I love working out in the morning! Getting up early, heading out into the cool, crisp blackness. Entering a zen-like stage of meditation where all I hear are shoes slapping the pavement, rhythmic breathing and the quiet seduction of birdsong. Pre-dawn running is what I live for!
Is anybody buying this load of horse manure? Let’s be real: I absolutely despise getting up early to exercise. Who could possibly enjoy such torture when a relatively new king-size mattress and 600-count Egyptian sheets are begging her to stay? I’m not Forrest Gump! But the alternative is worse, and so I find myself frequently having to endure that 5 a.m. alarm.
And over the years, I have at least learned to appreciate the morning workout. I’m able to contemplate life, my family and this column without the pushes and pulls of carpool duty, work, the husband and that sexy temptress known as Netflix. It’s just me and my thoughts for 30 to 60-odd minutes, making it the perfect time to ponder my ripped pants debacle at the previous night’s Meet the Teacher and to establish time of death of said pants (anywhere from 2 to 6 p.m.); to consider how unlucky a black cat’s day will be after I cross his path; and to rehash episode five of my new obsession, “Stranger Things” (Nancy, for God’s sake! Why would you go in there?).
And over the years, I have at least learned to appreciate the morning workout. I’m able to contemplate life, my family and this column without the pushes and pulls of carpool duty, work, the husband and that sexy temptress known as Netflix. It’s just me and my thoughts for 30 to 60-odd minutes, making it the perfect time to ponder my ripped pants debacle at the previous night’s Meet the Teacher and to establish time of death of said pants (anywhere from 2 to 6 p.m.); to consider how unlucky a black cat’s day will be after I cross his path; and to rehash episode five of my new obsession, “Stranger Things” (Nancy, for God’s sake! Why would you go in there?).
Plus, it’s dark, which means I can literally let it all hang out. Shirt twisted and tucked into a skimpy Daisy Duke, hair pinned into a messy top knot, no make-up, stretch marks a-showing . . . I am living the freedom-to-be-middle-age dream. No sun also means no SPF, no visor and no possibility of heat stroke. And if my bratty little cousin Incontinence makes an appearance, who cares? There is literally no one alive at that godforsaken hour to notice.
Plus, it’s dark, which means I can literally let it all hang out. Shirt twisted and tucked into a skimpy Daisy Duke, hair pinned into a messy top knot, no make-up, stretch marks a-showing . . . I am living the freedom-to-be-middle-age dream. No sun also means no SPF, no visor and no possibility of heat stroke. And if my bratty little cousin Incontinence makes an appearance, who cares? There is literally no one alive at that godforsaken hour to notice.
Most importantly, the morning workout gets it over and done with, so that I can spend my free time stocking up on excellent nightmare fodder with “Stranger Things.” (Seriously, Nancy! How dumb are you?) Peace out.
Most importantly, the morning workout gets it over and done with, so that I can spend my free time stocking up on excellent nightmare fodder with “Stranger Things.” (Seriously, Nancy! How dumb are you?) Peace out.