I hate, I mean I hate exercising early in the morning. I just am not a morning person.
I can do it if I have to, but I hate to.
The mayor of Houston yesterday basically told everyone that only essential personnel should be working today. We closed down the church on Thursday after some evening activities.
I usually work out on Fridays. I did not know if 24-Hour Fitness (what a joke of a moniker—three nights a week they close at 10: some of my prime time to work out) was going to be open today, so, since my wife was going to be up at 6 a.m. anyway to run Viki Vizsla, wouldn’t I want to go ahead and run my 3 miles at the track?
Well, what a dumb question. Of course I would not want to run 3 miles at the track early in the morning when I am grouchy and not yet woke up properly. Besides I have a touch, I think, of the gout in my wrist of all places, and I still can’t do push-ups because it hurts too much when I bend that wrist (as if that had anything to do with running!)
But I jerked myself out of bed by the psychological scruff of my neck to put in my time (muttering a lot of the way internally) at the track—I was shocked that I did it in under 30 minutes.
It was so dark to begin with. And then the first rays of dawn. And then a few banded, high clouds. Greyish. Reddish.
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.
My wife reminded me of that. Isn’t that how that saying went?
