I went for a run last night—for the first time since I’ve been home. I had to dig through my dresser to find a long-sleeved shirt and a non-denim pair of pants. It was after midnight, but it wasn’t as cold as I thought—low thirties, but it felt refreshing against my bare face and hands. I can’t run in gloves anyway.

I miss running through the streets of my suburban town. It was dark, but it was that artificial darkness you see in horror films where you notice how light the darkness is. Maybe it was the light from hundreds of lights wrapped around snow-frosted trees and porch railings reflecting off the snow. Even the sky was lit up—the clouds were illuminated against the buildings-like-crooked-teeth cityscape to the north.

I didn’t think I’d get very far, having not run in so long; still, I went on my usual route. I had to run in the middle of the streets because the sidewalks weren’t shoveled, but even the streets were slick with snow and ice. I didn’t fall, but I had to fight the urge to go for a slide here and there. No one else was outside—go figure—so I had the streets to myself. And while I was out there running, I realized I’d rather be running at OSU.

At college, I run from Lincoln over to Woody Hayes to cross the river. Then all the way to Beekman Park where there’s this one-mile loop that I run over and over and over again, usually late at night when no one else is around. I never thought I’d find a place I’d actually enjoy running at college; my hometown seemed to have a firm hold on that. But things change, and now I can’t wait for my first run back at Ohio State.