My alarm was set for 4:45 a.m. but I started to toss at 4:15. I saw the clock at 4:25 and again at 4:35. But I waited. Waited for the ring that would signal me to get out of bed.
I'm still not used to the alarm selection on my phone — it's kind and not jolting — but I did spring when I heard it. I went downstairs, slipped on some shoes and headed outside. I started my car and headed back inside. Bathroom break, a change of clothes and a swallow of vitamins.
Oh, coffee cake. I found it in the freezer when I was cleaning it out. Sourdough Banana. A quick bite. Just one. It was time to go.
I headed to the downtown YMCA, which opens at 4:30 a.m., to run on the treadmill. The one in the basement is no longer good for running, and the cold temperatures (low teens, real feel in single digits) plus still icy roads deterred me from going outside. I listened to "The Wild" on the short drive there, one hand on my Nuun bottle. I had picked Cherry Limeade knowing I would need the caffeine.
5:05 a.m. the clock on my car read as I pulled into the eerily empty parking lot. The cold must have kept people in bed, I reasoned. I know it was slow at the branch where I teach on Monday after the snow. I stumbled to the door, pulled the handle and nothing.
I looked up.
Ah, hell. No. HELL NO.
So what's a mother runner to do?
A. Go home and get back in bed. Unplanned rest day it is!
B. Go home, grab warmer clothes (and risk waking up the family) and run outside.
C. Spend the drive home reworking the schedule to run later. Runch, perhaps?
D. Break down the door and run anyway. Who needs water to run on the treadmill?!