Age-adjusted percentage of adults who reported ≥7 hours of sleep per 24-hour period, by state, from a 2016 Center for Disease Control and Prevention report.

Age-adjusted percentage of adults who reported ≥7 hours of sleep per 24-hour period, by state, from a 2016 Center for Disease Control and Prevention report.

 

I know I’m preaching to the (dark-eye-circled) choir here, but it seems like every day, there’s a new study that extols the importance and benefits of sleep. The Zzzz’s-news bombshell in February was that one in three—a full third of American adults—don’t get enough sleep. Last week, it was about how hard it is to resist Cool Ranch Doritos when you’ve had less than five hours of sleep.

As a morning glory, I naturally start to wind down around 8 pm. On nights I’m not in bed by 9:30, I have a minor freak-out, knowing how significantly sleep—or lack thereof—can affect my mood, my outlook, my interactions with others. My tendency towards depression is directly related to sleep; the less shut-eye I have, the more powerful my depression feels. When I don’t have a solid 8ish hours, having a positive and pleasant perspective the following day can be a real struggle. It sounds dramatic, but it’s my truth.

So when somebody on Twitter asked me recently to share my sleep hygiene—an awkward word combo if I ever knew one, btw—I bit. Again, I am naturally a morning person, so if you’re not, these might feel completely awkward. Also, my kids are now nine and twelve, so they only disturb my sleep when they’re sick or having a bad dream, which happens once a month, max.

—I go to bed at what many would consider a ridiculously early hour. 9 pm most nights, and often earlier. Whenever I stay up late to get something done, my work is subpar and needs an additional polish when I’m rested. I’ve learned I’m better off getting up what many would consider ridiculously early—5 am—to get something urgent done I wasn’t able to complete the day before. (The bonus when this happens? I usually run around lunch, in the daylight, in the sun. I’m finding I actually prefer that rhythm more than an early morning run.)

—I get ready for bed 30 minutes before I want to crawl under the covers. Not only does changing into my PJs, brushing my teeth, washing my face, and whatever else I need to do to bring a sense of closure to the day, it also eliminates that I-need-to-go-to-bed-but-I-have-no-energy-to-get-there hurdle. Honestly, sometimes I’ve sat through an extra hour of a Shark Tank marathon simply because the momentum necessary to get ready for bed felt too monumental.

If you set one to remind you of bedtime, you will be awesome.

If you set one to remind you of bedtime, you will be awesome.

—I’ve heard people set alarms to go to bed—a brilliant idea, in my mind, if you’re a night owl and/or tend to look up from surfing the sale items at Banana Republic and think, “Where did an hour just go?”

—I exercise. No duh, right? But I find it’s a really fine line. An hour or less of exercise, and my eyes close pretty quickly after I get in bed. After long runs and races, though, I’m still pretty ramped up 12 hours later. It’s usually a night of tossing and turning. I’ve learned to just expect the turmoil, then the following night, I’m extra diligent about winding down early.

—I keep the room cool, much to my husband’s chagrin. I’m not peri-menopausal yet, but I have that special female superpower where I can wake up with a soaked T-shirt, no apparent reason why. Even on the chilliest nights, the window over my side of the bed is slid open at least a crack, and if I had my way, the ceiling fan would spin all year long. Experts say 65 degrees is ideal, but I’m more of a 62-degree devotee.

—I don’t eat much the hour or two before bed. Please don’t mistake: that doesn’t mean I don’t eat too much during the day (that happens regularly) but I’ve realized a full stomach in the evening often translates to a restless sleep. That means I occasionally wake up at 2 am with a gurgling belly. When that happens, I slip down the stairs, grab a banana (and slap some PB on it, if I’m extra hungry), and head back to bed.

—I rarely take my phone into the bedroom—and I definitely don’t charge it there. I’m not a no-screens-in-bedroom purist; I regularly watch movies on my laptop in bed, but Netflix and texts/emails are two different animals. I really try to avoid the latter.

Not the pile of books near my bed: just a representation. (This is way neater.)

Not the pile of books near my bed: just a representation. (This is way neater.)

 

—I always read before I fall asleep. I’ve come home from a party at 11 pm, and turned on the light to read, even if it’s only a few pages that I don’t remember the next day. Written words are like my lullaby—even Stephen King could put me to sleep. I realize this is likely genetic. Grant, my husband, is the opposite: He starts a book, and can’t put it down for hours.

—I have a God’s in-box, an idea straight from my hero Anne Lamott; if that’s not your thing, worry dolls or journals work the same way. When something is weighing on my mind so much, I can’t let it go, I write it down and put it in His/Her inbox, which lives on my jewelry box. The simple act of moving it from my head, through a pen, to a place where it can live away from my body is surprisingly liberating.

What about you? Any sleeping tips for runners you’d like to share? How do you natural night owls wind it down?