I like to start my day early. I enjoy those first moments of the day, when things are still quiet, and the hectic hasn't begun. The sky has yet to lighten, the roads are free of traffic, and the neighbors' house shows no sign of activity. I like the quiet, the serenity, and the time to gather my thoughts before I have spoken to anyone yet.
I don't particularly like that moment when my alarm goes off, and I am forced to answer those daily questions (What day is it? Do I have to be anywhere?) The satisfaction comes at different times on different days- sometimes it's mid-run when the sun is rising and I'm heading home. Sometimes it's when I step into the shower to rinse the salt from my face and hit the refresh button on my hair. Sometimes it isn't until I'm at work, looking at the day's schedule, and feeling accomplished for having already sweated, showered, and gotten myself together.
And then there are Saturdays. Saturday used to start much like any other day, waking up to an alarm, heading out to meet a group for a weekly long run. Now, long runs happen on Sundays, and Saturdays get to be a shorter, independent run. Sleeping until the luxurious hour of 7 or 7:30, time to eat (and digest) a piece of toast while perusing a magazine or blogs. I get a little caffeine in, start a load of laundry, and take a disproportionate amount of time selecting an outfit that does not have to include one of my 2 'visible in the dark' tops.
I've never like running late in the day. The day has happened, my lunch isn't always pre-lunch food, and, let's be honest, the mascara is going to run and no one feels good about running with make up on. (Do they?)
But these 8, 9am runs have been amazing. I have energy, I'm awake, I can read the street signs to know where I am. I love them. The minutes and miles just breeze by as I scope out the weekend's yard sales and take gather inspiration for the day I actually tend a garden. They feel luxurious and un-hurried and are easily some of my favorite runs of the week.
Maybe I'm not such an early bird after all...
I don't particularly like that moment when my alarm goes off, and I am forced to answer those daily questions (What day is it? Do I have to be anywhere?) The satisfaction comes at different times on different days- sometimes it's mid-run when the sun is rising and I'm heading home. Sometimes it's when I step into the shower to rinse the salt from my face and hit the refresh button on my hair. Sometimes it isn't until I'm at work, looking at the day's schedule, and feeling accomplished for having already sweated, showered, and gotten myself together.
And then there are Saturdays. Saturday used to start much like any other day, waking up to an alarm, heading out to meet a group for a weekly long run. Now, long runs happen on Sundays, and Saturdays get to be a shorter, independent run. Sleeping until the luxurious hour of 7 or 7:30, time to eat (and digest) a piece of toast while perusing a magazine or blogs. I get a little caffeine in, start a load of laundry, and take a disproportionate amount of time selecting an outfit that does not have to include one of my 2 'visible in the dark' tops.
I've never like running late in the day. The day has happened, my lunch isn't always pre-lunch food, and, let's be honest, the mascara is going to run and no one feels good about running with make up on. (Do they?)
But these 8, 9am runs have been amazing. I have energy, I'm awake, I can read the street signs to know where I am. I love them. The minutes and miles just breeze by as I scope out the weekend's yard sales and take gather inspiration for the day I actually tend a garden. They feel luxurious and un-hurried and are easily some of my favorite runs of the week.
Maybe I'm not such an early bird after all...
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