The sound of the alarm startles me this morning; can it really be 5:00am already? I hit the snooze button and snuggle back into my bed. 5:05am, off goes alarm number two – NOOOO I don’t want to get up. And here comes the internal dialogue I have with myself every morning:
“Get up and go for your run, you will be happy you did”
“But I’m tired, I can go to the gym after work today”
“You could, but it’s Friday, so you probably won’t… you had that glass of wine last night, if you don’t run it off, you will have muffin top all day”
“I don’t want to” “Get your lazy ass out of bed” “F*ck” “OK FINE”
My feet hit the cold floor, and I stagger into the bathroom. The light is blinding, why am I doing this to myself? I brush my teeth, brush through the tangled mess of my hair, and scrounge through my laundry hamper for clean LULU.
I’m no longer thinking at all; I’m on autopilot – If I stop to think, I might change my mind and climb into bed. The car is cold, so I put on the heater, adjust my mirror, and crank up the radio.
I DID IT, I’m on my way downtown, and I’m going to get my run done!!! I park the car in front of my favorate cafe, tie up the laces of my worn runners, and hit the streets. I warm up with a slow jog until I round the first corner, now begins the laborious climb up 1st Avenue. 1st Avenue is six blocks of “hill” – Lung burning hill. My legs want to stop, and they ache all over. I make it to the top, give myself a pat on the back and continue on. “Pop Goes The World” is playing on my Iphone – I’m feeling pretty good.
30 Minutes later I’m at the door to the cafe and ready for my coffee. Greg, the barista, rings in my 20oz almond milk latte, and I settle in to for a quick read before it’s time for work.
Just as I open my book, a man sitting in the next booth decides to start up a conversation. From the looks of him, I would guess he lives on the streets and had come in to warm up. I humour him (I’m polite that way) by engaging in some friendly chit chat, and then I turn back to my book. This did not faze him one bit; he continued to talk. Honestly, I have no idea what he is talking about. His speached is slurred and quick; I hear something about Cleopatra poisoning herself, and “Ain’t that a F*cking thing.”
My patience is wearing thin by now, and all I want is to be left alone. I pretend not to hear him and stare at my book hoping he will stops talking. It doesn’t work, I turn my body completely away from him and focus hard on the words in front of me. Still he talks. It takes 10 minutes for him to run out of steam before he gets up and saunters out the door.
Part of me feels bad that I didn’t want to talk to him, but mostly I’m relieved he’s gone. If I were a better person, giving up 10 minutes of my day would be no big deal. But I not and this is my time. As much as it pains me to get up so early, I treasure every moment of it. I enjoy the empty streets as I run, I enjoy the first sip of my latte, and I enjoy the piece and quiet.
Although my morning wasn’t completely lost, I felt annoyed by the interruption. Generally I’m pretty social and I will talk up a storm when I feel like it. MY mornings are sacred though, and I don’t feel I should have to give of myself all the time.