This morning's run was a test of my will. I passed.
Tuesdays and Thursdays are busy days for me: I leave home at 9:30 am and return at about 9:30 pm. This leaves little time for running, except first thing in the morning. This morning, the alarm went off, my husband nudged me, and I merely grunted a response. "Are you gonna run?" he asked. I just rolled over. A half an hour later, I was still laying there, and I was experiencing some classic indecision. My brain tried to rationalize that if I skipped the morning run that perhaps I could lug my running stuff to campus and find some space before my evening class to run on campus and I could shower in the gym's locker room. My body knew differently. I knew that if I didn't get up and do the run first thing that it would never get done.
Slowly, I rolled out of bed, dressed, and hit the road. Usually, even if I'm tired, once I start running I wake up and feel refreshed. That was not the case this morning. My feet felt like lead, and my brain was fuzzy with sleep. I literally trudged through the three miles, and while I didn't have a watch, I know my time was terrible. But that's okay. This morning was just about getting it done. Which is what some days are like: Not every day can be a good running day, and sometimes merely accomplishing a distance (even a familiar distance) is all a runner can ask for.
I was thankful that I got up and did it. Getting up and running in the morning is just as daunting to me as the idea of running 26.2 miles, so knowing that I can do one helps me realize I might be able to do the other.