In the Long Run

I may have mentioned that I'm a runner once or twice.  Extolled the virtues of getting out there and the mileage that I log and that I have a marathon coming up in September.  What I've probably neglected to share, the shame of my running life, is just how difficult actually getting out there is.  Maybe there are people who wake up and are super excited to bust out the door for their morning run.  Maybe running is easy for them.  Maybe they're fast and lithe and tall.  These are the people who keep track of their splits (or know what those are) and practice speed work on a track and don't eat cheese enchiladas.  
I am not one of those people.  While I'm an early, happy riser, my first thought is coffee and food not sweat and exercise.  So every morning that I am scheduled to run a little battle goes down in my head.  Sometimes it starts before I even push back the covers.  Usually it begins with me hoping it's raining because that's a valid, guilt-free excuse to not do it.  Then when I discover it's a clear morning I wonder about the cold/heat/humidity, maybe it's not healthy to be running right now.  But then my self has to remind my slacker self that no one has gone down from running at 70 degrees.  Then I think about what exercise I did the previous day.  Maybe Bob Harper's Ultimate Cardio workout kicked my butt and my legs are just too sore to run.  I feel sluggish and it's gonna be a slow, miserable 4 miles.  And my self patiently replies that it's a part of the training, there's a marathon I have to run in 12 weeks.  Gotta start building the mileage now so I can get through the 26.2. Just put on your running gear and then we're set.  
Somewhere between getting out of bed, eating my Ezekiel bread with almond butter and getting a little caffeine in me, both selves start to ramp it up and get a little more aggressive.  WHY do I have to go out in the heat/cold/snow/rain/sun and sweat/freeze when everyone else is sleeping? Running is hard and it hurts and I'm slow anyway!  BECAUSE YOU COULD STAND TO LOSE ABOUT 10 POUNDS AND YOU ALREADY PAID FOR THE STUPID MARATHON, JUST GO!  IT'S NOT TORTURE, IT'S FORTY MINUTES OF YOUR DAY!  PUT YOUR FREAKIN SAUCONY'S ON ALREADY!
9 times out of 10 the drill sergeant self (who yells in all caps) wins and I do put my running shorts and bra and wicking top and shoes and heart monitor and cap and chafing stick and iPod on and I make it out the door.  It's a pretty steep incline out my door up to the street where I can actually start running and this is always my warm up.  Florence & the Machines' Dog Days starts me off and my heart monitor says I'm fine and then I start.  And the first half mile is always pretty good.  Nothing hurts yet, I feel I've made the right decision.  I'm a runner dammit and it may be 7am but I'm out here watching as the sun makes it way up.   
But the battle doesn't end after the running begins.  Somewhere between the turn that marks the half mile the battle starts up again.  This time the issue is distance.  Do I really have to do 4 miles (or as was the case this morning, SIX!)?  What if I just do two?  Twenty minutes is still a good workout right?  I think my ankle hurts, I don't want to damage it anymore.  It's really hot, I'm going to get sunstroke.  I didn't eat enough and now I'm hungry.  This goes on until whatever the mid-point is.  And then a miracle happens.  My slacker self shuts the hell up.  Nothing to do now except run as fast as I can so I can get home.  My legs, which have been willing accomplices this whole time, are compliant.  And the second half of my run is always great and seemingly easier.  What were pains and possible reasons to stop minutes ago are gone now.  With all that quiet in my head, I usually come up with great ideas of things to write about or solutions to problems that have been puzzling me.  
My question is then, why?  Why can't I just get up, get dressed and start the damn run?  I know I'm going to do it.  I know I'll feel better once I do.  I know it's going to help me in the long run (pun intended).  I've never once been upset that I DID run although I've felt plenty awful about the times I've let myself talk myself out of it.  Maybe on Saturday when my eyes open I'll jump up and be super-psyched that I've got 10 miles ahead of me and I'll bust out the door with no hesitation...