It’s 5:45 am. It’s February. It’s Canada. It’s winter.
The room is cold, dark and nobody else is awake. The town is a frozen solid.
It’s snowing outside, I’m a little bit tired and to top it all off it’s a Friday morning.
A little extra sleep wouldn’t hurt, or maybe I can just slide out of bed and go check out the scores from last night’s games while the rest of the world sleeps. I can sit around and cruise the internet, act busy and then at 7:45 wonder where my free morning went.
Or I can put my boots on.
I can walk down the stairs, and without a second thought, put my boots on. Winter boots have a magical quality about them. Once they are on, the need to go outside immediately. You can’t sit around your living room in a pair of sub-arctic Sorel’s. You’ll sweat yourself into a puddle in no time flat.
By putting my boots on, I force myself to get out the door and to head to the gym. The first few steps are filled with immediate desire to return to my bed, but by the end of the street I’m ready to go train.
It all starts with the boots.