Wake up with cat's rear end in face? Check.
Tell self that I'll feel as guilty as George Bush if I don't layer up on thermals and get out to run...then make coffee and contemplate for many moments, before determining that I really don't wish to start Inauguration weekend thinking about George Bush at all? Check.
Run 12 miles through the city without dying from either foot woes or chill (except for that 1 minute going over the Fort Point Channel where, I'd swear, chill blisters formed on the upwind side of my face)? Check.
125 ab exercises upon return? Oh yes. Ice bath? Ohhhh....yes.
Dissemble bike for car transport, double-feed the cats, make sure car starts, scour closet for something, anything, that makes me look younger than 35? Check.
Get super-psyched about driving to D.C. for the next 4 days to stand in the cold and meet cool people at parties and bars and the National Mall and Secret Service security lines, and then stand in the cold some more but just maybe get to be part of something that if my dating life ever pans out and I get married and have children and then they have children and they want to know where I was when Barack Obama was inaugurated, I'll have something to tell them?
Amen. Check.
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