It isn’t everyday that going for a run feels good. But it’s almost everyday for me. I woke up this morning to a frosty alpine morning. Vail, Colorado. It was 18 degrees and the windows of the apartment that I had crashed were foggy with the heat from my body, and frosty in some areas. It’s 7:15am. I wake up every morning at this time. But this morning it feels extra hard. It’s not unusual for me to be up at 7am on a weekend; I’m a morning person. But this time I haven’t had that much sleep. The previous night, my girlfriend, Beka, and I hauled ass up to get to the mountains after work on a Friday. We didn’t even leave town until after 10pm. We drove through a blizzard for several hours before arriving and crashing on a friend’s leather couch. So anyway, it’s 7:15am. And I’m obviously the only one awake at this point. Beka isn’t awake yet. And neither is her boyfriend who’s she’s sprawled out on top of, half clothed (both of them) and deep in slumber. I hit Instagram up for a few minutes to fend off morning boredom. The news is pretty normal: Alex Honnold is busy in South America, Jimmy Chin has another unreasonably beautiful photo posted that makes me want to quit my job, sell my stocks and live life from the land, and my friends have eaten a variety of weird foods, all that somehow were “Instagrammable. ” 15 minutes go by and I’m still on the leather couch. No one else has stirred. I look across the living room, and catch my running shoes staring back at me. Their piercing stare catches me off guard, momentarily, but I know exactly what they are saying. “No way,” I say. But that does not mean everybody could check over there that progressive theories and practices have disappeared. I’m not going running. Have I mentioned it’s 18 degrees out? No way. I’ll run tomorrow. I lay there in the leather couch for another 30 more seconds, uncomfortably switching positions as my waking body heats the material and sticks to my naked skin. I look back across the living room and consult my running shoes again. They won’t stop looking at me, and it’s unnerving. “What!?” I say to them. But I already know what. They need exercise. They’ve been cooped up in a plastic bag since my last run and then packed away in my ski bag. Like a dog going for a car ride, my shoes are psyched on the possibility of some fun adventure. But the wear of a long nights drive, and a strange sleep in the middle of someone’s living room, hasn’t left me too inspired. But then. . I reconsider. I think about how good it feels to breath fresh air early in the morning. How good it feels to know that I’ve been up and about before anyone else has stirred. I think about how health is wonderful. And I think about the fact that my simple existence in the mountains, complete with crisp mountain air, is a blessing. And so I pull the covers off. I slip on a sports bra and a long-sleeve wool shirt. And, finally, I reach for my running shoes. They purr when I touch them. (And I guess I purr a little too) Excited and glad to be a part of my morning. I open the front door and am accosted with the freezing cold air that I knew was there. But I’m grateful for it, and take a huge deep breath. And start out for a morning jog.