Mornings

I’m not a morning person. Lately, however, I’ve been trying to get up early at least once per week and get in some exercise. Monday has been my chosen day because I do a lot of napping on Sunday afternoons and I’m more rested then than ever. Still, dragging myself out of bed is never easy. To make things more difficult, I had to spend the night with my mom last night. Not that that is a great burden or anything, it just throws my routine off. I suppose the most profound sign of my age, besides my blond hair, is my abhorrence of anything that messes with my routine. I am a creature of habit and anything that changes my daily order is met with extreme displeasure.

I did get up after a severe struggle between my lazy-self and my industrious-self. As usual, I didn’t feel like doing anything and even walked a bit before I started shuffling. I went straight to the boulevard and headed north. It was still dark at a quarter of six when I crossed over the Tallahatchie Bridge. I even had some apprehension as I topped the crown of the bridge and peered into the darkness below. My mind went back to my experiences last fall on those turnrows just over the bridge. I am entering the coyote domain, I thought. But I won’t be going in far.

Just over the bridge, I noticed the splash of orange in the eastern sky. It’s been awhile since I saw that. The sight, the orange that is, took my mind back to years of old, back to that big box of crayons I had as a child. The sky was the same color as the orange crayon I used to decorate so many coloring books or sometimes blank sheets of notebook paper.  The sight of the sky brought back the smell of the colors, and I even had visions of some of my early artwork. There was the sun colored in that orange the eastern sky was showing me at the time. And the birds in the sky, those flattened out ems. And ships on the sea and airplanes attacking them. It’s amazing how much violence dominated my adolescent imagination.

I stayed on Money Road and although my legs didn’t feel strong, I began to enjoy my run. It is that time of year when it is still warm but not hot this time of morning. Sweat filled my shirt but it didn’t run off me like a car driving out of a rainstorm.

Then my mind went to water temperature because once more I’m training for the Suck. I swam pools last week. The fish ponds are more volatile as concerns temperature. What will the water temperature be Saturday? How much will it heat up through the day? How will the coming rain affect it?

There is a hurricane or a tropical storm on its way here. They call it Isaac and he’s destined to deluge us with heavy rain and that always means lower water temperatures.  Will I even get to swim outdoors this week? One thing is for sure: there is nothing anyone can do about the weather except respond. I can swim in rain and cold, but I fear to swim in lightning.

I hear only my footfalls as I make my way south back over the bridge. Several people are jogging or walking. I see Tod Fincher, and he speaks. I see someone on a bicycle. I see two young women running up the center of the roadway. Someone else walks a dog.

My pace is horrendous. It always is in the morning. But still, I feel better than when I stumbled out the door, and I’m encouraged by all the others I see who did the same thing. The space around me is beginning to lighten. In town now, I cannot see the eastern horizon.

I’m glad I got up.

I ran 2.52 miles and walked .4. After work, I wanted to swim, but with the storm coming I stayed home and mowed the lawn. Like usual, I lifted weights between circuits of mowing. I wore my Garmin and recorded an additional 1.59 miles of walking.