Somehow I managed to crawl out of bed this morning and go to the gym. I hadn’t looked at myself in the mirror before leaving. Heck, I hadn’t turned on any lights before leaving. When I got there, I realized my hair was sticking straight up in the front. Straight up. I got a haircut last week, so my hair is pretty short, and because of the product I’d put in it yesterday, you can trust me on this one. Straight up.
But that’s one thing I like about the gym early in the morning: everyone’s got bed-head. (You see where this is going, don’t you? A community of bed-headers. Awesome.)
A few months ago I tried to commit to going to the gym on Mondays and Fridays, my days I work from home. It seemed like a good idea, getting up early on those days, getting myself going, being showered and dressed and on top of the things before the sun rises. Yes.
And I like going to the gym, seeing the people who go there at 6 am, wondering about them. There’s even one person who comments on this blog occasionally that I first encountered at the gym. It was many months before I even knew her name, but our paths crossed in the wee hours with crazy bed-head. The local college president and his wife head to the gym in the mornings, as do retired faculty, ROTC undergrads, and a handful of very dedicated college coeds reading magazines. It’s a pretty cool community, and I’ve been meaning to mention it in a blog post for some time.
Well, actually, then the semester began. I suddenly had last-minute lesson plans to prepare and papers to grade, not to mention my own homework to do. I was not a go-getter on my days I worked from home. Instead, I cherished every minute I could stay in bed.
And apparently I wasn’t the only one.
This morning, there were only two other people at the gym, a middle-aged couple I recognized from church who teach at the college. On side-by-side elliptical machines, she was reading a magazine of some sort and he was listening to his iPod. She kept interrupting him to comment on things she was reading or to ask about the iPod when he fiddled with it.
I do this all the time to J when we’re sitting in the same room, or sitting on airplanes, or in the car on long trips, and it drives him crazy. Not that he doesn’t want to talk to me, but he either wants to be talking OR doing something else, not trying to do something else while being interrupted by talking. We laugh about it, of course, and I try really hard not to do this, but most of the time I don’t realize it until it’s too late.
As I watched them interacting, I had a flash-forward to my own future. J listening to his history podcasts, me reading Real Simple.
At the gym with bed-head. Yes.
* There is a character in the silly romantic comedy The Wedding Planner (for those of you who have seen it, it’s Massimo, the Italian guy who doesn’t speak the best English) who calls the gym “the Center for the Physical Fitness.” I’m sure this doesn’t seem funny to you, but because I can hear his voice in my head saying this, I am cracking up right now.