A Broken Routine

The alarm hadn’t gone off yet. I was awake, planning my 6 am workout. It would be a long run on the treadmill this morning. With that, I’d have fifteen miles in this week. Good for the waistline, at least with the way that I eat--seemingly all the time.

Five o’clock and the radio starts. Rather than an alarm, I wake to NPR, a much gentler way to wake. 4:59 to be exact; that way I hear the weather and current temperature. A routine morning: drink several glasses of water, put in contact lenses, shave, brush teeth and finally, dress for the gym. Oh, and don’t forget to water the plants, since it’s Thursday.

Say my goodbyes to spouse and cat and stroll up the street to the car. I get to the car and there’s no window. Well, mostly no window. A few splintered pieces remain on the driver’s side door. I open the door to glass everywhere and all the junk from the center console strewn around the interior. My mascot, a small stuffed turtle I found in a parking lot 20 years ago was thrown outside. No respect.

I stroll back home and dial 911. The Philadelphia Police call back minutes later, commiserate, take down the information for the report. I call the auto dealer and make an appointment for the $350 dollar repair and walk back to the car with camera for pictures. Finding an old coat in the trunk, I cover the front seat and drive the car to the house, parking on the sidewalk so we can vacuum the mess out.

“You’re bleeding,” he tells me. “No, I’m not,” I say, observing the blood on my hands, pants, but no cuts anywhere. Back in the car, the fool who decided to break in left blood all over that I didn’t notice earlier. Oh, and what did he get? Besides injured, a pair of cheap sunglasses with my old office logo on them.

No run today.