It's raining.
The good kind of raining where I make a fire, move my laptop to a table by the dining room window so I can watch the storm, and bundle up in cozy clothing. I went to bed adamant that my distance runners would have morning practice, rain or shine. But when I got up at five and saw the dark and wet, that felt a little obsessive. We can make up the miles some other time. I sent out a text canceling the workout and got back into bed, pulled up the comforter, and slept until eight.
Sometimes when I'm working on a book I need the rigor of routine. Sometimes I need a change of pace, a day or two or even a week where I screw around and enjoy days without discipline. Today feels like one of those.
The rain and weekend brought it on. My friend Bill Baker sent me photos of our African adventure, including shots I'd never seen before of the police station where we were interrogated in Sumbawanga. For good measure, he included a shot of the arresting officer, complete with AK-47. The photos made me reflective, bringing back memories of good friends and a week in the middle of nowhere. I call it an adventure now, but back then I was scared out of my mind.
On the running front, the daughter of a good friend finished fourth at the U.S. Olympic Marathon Trials on Saturday. One of my former assistant coaches took seventh. I cannot take credit for either accomplishment but I liked that feeling of being a little more personally connected to such a big race. I liked the photos sent from Orlando of Josh Cox, a friend and runner's agent, lamenting a rough day for his athletes with an umbrella drink called the Tornado Bowl.
Distance, reflection, good friends . . .
I really should go out and log a few miles myself, right now. Hempy, Burns, and Burkhardt will read this and send me a text saying the very same thing. Nothing bad ever comes from running in the rain. But I just don't feel the motivation.
It seems like every time I listen to a podcast these days, the catch phrase is "morning routine." How best to attack the day?
Right now. I don't feel like attacking anything. It is wonderful enough to sit by the window and be glad I am not soaking wet, knowing that the best words are written in the subconscious, when it seems like all the mind is doing is watching the rain.