Friday, November 11, 2011


I am a morning person.  In case in that half second you somehow managed to get things twisted I am also an evening person.  Daylight fades to darkness.  Vice versa.  They equal me.  Despite this hybrid, in my 35 year travels I have finally surmised the perfect hour is 5am.
A blaring alarm aside 5am is the perfect hour for rising. A late niter- 11, 12, etc.- is hardly a match for the bullet proof 5am.  To rise at the hour is to conquer said ‘late niter’.  One night.  Two nights.  Three nights.  Four.  Who can’t get by?  Honestly.  On the flip side, an early night- 9, 10, etc.- delivers a rested head.  Either way, 5am is the hour.  The hour to run, rested.  The hour to run, tired.  A rested body and mind, awaken at 5am and shortly out the door, yields a run expected.  Fruitful.  The body and mind gloat in shared happiness.  Conversely, a tired corpse awakens in the darken 5am hour.  A battle ensues.  Naturally.  Always.  Shoes lace regardless and it happens.  The run takes shape.  Afterwards, the body at home on doorstep bows to an elated mind.  A day’s protocol is erected.  Proud.  Imagine still a body in bed wishing it had run?  Fuck that!
This is my argument.  This is theirs:


  1. How poetic! And you even worked in "erected". There should be some censorship.

  2. Call me when you get settled in up in C-Ville. I'm stoked we'll get a chance to run together.