4:30 am: Alarm goes off, this morning the alarm is “Burn” by Ellie Goulding. As good as that song is, the first thing that goes through my mind is, “I feel awful. Why the fuck am I getting up at 4:30 a.m. to run?”
4:35 am: I check my phone and see I have a text message…this is the moment we’ve all been where we wish, “I hope this is Laura canceling.” But deep down you know that’s not going to happen.
5:03 am: I’m sitting in my car waiting for Laura to come out of her hotel…and let’s be honest, if she doesn’t show I’m not going to be super brokenhearted. I’ll just drive 5 minutes to my bed and go back to sleep.
5:15 am: We’re a half mile into our run and my feet feel like cinder blocks.
6:00 am: Six miles in and all the resistance and complaints are dead, the feeling of utter despair from 4:30 a.m. has passed. Not even passed…it’s gone! I can’t see it in the rearview mirriow, and it doesn’t even register on the fucking radar. Now it’s just the two of us and the trail, laughing, telling stories, pushing each other.
Now the only thing we can think about is, how do we make this last mile count? Deep down we know the next seven minutes might be the best seven minutes of our day. We’re zen, far away from all worries. Laura’s 9 a.m. flight back to New York doesn’t exist, my 10 a.m. call disappears. It’s just right here, right now.
…and that’s why you wake up at 4:30 am* for some early morning running.
*Please note, waking up at 10am to create this experience also works. And, when I got home, I got back in bed until 8am.
This is a really shitty picture of the view from the run. I swear it looks amazing in person.
Here’s my friend Laura and I, sweaty, but still high on life post-run.