Wireless Rhythm

My eyes opened some time around the five o’clock hour this morning. I wanted them to. Somewhere in my subconscious I know that I need a half hour for my id and superego to wrangle out the seemingly important rationalizations of staying under the covers versus getting out of bed to complete my three mile circuit. 

It’s the getting out of bed that’s the challenge. Not the opening of my eyes. I go to sleep and know that I need to wake up at that 5 o’clock hour. Whether or not I stay awake… well, that’s a separate issue.

I don’t use an alarm clock. I haven’t used one in about… seven years. I think the last time I used it with practice was when I had to get up and go to a job I hated. Hated. Hated. Hated. So, of course, I pressed that snooze button an infinite number of times… and never felt rested. And usually had to rush out the door and stop at Starbucks for a coffee (and breakfast) to make better time. Or so I thought.

So I don’t know. Maybe it’s a determination to eliminate any sensory memory of those dreadful days at Tower Hell or maybe I just took advantage of those months of unemployment to discover my internal clock. Whatever it was, I haven’t turned on that obnoxious, clang-y, whiny, annoying alarm since.

I don’t think that much of it, really. It’s a choice. As much of a choice as running. As deciding to eat half a hamburger instead of a whole one. Tuning into the frequency of my… I suppose… bio rhythm. 

But this resonated the other day when I was on my three mile path and my shuffle died on the first mile. Right before the most dreaded .2 of a mile on my run. When I could have used some music to get me going. That interval sucked. I could hear my struggled breathing and the heavy imprint of my feet (even with brand new sneakers) on the ground. I felt out of sorts and discouraged to make it to the next hill. I took my walking interval… and took out the earphones that hate to stay in my ears anyway. The sound of the traffic and the birds and the air filled my empty ears. It was calming… but really, I just wanted to get home and be done already.

So I went back to running. I crested that hill on Com. Ave. and there was… a rhythm. My steps. My heartbeat. My breathing. It all made its own beat, its own synergized pattern that eased that last mile all the way to my front step.

I always thought I needed music to make me run. And… sometimes I do. I think it can help me increase my stride when that Alias music comes on - or smile (and consequently lift my spirits) when Coldplay shuffles into my hearing… but… well, going without music… isn’t a handicap. There is something about that internal rhythm, that interior beat, that tick tock that makes the running work well.

It made me think about how I don’t need an alarm clock to wake myself up – even when the sleep monster fights to lure me back to my dreams. My body knows a lot more than I give it credit for. Or rather… a lot more than I choose to pay attention to.

I don’t want to sound like some… old person… saying when I was younger… we didn’t need such and such. Because when I was younger I was still plugged into my headphones. I just don’t need to be. I like music. I like my computer. I like my television. I like, well, no I hate my phone. But… do I really need these electronic devices to cue my life? NO. Why do I surrender myself to be controlled… like some sort of Cyberman? My organic matter has the machinery. It has the clock. It has its own rhythm. 

I like that rhythm. When I wrestle out of the lame argument that sleeping is better than running, I am glad for that lengthened morning. I don’t miss fighting with the high pitched scream of an alarm clock every nine minutes. I have time to breathe, to run, to make myself breakfast, to prepare myself for the day. And, well… yeah… I’m probably still going to need Coldplay to get me going on most of those runs… but I think I’ll be more apt to pull off the headphones for a couple of them. So I can breathe.