Photo: Gavin.  The routine is so easily found, I wake before the alarm and turn it off.  Slip into the bathroom and pull on my gear.  Out of the house barely disturbing Julie and the dog, both lay still in the bed, kisses.  There are ten revolutions into the pedals before even hitting the street, which without a doubt will be absent of moving cars, they too are all slumbering.  Easy effort into the loop and over the river, the walls of glass and steel radiate the heat of the previous day.  Crossing Lake Shore Drive against a red light is only now a possibility, eight empty lanes.  Pain is always scribbled on the prescription.  I dare the sun to chase me out from behind the horizon.  The legs finally realize that they are awake and working, pain sets in.  Sunrises' revenge.  This pain slowly transforms into a rhythm and the hurt becomes strength.  Bugs in the teeth, time flies by.  Thirty five minutes from home, waves are exchanged with my first human contact.  The miles whir past with blurred vision and loss of time.  Out of the daze, I am waiting to cross eight lanes again, this time with the light.  That pain is everlasting for as long as it was fleeting.  One last race West through the greens on Adams before chalking up another workout.

Bitter sweet syrup of the gods, darker than Satans' heart, an elixir that keeps my eyes open until tomorrow.