I was reluctant to get out of bed this morning, but I knew that I needed to up my marathon training. Last week, a crazy and wonderful crush of social engagements kept me away from my regular training–and while I was still able to enjoy my long run on Saturday, I needed to work in more time for the smaller, utility runs.

That’s why my alarm went off at 5 am. That’s why I got out of bed, fired up the iPod, and took off in that soft gray early morning light to log a 5k.

And that’s why I found myself sprawled out on the sidewalk just around the corner from my house–hands bleeding, shoulder raw, and knees a mess I haven’t seen on my body since probably the time I was first learning how to ride a bike.

The good news is that I was close to home when I decided to trip and launch myself through the air. I limped home, winced my way through a shower, and bandaged myself up before heading into work early.

The sad news–and I won’t necessarily say bad here–is I realized a reality about being an independent person. There was no one there to pick me up, dust me off, and tell me that I was going to be OK. I just had to do it myself. I didn’t realize until after that while this hurt–and still hurts an awful lot–the thought never even crossed my mind to cry. I didn’t have any reason to.

Oh, and morning running can suck it.