I hate getting up early. I really do. I hate it more than putting away folded laundry and cleaning up dog pee. Nonetheless, Monday through Friday, I dutifully get up at the ass-crack of dawn to get my two middle-schoolers (who, mind you, equally hate getting up early) out of bed and fed and shoved lovingly out the door to catch a bus that arrives at the uncivilized hour of 6:45am. Grrrrrr. So come Saturday and Sunday, one thing I really look forward to is sleeping in. Not horribly late, but you know…7 or 8 or 8:30…maybe 9am. I’m a slouch, I know.
I wish I didn’t mind getting up early so much because there are many wonderful things about the early morning. Those quiet moments before the sun rises are soft and misty blue, the air is fresh and clean, and then the sunrise from my front porch or as it lifts up over the woods is spectacular.
Occasionally, I am actually able to extract myself from that warm, comfy cocoon of a bed and, just as the sun starts to rise, I head out for a run and see the world at its best. The fields are shrouded in mist and the deer are dark shadows that simply move silently aside as I run by. I could drag my hands along their fur. No cars on the road. No people on the sidewalks. The only sound I hear are my shoes hitting the pavement and my quickening breath. I never regret going for a run in the early hours of morning–ever. But for whatever reason, I just am not able to muster the strength to fight the comfy, warm-bed sleep monster very often. As a result, I usually settle for running in the early evenings after work. Just not quite the same.
I hope to one day fight that sleep monster and experience one of those early morning runs again. It’s a goal of mine.