On the morning of the day when he would be executed, Socrates woke from a good night's sleep; massaged his feet; slowly placed his feet on the ground; and the spoke for the day about a good life.  And you know what, I get that.  If I knew I was to die tomorrow at sunset, I'd want to wake up well-rested, clear-headed and with the aches and pains massaged out.  

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