The 5 a.m. Run
The morning air feels damp and still. No movement or wind, only darkness and heat.
It’s August in Florida. Even in the pre-dawn hour such humid conditions pervade the surface of any object -blanketing it like molasses over a biscuit. It’s stifling. I am awake at 4:30 a.m. with just enough time to put on my Nikes, hydrate and grab my iPod-Really, I’d rather be sleeping, but Chicago won’t wait. The difference between being an occasional runner or jogger and a marathoner is: the discipline it takes to run the extra miles-at whatever the cost. My “cost” is a couple less hours of sleep – which,they say, is way overrated when you train.
Sleeping is for after the race, after the long run, after . . . the word echoes in my mind as I change my iPod music and adjust my Garmin. I’m OTD. #outthedoor.
I am running across the street in a lit neighborhood that I live close to. Familiarity does wonders for the psyche in the daytime, but running in the darkness of the predawn hours gives way to the makings of a scary movie thriller. Padding down the road, I look around at my surroundings while adjusting my light. Every mailbox looks like a crouching dog, every unlit street light, a potential attacker – and every garbage can I pass wafts a putrid stench into the humid air; I hold my breath as I run by.
Determined to finish my 6 miles ~ I crank up my music (since I am only using one ear bud) and pick up the pace. Really, I should be taking it easy since my longer runs take more effort and it’s only the beginning of the week. But fear is quite a motivator and my Garmin clocks my pace at a 7 minute mile. . . I don’t expect too many knife wielding assailants to move at this speed or at this time in the morning, but hey, I could be {dead} wrong.
I round the corner and see a familiar house that abuts my street: I’m on the home stretch. No sprinting for me though– I “spent” it all while fleeing from my imaginary attackers. Maybe I should consider this my speed work for the week and call it done.
Entering my home dripping with sweat, I unload my gear onto the front room table feeling quite satisfied: not only have I’ve abated my imaginary attackers-but the terrifying numbers of the bathroom scale as well!
