The AM Blues

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5:07AM ...It's been seven minutes, an entire seven minutes and that damn alarm clock won't shut the hell up...With a smack, which may as well have been a gunshot ends it...Silence, where one battle ends, the next begins...It's amazing how something as simple and mundane as a bed can be so enticing...Inanimate, Fabric, Cotton, Some Shitty wood and springs...And those are the good ones...At this hour it's almost lustful in it's temptation, gentle, soft and comforting...The battle for the morning begins...A quick glance at that damn clock, thirty minutes behind schedule. Shit...Less time to stretch, less time for a good cup of coffee, the faster or either shorter the run will have to be. 

Shit. The morning persist with it's attack, an onslaught of gradual sunrise and dwindling minutes. Fully dressed, shorts (It's cold) long sleeves and shoes...A few sips of coffee and..."shit" can't seem to get that right either, it's burnt, it'll have to do. Some half assed stretching, mostly to avoid feeling guilty for a bad run, because who wants to take responsibility for a bad performance. 

Out the door, buoyant, springy, but patient...Almost half a mile and hints of tightness, foot itches, knee feels funky, and of course that loyal old bastard who accompanies nearly every run...The uninvited but inevitable "Side Stitch"...Pizza and beer the night before may not have been the best choices of carbohydrates...Mile and a half, Side Stitch is still lingering about and the bastard's invited a friend, that obnoxious jackass 'The Voice'..."Stop"..."Let's Walk"..."Who Are You Kidding"..."It hurts"..."Aren't You Tired"..."SHUT UP!!"...Two and some change...Almost finished...Last three quarters of a mile...The short cut back home, almost as safe, comforting and enticing as those last seven minutes in bed...The long route, the stomach sinks at the mere thought of it...That evil bitch, the terrain seems to twist and stand vertical, almost satanic in the way the asphalt curves upward...The legs decide, sinewy and powerful in the ascent...The heart, explosive banging, pounding, firing, driving the effort forward and up...The terrain, is unforgiving, fighting back, growing steeper..."It Hurts"...Just above the knee, burning, lactic acid...Chest heaving, diaphragm betrayal...'Side Stitch' is back..."Bastard"...Lower back stiffens..."Shit"....The summit comes into focus...Out of weapons the crest submits and sinks into descent...Crashing downward, springy, buoyant, controlled and graceful...The earth and asphalt begin to make sense again yielding leveling...Three miles, three long hard miles conquered. The battle for morning is won.


- DOWELL DAVIS





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