Morning Madness and a Little Mourning.

There is something terribly wrong but some mornings start off the exact same way in Dallas... I wake up early. I walk down the hall to my parents den, cracking the door ever so quietly, shuffling across the pergo flooring, and over to the computer to turn it on. And Microsoft has the wonderful start up that's louder than a lion's roar on this blasted computer. Anxiety level already up, because heaven forbid I wake the sleeping giants in this house. I walk into the kitchen as the computer warms up. Tiptoe-ing over to the cabinet with the 4 cup coffee maker my Mom stashes for company, turning on the sink softly to drip the very needed water, shuffling in the back of another cabinet for the coffee grinds, adding all the necessary ingredients, and getting ready for heaven to fill my 20oz polycarbonate water bottle with a shot of milk (wow! 2% here and whipping cream ), 1 sweet n low, 1 equal, and mega 3.5 cups of coffee, with a reserve for Avery. While it's brewing, I walk into the 160 degree garage, close the door behind me, slip on my dad's 11EEE flip-flops, pray the garage door doesn't make any extra noise and walk the half acre down the narrow driveway of my childhood home to retrieve the much anticipated Dallas Morning News, the one we are deprived of in San Antonio, the land of horrible reporting. I take the paper out, trash the plastic longing for a recycling bin, and enter to the burrrrr of the coffeemaker all done! Then I sit at the computer, looking at my split ends, searching for the latest and greatest from the forums of gottadeal.com...scrounge for My Coke Rewards, go get the scissors to cut the split ends, swallow some coffee, decide that chasing down anti-anxiety pills with coffee is NOT the best idea, however valuable both are, while looking at my split ends with the glare from the computer illuminating them so deliciously. Opps, everybody's up and it's 10 o'clock.
However, some days are better. I get up with my cellphone alarm clock and put on my running clothes, Nike+ shoes, heart monitor and watch, and iPod with Nike sensor strapped around my arm. I set out with good intentions and custom my run to 4.25 - 6.25 miles. Humming along with the play list I shuffle yet seems to always play the same order and think how happy it makes me to be out. I've gotten really ambitious some mornings and head to the dam at Joe Pool lake. I've never run the full distance so I didn't know what I get myself into until 2 weeks ago. With all the gear, I'm at the dam, enjoying the breeze off the lake, taking a picture with my camera phone adding a local emergency contact, and slowly I realize that I've ran a long way and there is no end in sight. I can't walk and I can't slow down because the only people on the dam are cyclists who look as serious as Lance Armstrong in last at the Tour de France. I think I might die...now. Good thing I brought my phone, and what the he** was I thinking. After an hour and twenty minutes my feet on fire, I need water, my legs are jello, and I have not experienced a runner's high. I stop my iPod where the voice tells me "Good job, you have completed your longest run yet." Ahhh, there's the runner's high, just a little pat on the back makes this girl happy. 9.5 miles down. Pretty painful, but I did it... didn't I?
Next weekend, I'm at the same dam ready for 10 miles because I'm running the dam and over the fence, past the marina, and to Great Southwest Parkway, then back. I get out there pumped. I can do this! I start out, except there is no response from my iPod. I look down, dismayed at the fact that it says the screen reads key configuration, blah, blah, blah. No setting distance, speed, time, play list, nothing. In disbelief, I continue running, thinking if I push a certain combination it will be okay. Man, my necks hurting, my shoulders don't like all this weird postioning, and the tears swell into my eyes because I can't make it without verification from my techno-trainer, and I really can't make it without any music. Determined to prove something to myself I keep going, and over the fence, and back, thinking I really am not going to make it this time, and I didn't bring my phone this time. Out of shear stupidity and a little encouragement from the cyclists who don't look so serious this time, I see the end. My body hurts, my shoes are shot, and I can't even think about my iPod without getting a sicker feeling in my stomach. I get in the car, drive home, monitoring my heart rate that doesn't want to come down to a non-hazardous level, and jump in the pool Avery just got done pooping in, clothes and all.
After 20 minutes of just sitting there, I walk in and say "Hi" to my husband, with Ipod out-stretched into his receiving arms. He mourns it for me a little while, thinking about what to do. Well, I'm headed to the store asap. He pushes some buttons, and immediately it responds. My life is still connected. My 129 miles are still there. And I am again at the runner's high I was waiting for. Life is good. But "I need new shoes."