We were awakened at 4:00 this morning by Manchild shrieking. Micah got up first to investigate (after I gave him a little nudge), and I followed when Squish joined in. It turns out the fuss was about a booger that needed to be disposed of properly, and once it was taken care of, the elder child went back to sleep. I held his little brother until he calmed down, then went back to sleep myself. When we woke up for real a few hours later, I was grumpy. Aside from the mid-night fuss, I was stressed about hosting Manchild’s preschool. I wasn’t as prepared as I’d hoped; I was worried I’d have to cancel because Manchild had been sick; I had a brain cloud.
When I read the paper this morning, however, I was drawn to an article about what really causes a runner’s high. Of course. Certainly some good news/interesting findings would turn my day around. Not so much, it turns out. Because it doesn’t really matter to me that endorphins are actually too big to cross the blood-brain barrier (whatever that means), and I don’t really need to know about the endocannabinoid system (or its connection to marijuana) to appreciate what running does for my mood. I know that running makes me happy I know that it helps me focus and clears my mind. I know that it gives me energy to stay ahead of the preschoolers, that it erases any deficits I feel from a bad night’s sleep.
And yet I didn’t get out before it was too late this morning. No wonder today was kind of a wreck.