Monday morning. Mid-February cold. The rain. Umbrellas and Hunter boots, children leaping puddles. Landing in puddles, her brother now chasing. And here, standing at a streetlight, the ubiquitous thrum of windshield wipers. Exhaust curling from tailpipes. At Habit, once I've removed my jacket, a kelly green shirt to lift my spirits above the threshold of the day.

I slept 9 hours. Woke and moved through sun salutations. Measured half a teaspoon of maccha into water, whisked it into a light froth, drank it in three sips.

No run this morning. Two days of terrible runs, cutting them short, cutting my long run in half. A rest day. Scheduled. If someone would turn on the lights. If someone could find the light switch and turn them on I would ... what would I do? I would have a look about me. I would find the button that says Beast Mode. I would press it. Five weeks until my next race. I need to be ready.