I absolutely love the fact that I’m a morning person, and that the first thing I want to do when I wake up – every day – is to gear up and get out there.
While I haven’t always been a runner – that change took place about 6 years ago – I have, on the other hand, always been a morning person. I was the girl at sleepovers who huddled in a room next to all the sleeping beauties watching Saturday morning cartoons for hours on end until the first of my friends woke up. I was the girl who actually volunteered to go watch my dad play basketball at 7 a.m. at the nearby gym, just so I wouldn’t have to be up and bored at home. I was the girl in college who could beat all the lines at Angelos – the insanely popular greasy diner with massive, hour-long waits – because most of the campus was still passed out from their alcohol binge the night before.
Nope, not me. Give me a couple of Advil and a trash can, and I was out the door and ready to get my day started. Unless, of course, I was really, truly hungover – something that I’m less of these days (save for Saturday; more to come on that). Something about being older, I don’t know.
So waking up to run has never really been all that much of a chore. The only time I can recall genuinely hating the sound of my alarm was during the first 10 months after I graduated from the University of Michigan. I had moved back home and started my first job at a science publisher pretty much right away, and commuting to the city meant less time for running.
The change was sudden, and I didn’t know what to do except simply find a way to run, no matter what it meant. During those 10 months, I set my alarm for 5 a.m. every day. I hated my alarm. I hated the fact that I lived in the basement and, despite the privacy, couldn’t see any light whatsoever in the dungeon. Still, I managed to crawl out of bed, even in the dead of winter, and squeeze 3 to 5 miles into nearly every morning. Those were probably the most difficult mornings in terms of running in my life.
Fortunately, today, I run at what most would consider a more sane time of day (though I still somewhat surprisingly get, all the time, how impressive it is to hit the pavement so early in the morning). In reality, I don’t know what other time I could run if I didn’t have my mornings. Because for every part of me that’s a morning person, I am absolutely, 100 percent not a night owl.
I was out until about 11 on Thursday night, which meant that by the time I got home, made myself a mini healthy flax seed and avocado pizza at 11:30 (really normal, right?), and got in bed, it was midnight. On Fridays, I always give myself the option to sleep in – especially if I did something social the night before. Holding myself to the prospect of less sleep is unhealthy, in my opinion, and yet I haven’t missed a Friday morning run in weeks.
I miraculously woke up at 6 a.m. on Friday. The trucks were roaring, the 4 birds in all of Manhattan were chirping, and I was totally energized. What followed was a spectacular run through Central Park with some of the nicest views so far this spring.
While the streets were empty when I left my apartment…
…Central Park was alive with morning runners. Because I had extra time, I made a pit stop at the Bethesda Fountain…
…and stretched to peaceful morning views…
…that can at times seem uncharacteristic of this busy city I call home. While hanging out by the fountain, I people watched, I dog watched, and I did a loop of lunges around the angel.
When I was good and ready to keep on trucking, I headed back toward the lower loop path…
…veered left back south…
…ran up toward the mall…
…stopped for one of these awesome Tim Burton-esque photos…
…and ran back home.
Then Friday night happened. Any time you start the night with a cup of wine next to an empty PBR (not ours, but you can see the type of venue I kicked off the evening in), it’s probably a safe bet that you’re headed for disaster.
To make a long story short, I set a PDR on Saturday night – a personal drinking record. Not the kind of PDR’s I’ve been used to as of late.
I had promised a friend of mine – TC – to go on a run for a while now. And when, on Thursday night, he joked that he was deeply offended by the lack of TC on WRFG, I said fine – Saturday morning we’d go for a run.
On any other Saturday, I’d be up and at em by 7, 8 the latest. We planned for 9, to give ourselves a bit of wiggle room. Noon would have been better though, because by the time I woke up at 8:30, I was contemplating death, not my morning run. To say that I felt awful would be putting it lightly.
Because I had been out with TC the night before, I figured that he could only feel as horrible as I did. Yet by 9:15, a text message rang through informing me that he was on his way to my apartment. You’ve gotta be kidding me, I thought to myself.
I called TC. Seriously? I asked. We’re really doing this? Yep, we were. 15 minutes later, TC showed up at my apartment with 3 bagels, vitamin water and an apple juice. I haven’t eaten a bagel and cream cheese in years; on Saturday, I scarfed it down with ease. If I was going to get through Saturday’s run with TC and Noah, I was going to need some serious carb-age.
I was blatantly drunk when we left on our run. (Mom, you didn’t read that, and if you did, I promise you that I’m ashamed.) I felt absolutely terrible, and with each step, I could feel the vodka (since when do I drink vodka?) seeping out of my pores. It was hot. I was sweaty. I was smelly. But hey, I was running.
The 3 of us made it to the 59th Street entrance of Central Park, around the reservoir, and back. For as ill as I felt, it was at least beautiful outside.
Before leaving the park, TC stopped for a dirty water hot dog (ew). And we ran back home. That was probably the most productive I have ever been when in such dire shape, and so I showered and passed back out until 3 p.m.
So, that’s it from me. Last weekend, I achieved a traditional PDR during my half marathon plus two. This weekend, I PDRed in a much less commendable way. Shameful or not, it was a great lazy weekend and an even better way to start birthday week 2012. (Kidding, I hate my birthday. My only plan is to indulge in delicious food on Friday with my mom because we share that special date.)
Now it’s your turn.
- How was your weekend?
- Any great runs?
- Have you ever taken a horribly hungover run?
- Are you watching Storage Wars right now?
- Am I a degenerate?