My fellow copywriter and new favorite person at this job is bubbly, bright and blonde. She’s a genuine soul who is similar to me in some ways (enjoys time alone; does not aspire to have a fancy title) and quite different in others (bubbly; bright; blonde).

What I admire about this girl is that she’s hardcore. She has a two-year-old daughter and a 5-month-old son. She gets to work at 8 a.m. She’s a runner. When her daughter was born, she found her daily trips to the gym weren’t so daily anymore. So she saved her pennies, bought a treadmill and put it in her basement.

Now, with a small baby, she runs when she can. But it’s at least four times a week. Yesterday, she ran at 10 p.m. The day before that, 5 a.m. I asked her this morning: With work and midnight feedings and running and the daily grind, are you tired?

“Yeah,” she said. “I am. But, you know. You just kind of do what you have to do. To get through and feel sane.”

Today my alarm was set for 7 a.m. I hit snooze twice. This makes me feel lazy. My friend is inspiring.

So is the woman I saw this afternoon on my way out to grab lunch. She’d lugged a stationary bike from the on-site gym at work into the sunny, 85-degree air. And she was going for it. Full sweat. Shirt off. No fucks. She was still going for it when I got back a half-hour later. I felt lazy again, a bag of greasy food in my hand.

It takes episodes like these to get me off my ass. To challenge myself in small ways (floss more; don’t hit snooze), and in big ways (eat cleaner; run with focus).

Try harder. Do more. Be better. This is the goal.