I often find that the hardest part of my morning run is getting out the door of The House on the Hill to take that first stride.
On the weekends, when I have all the time in the world, I will find every excuse to procrastinate before hitting the road.
I’m certain I send some of my best tweets on Saturday and Sunday mornings as I sit on the couch, in my Running Toga and sneakers, doing anything I can to not put one foot in front of the other like Kris Kringle learned to do in “Santa Claus Is Coming To Town”.
Look at what happened to skinny Kris Kringle. Clearly, he didn’t follow the advice given to him in that song, and he plumped up to a point that he now needs a team of reindeer to move him from place to place if he wants to get around.
I did not want to get out of bed this morning. It was so warm under the covers, and I was having some intriguing dream that I can’t remember now, but had been so entertaining before the alarm clock sounded.
I so badly wanted to get that extra hour’s sleep that was right there for the taking. All I had to do was be a slacker, roll over, pull the covers over my head, and all would be well with the world.
But something wouldn’t allow me to do that. Motivation moved me. The thought of how much better I’d feel once I had those 3 miles under my toga, stirred me from my slumber. The idea that my health would be much better served by sweating, rather than by sleeping, got my two feet on the floor.
I’m always amazed that I don’t finish my run and discover that my Running Toga is on backwards, or that my giant Monkey Boy sneakers are on the wrong feet. I am so out of it when I get dressed, stretch, and then step out onto the porch.
It’s really only after I take those first couple of strides that the cobwebs begin to clear and my brain starts to hum.
Just run, Modern Philosophers.
All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other…