Running sucks, but running at 6 a.m. sucks exponentially worse. Think black-hole vs dustbuster. I don’t really even remember driving down to the trail, just sort of edging into semi-consciousness at the two-mile marker. Thankfully, I was dressed. I was right-ready to be thoroughly pissed at this turn of events that had placed me at this particular junction of the space-time continuum but then remembered it was me that had agreed suggested it in the first place. If back-to-the-future taught us anything it’s that we control our own destiny. And that 88 mph is how fast you need to go in order to travel through time. Thanks to Doc Brown both these things are now common knowledge. Point being I’ve only myself to blame for finding myself jogging on semi-dark trail at some ungodly hour.
Anyway, we’ve taken to doing the morning run thing because the flooding has shut down the rowing dock (a much more relaxing and easier sport to handle at dawn). Three unhappy miles later, at home, I park the car and find myself unmotivated to remove myself from the vehicle, for several reasons. The stairs aren’t looking too fun right now. It’s only one flight, but man it seems like a ways. I’ve also done a poor job parking (swinging in to close to the wall) and actually wiggling out of the driver’s seat is going to require a Reed-Richards-Fantastic-Four maneuver that I really don’t feel like executing at the moment. Then there’s the next steps of my day that wait me – the whole getting ready and going too work thing that requires me to reverse all the steps just described.
Normally these aren’t such perceivably herculean tasks, but cast in the light of the morning I find it easier just to take a quick nap. Yup – after running three miles I essentially hit the snooze button one more time before tackling the rest of the day. If there was an award for non-morning-person behavior I think that should get it.