The hardest part is just showing up. And showing up is part of being a professional. My bed was really warm today. It was cold outside, with rain splattering my window, and wind beating against the walls of my apartment. But I was warm. I had my trekking socks on. They are made from thick cotton and kick all sorts of ass. I had woken up on my own instead of the alien, mechanical alarm on my phone, which is aptly titled "Sonic Pulse." I have no idea why I chose that particular ring. Probably because the others were worse. In any case, I didn't have to hear it this morning, because I woke up on my own, gradually coming to and completely content with my place in the world.
Except that it was destined to end. I have to run in the morning. I have to run so that I have the wind to train hard in the evening. I have to run so that I have the wind to out-hustle and out-fight my opponent on February 26th. I reminded myself of these things, but I didn't move. I settled more deeply into the warmth of my pillows, my blankets, and my kickass cotton socks. And then I reminded myself of all the why's and what-for's, and I got out of bed. And it was cold outside of the bed. But I splashed some water on my face and I put on my running shoes and I walked outside. And I was grumpy, and my previous feeling of being content with my place in the world was a memory that just served to irritate me further.
But I started running, and I loosened up as my muscles and tendons and ligaments started working. And then I remembered how much fun it is to run in the rain. There are, after all, puddles and such to play in. And as I started to run up the steep hill that is Franklin Street, the rain slanted to hit me in the face and I reminded myself that my opponent probably isn't running this morning. After all, it IS raining out. And I picked up my pace a little bit.