Even When You Don't Want To

0450...The alarm blares.

Grunting, I reach over and slap it. Silent, again.

"I don't want to," I think to myself.

"Un-huh," I respond.

And so it begins—a ten minute conversation, a debate, really. Spirited. Passionate. All with my eyes closed.

Should I Stay, or Should I Go?

It's Thursday morning—bike commute day. It's the one day each week that logistics are not a barrier to riding. Normally I vegetate (or write this blog) on a commuter bus (like right now). But Thursdays are glorious!

It's such an opportunity! Decent mileage (~25 miles each way), varied terrain, a plethora of cyclist-assault vehicles (read: traffic). What's not to like?

Well, a lot, actually. Especially on this morning.

I'm tired.



And the pillow feels good.

And the ceiling fan is bathing me with luscious, cool air.

And my pillow really feels good.

And it's 0454 in the morning!

And it's already 80 degrees with 90% humidity!

...And the debate continues.

Schizophrenic?

Doesn't everyone talk to themselves—silently? Don't we all have inner dialogues?

I do—constantly. Hell, you're reading a manifestation of that habit. Who's the audience for this blog? Seriously, for whom do I write?

0458..the debate continues...

I need sleep. I need a workout. I haven't slept well in two days. I had two days of low-or-no workout—I missed my normal Two-a-Day Tuesday (I only led spin class) and I completely missed running Wednesday (it was 100 degrees in DC).

Sleep? Workout. Sleep. Workout! SLEEP! Workout.

0500, My feet hit the floor. I enter the bathroom. I pull on socks. I start to pull on bibs. I knock on Mother Nature's door. She answers.

As I sit there, eyes closed, swaying from fatigue, the debate continues.

Sleep. Dress. Sleeeeeep. Dress!

And it hits me: the moment of clarity; the why.

Like a beam of sunlight, the answer is revealed. The decision? So obvious, so clear, so absolute that the entire process now seems a farce—an exercise in cliché.

It's time to ride.

Why?

Because if I don't, I will be so pissed off at myself that I will be an insufferable bastard all day!

And no one...no one! Especially me!...will want to be anywhere near my smoldering glower, my feral snarl, or my vicious bite.

And if I ride, I may suffer, I may pant and wheeze and groan and complain. But come the shining of the sun and the bustle of my urban morning, I'll be happy.

So that's why I ride.

Epilogue

Friday morning.

0515...The alarm blares.

Grunting, I reach over and slap it. Silent, again.

"I don't want to," I think to myself.

"Un, huh," I respond.

You know how this ends...