hoofed it over roads, streets, trails, and endless treadmills. I love the rush of the “runner’s high,” the feeling of improvement with every run, and the sense of accomplishment. I love running.
I also hate running with every fibre of my being. I hate how every step can feel like jamming bamboo rods directly through your shins. I hate how one wrong step can twist your ankle like a wet noodle. I hate sweating so hard my eyes become a blurry mess. I hate running.
So, when a friend asked me to join her in the Colour Run, I was hesitant. I haven’t been running much in the last month, so I’m more than a little rusty. But I figured a five-kilometer track wouldn’t be that hard. Besides, I’d missed the Colour Run last year, so I decided to make up for lost time.
Of course, I didn’t really factor in the “colour” part of the Colour Run. Every kilometer or so, we came across a volunteer station. They were armed with bottles filled with various colours. As we jogged past them, they showered us with neon dust. We emerged on the other side coated in powder.
At certain points, we had to slow down to pat the powder off our shirts and catch our breath. It gave us a chance to enjoy the fall weather in Logan Green. The Colour Run was held on Sunday, right before we were walloped with an unseasonal layer of snow. Charging through the clouds of colour allowed us to savour (potentially) the last true day of autumn. Any coughing or chalk tastes were worth it.
