There were six…

At “O-stupid-thirty” I rolled over and tried to turn off the alarm. Problem was there was nothing to turn off. I hadn’t set the silly thing in the first place.

And yet here I was…wide awake. I wasn’t even wondering why.

Just to verify the dim red blur the clock was digitally displaying was an actual time, I slid my hand under the covers and tweaked the cute short girl on the butt. She sleepily mumbled, “Just go already.”

Yep. O-stupid-thirty. I may have mentioned she’s not a morning person.

“So what’s O-stupid-thirty?” the alert reader may ask…well, it’s that delicate time between “O-drunk-thirty” and “O-dark-thirty”. The drunks have all made it home (or crashed), yet the glimmerings of predawn aren’t even imagined yet. Not even the tradesmen are deploying at this obscene hour.

Suffice it to say…”O-stupid-thirty” is seldom seen by reasonable people. This particular Sunday morning…”O-stupid-thirty” was occurring around 4:30am.

Ugh. And I had intended to sleep in. I needed to sleep in.

I normally end up working out at half-past “O-stupid-thirty”, or perhaps that’s a quarter till “O-dark-thirty” simply because that’s when I can squeeze it into my schedule, particularly before work. I normally don’t do this on the weekends as even if you are a masochist, you need some rest occasionally, and I’m often/usually out of my area on the weekends and working on projects.

…and I don’t have to go to work.

So, why the HELL am I up so early when I’d intended to sleep late?

the sleepy brain: grumble grumble blarghha. (translation: “What the HELL?”)
the awake brain: You need to work that shoulder.

I tweaked my shoulder (again) a while back. It is slow to recover. It stiffens up as I sleep. It feels better when I work it some, but not too much. A delicate balance. I believe I mentioned “stupid hurts.” No matter how hard we’re willing to work, we simply don’t bounce as well when we’re over 50 years old.

the sleepy brain: blraag ugh snort. (translation: “But we can go later! I don’t have to work today!”)
the awake brain: Something will come up. You know it. Just do it.

the sleepy brain: wharbargle. (translation: “WHY are we going at ALL? I already worked out FIVE days this week.”)
the awake brain: So? You trying to tell me you don’t NEED this? Besides, it’s SUNDAY. A new week! You’ve worked out exactly ZERO times this week!

the sleepy brain: Fuck you. (translation: “Fuck you.”)
the awake brain: I love you too. Now get your ass out of bed.

Shortly I found myself at the club, walking a mile and a half (all uphill of course) and shifting heavy things about. Much breathing hard and random sweating occurred.

After a while it occurred to me that I’ve turned some sort of corner. That head game I’ve mentioned before, had taken a different tone this morning. I hadn’t been looking for nebulous reasons NOT to workout…I had those at the ready…instead, I was reaching FOR reasons TO go work out.

A subtle thing. I wonder what it means? Tastes funny.

Gawd help me I’m beginning to like this stuff.

The alert reader may wonder just how many folks might find themselves with sufficient reason to drag their butt to the club at O-stupid-thirty on a cold SUNDAY morning…

I wondered too, after the caffeine kicked in anyway. So I counted.

100,000 square-foot club full of gleaming machines, chrome bars, and heavy stuff. Hundreds of machines. Thousands of weights.

There were six of us. TWO of them were staff.

Suffice it to say…”O-stupid-thirty” is seldom seen by reasonable people.

There were SIX. I expect these are people I either want to get to know…or should avoid at all costs. Note that those two are not mutually exclusive, and I’m in the same classification.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

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