The route I run in the wee hours averages out to 66 minutes. In that time I manage to loosen my body up, massage my worry bone, calm my overactive ego, and marvel at the amazing machine. I crave the routine.
I feel I would self-destruct without it. But that’s just junkie-think. Dependency on another level.
My harnessed compulsion.
It’s a condition that’s been saving my bacon since birth. The fruits of that labor have taken me everywhere, so it will continue until the dirt nap.
It’s 66 minutes of mind clearing, prioritizing, sprinting, walking, side-lunging, backwards-running and jogging, all in an effort to confuse my Fitbit.
Does it ever.
Then I shower, eat breakfast and head back into bed with Izzy for the most restful sleep I will get all day.
In a few hours it will be distant memory. 66 minutes invested in a brand new day.
When I find myself driving on that road later, it will feel like it never happened.
But it did. 🙂