Chattering monkeys

Today was a running day. I've sort of fallen off the training schedule, but I'm still out running almost every other day. So when Eric rousted me out of bed, I got up, made breakfast and school lunches in my pjs, and then went back upstairs to get dressed.

First choice -- grab running clothes. I've found that if I'm wearing them, the odds that I will run go up markedly. Getting into (and out of) tights and a running bra isn't for the faint of heart, so if they're on, you might as well use them.

So I made breakfast, as I said, made lunches, dropped a pot with boiling water and tofu dogs in it on my ankle, causing a nice burn, asked Eric to do the school drop off while I took off.

About three quarters of a mile into the route, which consisted of "run toward the wind, then toward the sun," I looked at my little wrist computer. I try not to "ride" it, but just check distance every once in a while.

I looked again.

The pace was blistering. Really fast for me. That was great. What was a little disconcerting was forgetting to start the timer. Power on? Check. Start the recording? Not so check.

So I hit "start," and continued on. But what I was thinking of, as I was feeling the pace finally, was how much I like running, and yet my mental tape in the morning sounds like someone being forced to do something utterly against their will.

"Don't go," say the chattering monkeys. "You never get any faster, your clothes don't fit differently, who says you'll live longer. You don't even like it that much!" "It's too hard, you have too much to do, stay in bed another half an hour!" Or maybe, and this doesn't work much around here, apologies to those of you still in winter's grip, "The weather isn't right, it's too cold/hot/windy." The message is always, "Why bother? Just don't."

And some days I listen, and roll over, and the world doesn't end. And some days I go and have a crap run, and think, "Hey, monkeys, you got it right this time."

But today, despite the operator error, it was worth struggling with latex and shoe laces, dodging children who don't know that maybe sharing the sidewalk works best for everyone, judging whether I can get across the road before the car has to slow, dealing with the fact that running chin-up as I do makes the rising sun flash straight into my eyes, despite my cap, and dealing with hauling what my mama gave me around town, and only timing half of the route, eventually going about a half mile less than I intended. It was a good run.



And now as I'm having my tea and listening to the bookend girls get ready, I'm thinking maybe the monkeys will be quiet for the rest of the day.