I try to work out in the mornings. Early. 5:15am or 5:30am. Pitch black, warm bed, sleeping children, whirring fan, comfy pj’s. It is hard to leave the comforts of home, but I try to remind myself that it’s only an hour. I’m only waking up an hour’ish earlier than I normally would.
Some days I listen to myself better than others.
One thing that I love about a morning workout is driving through my neighborhood and watching it wake up. After I’m done and on my way home, around 6:30 or so, I see a few dog walkers, kitchen lights on, the blue screen of a TV sharing the news. I picture sleepy-eyed children, showers steaming up, coffee brewing, phones being checked. Watching it all makes me feel like I’m in on this little secret ritual of everyone’s day.
I’m a little envious of the houses that are still dark, or those that are quietly easing into the day. I know that as soon as I hit the door, there are requests for ponytails, showers to be had, and schedules to discuss. But that is OK … it’s our ritual and then I wonder if someone is peeking in on us.