His eyes opened slowly as the phone alarmed on the bedside table. Reaching out in the darkness of the cold morning the alarm is acknowledged and a heavy silence settles. The morning battle begins anew, but before the doubt can start to creep he sweeps his arm to throw off the covers. Swinging his legs out of bed he stretches violently and yawns before the silence returns. Throwing on the carefully laid out clothes, black shorts and a grey sweatshirt, he stumbles out into the kitchen to splash cold water in his face.
With tightly laced runners, watch on, buds in, he stands at the front door and takes a deep breath, bracing himself before stepping out into the last gasps of darkness. He walks slowly at first. Making his way down the road under the passing street lamps. Rounding the corner a walk turns into a slow trot. Heavy feet pound the pavement with a steady cadence. Thick muscled thighs ripple in the artificial light with the impact of each step. His hands ball into tight fists. Arms pumping. Chest heaving. He has built his pace and he navigates the quiet streets.
His mind empties as his lungs start to burn, sucking in cold air in great greedy breaths. Twisting and turning around he keeps a steady pace having reached his natural rhythm. As the sun begins to break over the horizon he has return to his street and seeing the end in site forces a sprint to the end. Finally reaching his door he doubles over, hands on knees, sucking air with his eyes closed, not totally sure what brought that on.
