I woke up a bit later than usual. My brain would not let me listen to the “It’s the weekend, you can sleep in” story. At this point I know lying awake in bed at dawn will mean constant brain chatter—not a return to sleep.
I always put out my running gear before I go to sleep. So it was easy to get up, get dressed, and get outside. And then, I was done.
I have a set loop that I do every morning. Walk to that corner to loosen up, start running until I reach that corner, then walk the rest of the way. I am extending the run portion of the loop by 10% every week. (This is contrary to my standard approach to life of going whole hog from the git-go. Who knows! I might be learning how to get better better.)
My brain suggested that today maybe I could just walk the entire thing. Nope. I ran the section I usually run, according to plan.
What’s the moral of this story? This trivial event in a random day?
The first thing is to note how fast, with repetition and very little motivation, I built a foundational habit. I would estimate that the dawn patrol habit took three or four weeks to embed.
The second is to note how I attempt to dissuade myself with self-talk from doing what I want to do (be an early riser, runner, healthy and clear-minded), even while I am doing what I want to do. I am bemused.
The third is the meta picture I just got. This little write-up is overly wordy and clunky. See how hard it is for me to express inner, nonverbal feelings and convictions?
I am sitting on the back porch. A squirrel is on the roof of the garage, looking at me and mailing squirrel noises. It’s a cool overcast morning and the soft, flat gray light is soothing. I want to cry, partly in gratitude and partly in frustration and fear. I dread today’s self-appointed tasks.
Let’s go.