Day 75: You Snooze, You Lose

Addendum to the Warrior Housewife ground rules:

It is perfectly acceptable to hit the snooze button if you were up all night in 100-degree-plus heat because the Long Island Power Authority didn't have enough juice to power all of the neighborhood's AC units during this record-breaking warm front.

Heat wave notwithstanding, let's be frank: I don't function well first thing in the morning, and this is just another in my litany of excuses for having a hard time dragging my ass out of bed when that buzzer goes off. Not very warrior-like behavior. I assume warriors leap out of bed before sunrise, don their battle armor, and head out into the mortar fire with nary a Starbucks in sight.

I should qualify my waking-up weakness by saying that once I'm actually up, showered, and breathing in the fumes from my Keurig, I'm OK. And on the occasions I've had to arise before the sun for work or to catch a flight or because PC Richard is making a $%^*@# appliance delivery during some crazy window on a Saturday morning, I actually enjoy being the first one up, sipping my coffee and taking in the early-morning sights and sounds.

It's those first steps out of bed that are the dealbreaker. The alarm goes off and I feel like someone is waterboarding me. My husband and I don't get combative about a lot of things, but when we both worked in the city, divorce papers were imminent. He'd bounce around the house getting ready to catch the 7:17 a.m. train out of Deer Park, trying desperately to jostle me out of my slumber so I could accompany him on our hellish Long Island-to-Penn commute. My typical reaction would be to whimper from underneath the pillow: "8:12" (the next train out of Deer Park). I would always ride that 8:12 by myself, because he had no patience for that nonsense. What I really need is that forklift-like contraption from The Jetsons that pushed George out of bed and into the shower in the opening segment. From there I'd be OK on my own, I swear.

I don't get what happened. When I was a kid, I would get up at the crack of dawn with my brothers and wreak havoc until our cranky parents finally emerged to redirect our energies into quality "family-time" activities, such as restocking the coal bin and raking leaves. Then the teen years arrived, and a switch was flipped. The lark turned into a beautiful, glorious owl. Even the allure of Christmas-morning gifts couldn't lure me from under the covers.

Some people mistake my a.m. lethargy for laziness, which isn't the case. I'm a Type A who has a continuous to-do list that just won't quit. Too many things I want to do, too little time. I just happen to hit my stride in the p.m. hours. I do most of my creative work in the evenings, I rarely go to bed before midnight, and when I finally hit the treadmill or the pavement, it's often many hours after the sun has gone down.

Some of this nocturnal industry is born of necessity. I'm shuttling my children around during the days they're not at camp or school, and I've accepted I can get absolutely nothing done during these child-focused hours. But in reality, I know it's my DNA that energizes me at dusk. I was like this before my kids came along, and I know once they're away at college, you'll still find me plugging away during The Daily Show instead of during The Early Show.

That's why I was disappointed to see that Warrior Dash only offered 9-to-5 time slots (which works for about 90 percent of the human population) on competition day. I'm afraid I may falter with this restrictive running regimen during daylight hours, since running while the sun's up goes against my grain. But I guess that's part of being a Warrior-in-Training: learning to push your physical and mental capabilities past their limits.

Even if that means not pressing that snooze button.