The alarm on my cell phone beeps to life at 5:44 am. I groan quietly, then slink to the bathroom to pee. I slip my work-out clothes on, brush my fuzzy teeth, rub my eyes and head out the door. Driving down quiet roads, it is still dark out and I wonder why I’m going where I’m going at this crazy hour. I get to the studio, see the other tired ladies there unrolling their exercise mats and wiping the sleep from their eyes. We say our hellos, compare who was up the most in the night with their kids, whine about our sore throats or colds or sick babies. Then the music starts. Before I know it, I am lunging and squatting and wincing and sweating. It’s hard, but so good.
I look at the clock, see there are still 20 minutes to go. I will myself to keep pushing, keep going. Then somehow the class is over and I feel awake and alive and strong. I bid farewell to the glowing friends around me, hop back in my minivan and drive home, the morning light just starting to peek over the mountains.
I come home and my three year-old says, “Hi, Mom! Did you get ripped?”
And I laugh, “Yes, yes I did.”
Better than sleeping in any day.