The alarm's buzzer is jarring, and I awake, unsettled.
Mark is already up and out of bed; the coffee's on and fire's lit before I can truly roust myself. The coziness of the heavy down comforter keeps me in bed longer than it should. I was never good at night with sick children or nighttime feedings. Why would I choose to do this now?
I pull on leggings and sweatpants and thick socks, too. I know I'd be more comfortable without a bra, but decorum dictates one, so I fumble for it and wrestle it on. More layers go on top and I know I'm ready for the chill that permeates the stone walls of the overflow shelter at the First Baptist Church in Brattleboro.
The drive in is uneventful. The highway is eerily empty; we sip our coffee and cannot think of anything to say. A sleepy police officer sits in his car. The glare of neon lights still halfheartedly advertises Putney Road businesses. We wonder why the traffic lights are still regulating the flow of imaginary cars through the intersections at midnight. We run every one.