The alarm beeps at 4:00 am in that infernally irritating tone but it’s the only way I’ll wake up. I roll over to the edge of the bed to press snooze and just lie there in that space between awake and asleep. This bed feel so good, the room is cool and the sheets are almost sweet in the way they hug me; please stay they say. I very well could stay, I’m sleepy and sore, I’ve been perpetually sore for weeks. I could stay in bed and be good with food and lots of water and not have lost any strength I’ve gained so far. Tough Mudder is months away, I don’t have any races to worry about, my jeans fit fine, I’m one of the stronger women in my classes, no one will reprimand me for skipping a workout, I’ve got nothing to prove to anyone and I feel fine. Yet there is this tug in my gut that tells me that none of that matters, not one reason that keeps in me in bed is the REAL reason I wake up in the morning and push myself into a sweaty mess. I didn’t start working out and eating clean because I wanted to look a certain way, or run a race or be praised for my strength.
I started this out of desperation, because I was afraid I’d eat myself into an early grave. Sometimes I forget that and the bed wins, I fall back to sleep with a little guilt but nothing big. Every now and then though I remember, or often am reminded, the truth of my journey; and I’m thankful for it. Why do I workout? To keep my sanity and save my life. It keeps me waking up at that unfairly early time. So I will myself to stand, dress myself, walk through a house that’s still asleep and out to my car in the dark to beat myself into a sweaty mess again.