Running Becomes Easier. Getting Out of Bed Doesn't.

Running becomes a little bit easier – just a smidge – the more I do it. That does not apply to getting out of bed. That process goes something like this.

6:00 a.m. and the alarm rings. I quickly attempt to silence it before it wakes Jesse. That attempt fails. He turns over and encourages me to run.

“Yesterday you said this is what you wanted to do,” he murmurs.

“But I was dumb last night,” I patiently explain. “I’m comfortable. Leaving is a terrible idea.”

“You can do it,” he counters. How does he manage to be sweet at 6:00 a.m.? “And I’ll have coffee ready for you when you get back,” he says. My still half-asleep brain doesn’t have an argument against this.

Fine. I’ll go out. But the whole time I’m getting ready, attempting to find socks and scouring the apartment for my headphones, I’m also pretending that I’m asleep and this is just a weird dream. I don’t let myself think about what I’m about to do because, if I do, I’ll crawl back into the bedroom and try to convince Jesse that I have already gone for a run. Yeah, a 30 second run around the apartment, but that was hard too.

I step into the living room and Sweets looks at me sleepily and with a mild discontent. The privilege of waking us 2 minutes before our alarm usually goes to her.

“Baby-girl, do you want food?” I ask, even though it is a full hour before she is normal fed. Anything to put off what I’m about to do.

Tangent: I have about 15 nicknames for my cat. Baby-girl, Munchkin, Monster, the Wee One, and the Gray One are some of the most common. Even Sweets is also nickname, but I’ve used it so often that it has become my default for her.

As I attach my Garmin to my wrist, I have to accept the truth. I will be running soon and – oh no, it is raining. Grab a hat. Change to a long-sleeved shirt. Get a small whiff of coffee beans as I head out the door, and know that that is just twenty rain-soaked minutes away.

I could take the elevator, but my building has entered NYC’s Slowest Elevator competition and mine decided it needs practice. So, I plod down the stairs, the whole time arguing with myself. I could still stop this madness – I can go back up the stairs and get another forty-five minutes of sleep before work. Won’t I be too tired later if I do this? Work this week is physical – no sitting in front of the computer for me. Also, my hair will be gross, with the rain and the sweat and no time to wash it. I have six floors to think about it, but I keep going down because I’m too tired to actually make up my mind.

I open the front door of my building, and see that the weather can’t really decide what is going on either. Is it raining, or dripping, or just windy and shaking the dew off the leaves? Oh well. I have resigned myself. I already signed up for the half-marathon. I announced it on Facebook, which is one of the most publicly binding forums where nothing is ever forgotten (thank God I’m too old for Facebook to have been around in middle school – talk about needing to forget those years!).

Well, here goes nothing. I start my music and – OH YEAH, it is Bootylicious!!! Let’s do this!

And I sprint off into the rain, probably making some pretentious New York squirrels feel superior because even they have the sense to stay inside when it’s raining. Whatever squirrels. My coworkers don’t care about my nasty hair. And when I’m tired at work, I’ll explain that I was awesome and got up early to run! It would also be an excuse for more coffee!

Somewhere in the run it occurs to me that Jesse was going to make coffee anyway, whether or not I ran.

2.2 miles each on Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, because that is the route to which I’ve become accustomed. Don’t ask me about pace. When I’m no longer embarrassed by it, I’ll share! By Friday, I was feeling pretty good and decided that I was going to stretch it into 3 miles on Saturday.

I ended that run not feeling so good – but that is another post.

For the newbs: I am training for the New Orleans Jazz Half Marathon on October 28, 2017. Every penny of the donations go to the Cancer Program at Children’s Hospital of New Orleans. Donations are gratefully and gleefully accepted here: