
I’ve never been a morning person, so this last week of daylight savings time has whirred around and thumped me handily with the club of laziness. I only use an alarm for race days or VERY important runs with others but even the alarm couldn’t help me this week. The weather’s been in the 70’s and sunny every day (74 and sunny today), so that was no excuse. Here’s the scene the last three days: Alarm begins its soft beep with long intervals of silence (seemingly to see whether I register its soundings), then increases the frequency until blaring in a Rush-esqe drum solo gush of beeps. I crawl to the absurd little machine and silence it, leaving me sprawled on the floor staring up at the dark void where the wall meets the ceiling. “I have to run today. It’s been one (two?) days.” “Get up!” “Just get dressed and out the door. You’ll feel so much better all day.” “Go!!!” I move to the closet and get shorts, shirt, socks and shoes on. Then hit the proverbial wall of lethargy and strip back into boxers and crawl back into bed. All this time, Pippit (dog) has been patiently watching with just his nose and one eye peering from under the covers, knowing somehow that I’d be back.
It’s not from lack of sleep; I’ve been sleeping an unheard of average of 10 hours a night. I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been going to bed at 9-930 each night. I go through this not every year but many years. One year during a particularly dank late fall in Michigan I would come home from work, eat, watch Jeopardy, and go to bed at 730pm, sleeping 12 hour nights. Crazy, because I’m fairly happy and sufficiently rested on 7 hours sleep regularly.
Not today. Even though I did go to bed at 930 (830, really when considering the time change), I am up and eager to move. Here it is just 820am and I’ve had my coffee, Clif bar, and written a banal, wandering post, with little meaning other than to say to the sun, “Thank you, more please.”









