Morning

It is 4:48 am.

My eyes are peeking over my feet at the clock at the end of the bed. Green hazy numbers blinking into my existence.

I have 17 more minutes before the low beeping of my alarm goes off and I have to face the morning.

It is this in-between time that defines my running. 75% of me is begging to go back to sleep. To succumb to the warmth of the covers and the comfort of unconsciousness. Fighting the ebbing sleep, I find myself frustrated and pathetic: Why am I doing this? I am consistently amazed that that 25% that knows me best is able to win out in the end.

It is not until my running shorts are on and my shoes are groggily tied that I begin to comprehend why I am awake. I head out down the driveway, one foot in front of the other and the dark night of morning envelops my small frame. I am meeting a running partner at the end of the street and this means - there are no excuses, there is no turning back for the solace of sleep.

The pace and conversation make the run go by swiftly. I feel the easy rhythmic breathing as my stride quickens towards home... my morning is complete. I have accomplished much more than a nine mile run - I have won once again over my doubts and desire for one more luxurious hour in bed.