So did you really intend to show me what 6-something looks like? In running gear?

Yep, 6.15 this morning the alarm went off. And within moments, without my body moving a muscle, my brain entered a state of civil war:
=> "Get up now and then you won't have to do it later."
=> "It's dark. I'm tired. Look at the time."
=> "Get up you useless lazy person."
=> "It's really dark. And really early. And yesterday it was icy."
=> "You'll only have to run in the dark tonight, y'know."
=> "You could just give up on this whole daily running thing." (I know, the treachery of it, who'd believe it?)
... you can probably play the rest of this scene for yourself!

Outcomes tell tales though. It would appear that idiot-competitive-brain still has the advantage at this point, as amazingly I returned from my Monday Janathon just after 7 still alive, and even managing to raise a somewhat breathless, sweaty and pained smile (lazy-brain kicking back with "at least that's over anyway" I reckon).

It was still dark when I returned, with slightly bluer skies just coming through. Janathon-instigating-geniuses: you are clearly miracle-workers. I bow down to your superior abilities of persuasion and beg of you never to turn your powers to (even more) nefarious means.

I realise this is supposed to be a blog about the run itself. But really, the housing estates of a could-be-anywhere-really, small west-country town lend little to the imagination, especially when that part of the brain clearly had more sense than its siblings, ignored the argument entirely, and opted to stay in bed come what may. In some glorious future maybe I'll actually enjoy the running. In the meantime though, while I see my mission rather more as forcing myself out, forcing myself along, and counting almost every step as one step closer to home again, trust me that this blogging about nothing, and blogging about blogging, saves you from a fate that could be worse ...