Sunday Morning Strength

Sunday Morning Strength

The alarm hit at 5:45 AM.
I didn’t jump up—I just laid there for a minute, staring at the ceiling, tucked in that kind of cozy warmth that makes you question every decision you’ve ever made. Including signing up for a half marathon. It was still pitch dark outside. Quiet. Peaceful. Too peaceful. But I knew why I was awake. This wasn’t just about a run. It was about a promise—to myself.
I said I’d show up. Not for the race day glory, but for the man I’m trying to become. The kind of guy who follows through. Who grinds, even when no one’s watching. The guy who doesn’t hit snooze.
So, I got up.

I moved slow and quiet through the house, careful not to wake anyone. My gear was already laid out, almost like a ritual: shoes, compression socks, a couple of layers just in case, reflective vest so I don’t end up roadkill. Checked my pouch—ID, chews, phone, mini water bottle, and yeah… a safety whistle. It’s not glamorous. It’s smart. That’s not fear. That’s respect—for the road, the run, and the people waiting on me to come home safe. Slid my phone into my armband. Pressed play.
The second Eye of the Tiger started, something flipped. I was in it.

The streets were still asleep. Just buzzing streetlights and that cold, sharp air that bites at your lungs. I jogged toward the park, steps steady, body waking up. Mind catching up. When Wake Me Up came on, it felt like Avicii was speaking directly to my legs. Suddenly I wasn’t just running—I was moving. Flying, almost. Everything started to click.

By mile two, Livin’ on a Prayer rolled in and I laughed out loud.
“Whoa, we’re halfway there…” I probably sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t care. That song gets it. Just like me. This run isn’t about being fast—it’s about not quitting when it would be so damn easy to stay in bed.

Then came Born to Run.
Springsteen gets it too. I wasn’t just logging miles. I was running past every version of myself that said, “You can’t.”
I ran for that guy. And for the man I’m becoming. The sky started to wake up with me. Pink, orange, streaks of soft blue—it looked like the world was painting itself a fresh start. Uptown Funk hit, and I couldn’t help it—I was bouncing down the trail like I had my own movie soundtrack. Probably looked ridiculous. Still didn’t care.

Then Titanium. “I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose…”
That line hit hard. Because yeah—I’ve taken hits. Life’s knocked me down more than a few times. But I keep getting up. Still here. Still trying. Still pushing forward. I paused at the halfway point. Took a breath. Drank some water. Let the beat fade into something slower—Midnight in Moscow. Gave me space to reset. The park was coming alive. A few other runners passed and gave me the nod. That silent “we get it” kind of respect.

Then Footloose kicked in. Followed by Shake It Off.
And just like that, everything heavy started falling away—the stress, the overthinking, all of it. With each step, I was shaking it loose. I didn’t need to have all the answers. I just needed to keep moving.

Three kilometers to go. The Middle came on. Yeah… I’ve been stuck in the middle for a while now. Not who I was. Not quite who I want to be yet. But I’m learning—that’s where the real growth happens. Then Stronger (What Doesn’t Kill You) played.
“All this time I was finding myself…”
That line? That’s the heart of it all. This isn’t about a race. It’s about becoming someone I can count on. Someone real. Not perfect. Just consistent. Committed. Stronger than yesterday.

The last stretch snuck up on me. Something Just Like This played and I thought, I don’t need to be a superhero. I don’t need a cape. I just need to keep moving forward. One foot. Then the other. That’s more than enough. And finally, Hall of Fame.
“You can be the greatest, you can be the best…” Maybe no one’s cheering for me. Maybe I won’t make headlines.
But out here? I’m chasing my own kind of greatness.

I hit the final marker. Stopped. Hands on my hips. Chest heaving. Sweat pouring.
The sky was fully awake now. And so was I. That run wasn’t just training.
It was a battle won. A promise kept. A step closer to the man I’m building—one run, one early morning, one quiet decision at a time.

Today, I wasn’t just a runner.
I was a fighter. A finisher. A believer.
And I’ll be back tomorrow.

Because this isn’t about one run.
It’s about the life I’m building—step by step.