The cold lurks just outside the door.
I know I should run. It is good for me. It conditions me. It strengthens my heart and balances out my lifting.
I open the door and stand for a moment, the front planes of my face outside the intangible barrier of warmth the door frame represents. Cold, says my nose. Too cold, mutters the Brain.
I shut the door again.
I go back to the kitchen and start pulling things together for breakfast: coffee, oatmeal, yogurt. But somewhere far back in the recesses of my mind, somewhere behind the part the grumbles about the temperature, come the the thought "You should run".
I fiddle with the oatmeal for a second longer then sigh, turn, and go back to the door. Upon opening, the cold is still there. "See?" says the Brain.
But the other part of my brain has taken over - is that you, Will? While the Brain is sputtering about colds and lung infections the Will has taken over the motor functions. Before the Brain has a chance to complain pajamas are off and running gear is on.
Will even finds the hat and gloves. "Courteous", sneers the Brain.
Out the door the three of us go. The Brain is still muttering about freezing temperatures and pneumonia; Will has already started moving the feet in the direction of the path we have taken for almost five years now.
At the bottom of the cul-de-sac on the first turn, the Brain mutters "Well, at least the sunrise is worth seeing this morning".
The Will only smiles.