The Fineprint

“You want peace, chase down your war every morning and get it out of the way.” So says my ever-present and usually annoying alter ego.

3:30 a.m. always sucks. Always. Always. Always. It is never going to be one of those things Body or Mind naturally do, and I do not give one single flying #*$@ what anyone says. As long as we’re all clear on that, we’re good.

See, I have a big problem with things and people who are not straight forward… if something is going to suck like a Hoover, just give it to me, don’t wrap it all up with a frilly little bow the shade of someday and call it communicated. In this respect, I do not like surprises.

So, folks, here it is for you - you NEVER get used to getting up at 3:30 in the morning for anything, in fact, unless your house is on fire, all of your receptors and responders will not, in fact, engage in any sort of conscious behavior for at least 20 minutes. Do not drive during this time. Do not leave your house during this time. Do not go up or down stairs during this time. Trust me.

There. Said. Done. Moving on.

One thing has been as consistent as the suckitude of 3:30 a.m. By 4:00 a.m. things are fabulous. This morning the sky was like that lava rock on the old cinder-chip tracks from fifth grade; sharp and shiny, and I was the only person in my world who could see it. I stretched, jogged around the block to wake up, and then drove to the pool.

Another constant, pool water is ALWAYS neuron-numbing cold for the first five minutes. The first 25 yards are always the most profanity-invoking bits of distance ever covered by man or beast. THEY. WILL. NEVER. BE. FUN. They, like pre-dawn wake-up calls, are designed to weed out the weak and faithless.

I am not weak. I am not faithless. That said, I have earned the right to bitch a bit about the first 25 yards. I’m done now.

They pulled the dividers for some reason today, so it looked like a little ocean in the pool. Weird, but I always have my best swims when there are no dividers - I don’t know why. Both of my swim partners are ocean liners, and I get no end of wave – so logically, something is wrong with me. I obviously can’t explain it, but the rest of my 2975 yards this morning were not half bad, in fact, I’d say they were quite good: 2,000 yards of steady warm-up, which delivered me at the door of a 1000-yard time trial. I was sluggish at the beginning of the time trial, thought for sure my time would really bite it, but it turned out to be 22:13. Hmmmmmmmm. And that was feeling sluggish. I don’t know, I don’t want to know, just get me to T1 before a bunch of people and I’ll be happy.

So – let’s recap:

-- Getting out of bed to do anything at 3:30 a.m. will, until the end of time, FORever, damn near cause me to become violent.

-- There is nothing so motivating as being the absolute only person out there with a lava rock sky.

-- Getting into a pool at 5:30 in the morning in February in the Midwest, and the subsequent initial 25 yards always will be betting worthy of an immediate deluge of underwater swearing in a variety of languages and decibels.

-- Coming within one minute of a PR on a time trial while feeling like a lead toaster is always ice cream. And not the fat free yogurt kind, either.

Get up.
It sucks.
Then it doesn’t.
Go train.
It sucks.
Then it doesn’t.
Always.
In that order.
No games. No bows.
Yeah, I'm still signing.