It’s Five-O-Five am

And I shut off my alarm, having already hit the five-minute snooze once.  My body cries for sleep, my cheek seeks out the cool side of the pillow, and my legs rub against the soft sheets.  Sleep, however delectable, will not get me to the goal line.  My mind asks, “Do you want the same?”  I meekly reply that I do not, but I do not stir.  My mind asks again, louder, “DO YOU WANT THE SAME?”  I say I don’t and I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, which is no longer black from darkness but a muted gray from the creeping light.  I still don’t move.

“GET THE FUCK UP.  If you do the same thing every day, you will GET the SAME THING EVERY DAY.  Do you want your life to CHANGE?  Do you want the same life or do you want MORE? DO YOU WANT THE SAME?”  My mind, that bitch drill sergeant, will not stop.  She continues her tirade as I sweep my legs out from under the sheets and pull on my jogging shorts and bra and shirt, all of which are sitting neatly by the bed ready for me.  “HELL NO.  I DO NOT want the same.”  Feet press into shoes and ipod clicks on. 

My mind wins.  Desire wins.  Determination and persistence wins.  My bed is now lonely as my feet hit the pavement.  The sun is sneaking over the mountains.  I want to get this workout in before the fiery light hits the sky because once it does, even if you’re Jesus and your body is bread, you will turn into toast.  My sneakers rub into the back of my ankles and an instant blister reminds me that I need new shoes, but I do not stop.  I don’t stop until I make it back home, squinting against the rays of the sun, passing by two stray dogs joyfully chasing each other, and saying hello to a cow roaming near Hafen Lane.  I’ve been kicking myself out of bed as often as I can lately and I feel stronger.  I am no longer in the walk/jog phase; I am moving at a steady clip the entire time.  I don’t quit.  I won’t quit.  I run faster, I run longer, and I am stronger.  As my body changes, my confidence grows once again.

I have my workout completed, I am showered, and I write another scene all before Maya rubs her fists into her eyes and pops her head up over the top of the crib, her hair waving like a honey-colored peacock tail.  I kick ass before the teenager squeaks open an eye to check his text messages and emails. 

Today, I win.


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