My genes are too tight

When I was 10, I started waking up to practice the piano every morning. I trained my body to anticipate my alarm and wake up automatically one minute before it would go off. I had one of the early radio alarms where the radio was preceded by a loud click that made me jump when I heard it, so it was really more like one of those "anticipation" torture methods, the ethics of which the US government is currently trying to determine. As a result, I have been able to control my body clock for over 20 years, usually to within 20 minutes. Until this year.

I should mention that in my family, we are divided as to our nocturnal predispositions. My mom, Steve, Kath, and Grace are all great night people. They can burn the midnight oil and do great work after sundown. My dad, David, and I all got the morning gene. We can wake up at the crack of dawn and do our best work, but keep us up past 9 p.m. and tread lightly. Dad has been known to don his pajamas at 9:00 when guests don't seem quite ready to leave. He has said, "I'm going to bed now. Stay as late as you want." Mind you, he says this to his friends. Mom just hates when he does that. This is an issue that can be quite contentious at times (David, to Steve, Kath, and me one night at 9:30: "I'm trying to sleep. Are you guys tap dancing up here??"). Luckily for me, Kelly is mostly a morning person, so we are agreed. He is not, however, a morning person to the same extent that I am.

I must be starting to lose control of my body clock. It was bound to happen; the first sign of approaching middle age, I guess. My eyes pop open every morning at 4:17 a.m. It's been this way now for a month and I have given up and given in. It's as if they are spring-loaded. Mom says that she can hear Dad's eyes pop open in the morning, and now I know what she means. The YMCA opens at 5, so I stay in bed until 4:45, just watching the clock, and then I get up. I suppose it's a good thing to be a runner when you wake up automatically against your will. I get dressed in the dark and before I know it, I'm driving to the gym and there's no turning back. For those of you who are saying right now, "I hate treadmills and I would never run on one," let me remind you that the average temperature every morning in Wisconsin is around 0. I don't love treadmills either, but I prefer them to frostbite and hypothermia. Plus, I get to watch the news for an hour. I know all about who will be stumping for Barack Obama and who has custody of Britney's Spears' children this week.

So the other morning I got up, dressed to run in the dark, got to the gym and was a mile into my run when I noticed that my feet felt kind of funny. I looked down and saw for the first time that I was wearing two different shoes: a blue one and an orange one. Maybe because it was so early or maybe, as my mom suggested, my "craves-an-audience" genes kicked in, but I said, "Oh! I'm wearing two different shoes!" When I realized that I'd said it out loud, I looked at the guy on the treadmill next to me. He looked at me as if he didn't know whether he should respond or not. I didn't know what to say either, so I just faced forward again and kept running as if nothing had happened. That was my Warner genes kicking in. The lesson from all this is: I need more light when I dress to run. Who knows what might happen next??