I AM a morning person

At 6.45-am this morning, I dragged my blurry-eyed, slightly-grumpy self out of bed, put on clothes, stepped into my walking shoes and walked out of the house into the cold morning air. All because I told my husband last week, when I had to take the bus into the city for my doctor's appointment at 8am, how nice it actually was to be up that early, something I haven't done since my last job in November.

He jumped on it, like I knew he would. And immediately suggested that one of the days this week, I could leave with him in the morning when he goes to work, stop in Mission Bay for a takeaway coffee, and he'd go on from there while I walked home. The coffee was my incentive, you see. He knew I wasn't a morning person. And to go for such a long walk before I was barely even awake? Hardly likely.

But I did.

And I loved it.

Mornings are funny that way. When you're in bed, all you want to do is stay snuggled between the covers. I am the kind of person that will roll around in bed for a good half hour, before fully waking up. But once you overcome that hurdle, the stage between dreams and reality, the reward, I have to admit, is pretty fantastic. And I'm not talking about being amongst the 8am morning rush either. I'm talking about being up when the rays of the morning sun are only just peeking through, when it's still slightly dark out, and watching the world around you slowly open its eyes. Watching as lights start to flicker on in houses, early morning joggers run to the music only they can hear, and breathing in the crisp, fresh breeze, tinged with the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread permeating the air.

With my own piping hot coffee in hand (which admittedly isn't the best thing to drink when you're on a power walk), I stroll along the boardwalk, as cars drive past on one side, while the waves crashed against the rocks on the other. Over St. Heliers in the distance, the sun slowly rises, painting the sky in a milky palette of pastel colours, reminding me of Paris' Laduree Macaroons. An early morning treat for the soul. The cold quickly forgotten, my eyes takes in the calm sea and the dogs running on the sand, and I dream of walking my own dog in the near future.

It took me forty minutes to walk from Mission Bay to St. Heliers, but I arrived home rejuvenated, exhilarated, and filled with goodwill. And it wasn't even 8-am yet!

I may regret saying this, but...

I'm doing it again tomorrow.

With a bottle of water this time.