Finally, I schlepped myself out from the coccoon of warmth at a respectable 5:35 am. The white-fur-dropping-flea-bag might have encouraged my timely exit. As much as that diva drives me crazy, I don’t ignore her when she meows because I’ll pay the price later.
My mind was engrossed in a million responsibilities leaving scarcely a heed to the goings on around or in me. Even walking across a frigid concrete floor enacted minimal reaction. The first sixteen minutes on the treadmill passed like traveling through a small town on a country road when you blink.
The window caught my eye shortly after 6 am.
Yes, I saw it. It was sunlight.
I thought as much about my next moves as I did that first sixteen minutes on the treadmill. I jumped off, closed up the treadmill, slid it into place, put on my Merrell pace gloves and took off outside.
It was the early morning daylight run I had promised myself.
The outdoor setting refused to let me continue in mindless routine. The wild winds whipped through my sweat soaked hair transmitting an icy current across my skull, down my neck, and dissipating into my shoulders. At the same time, I captured frigid breezes inside my lungs. The shocking coldness awakened my nerves from the inside out.
It felt so fantastically good to be running outside in the morning again.