Let me start by saying that I am not a morning person. I was reading about how teenagers need sleep the most and I couldn’t help but feel that if this was the yardstick for measuring the fountain of youth, then just go ahead and call me Peter Pan.
I’ve always felt that the universe has played some kind of cosmic joke on me for making the time it takes for the earth to spin on its axis just short of the amount of extra hours it would take for me to wake up every morning bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I even once read how there was some medical study (see how I seamlessly reference my sources) that some people take about two hours to fully wake up. These are my people!
I don’t think that I should blame my sleepiness all on bad genetics (sorry mum and dad if you are reading this), but should attribute some of this to my obsession with exercise.
Ever since the Small Human arrived I have had to find ingenious ways of keeping up with my daily routine of physical toil. Where once I could pick and choose my times, the responsibility of fatherhood has somewhat quelled my reckless abandon when it came to deciding when to exercise.
I say ingenious, but it’s not exactly that clever… I just try to get up earlier. I ride a bike to work instead of commute on public transport (something that I have always loathed). I run to work on days that I feel like a bike just doesn’t cut it. I go to an exercise “class” called CrossFit – a silly name but awesome exercise – at 7am.
So, I’ve managed to save myself some time by inserting what used to be a comfortable after-work jolly into a first-thing-in-the-morning process – something that feels quintessentially unnatural to me. I can’t help feel that farmers, famous for their early-rising, are alien creatures from the planet Zaarg.
Money-wise, well, apart from the initial outlay for the bike (I should have taken advantage of a ride to work scheme but I’m too impulsive to wait) I’m saving “£££s” on a daily basis as though I was operating my own “cash4gold” site.
This has completely freed me from the sardine experience of the Tube network and freed me up to enjoy the open roads of London. While this means that I am putting my life in my own hands on a daily basis (I’ve had so many near misses that statistically, sooner or later my number’s going to get punched), I am also privileged to the sights of the streets.
Why, only this morning I saw a lady walking her ferret. On Blackfriars bridge. During rush hour. Not for a second did I think this was weird but simply marvelled at this lady’s silent celebration of oddity. Perhaps I will get a ferret too.