Strong on My Machine

Up.  You can tell its long before sunrise.  Absolute stillness.  Impenetrable darkness. Fuzzy, retracing the handrail that lead to sleep last night.  Manageable.  The bladder quickly asserts itself at the apex of all needs.  Strong.  Strong enough to force me to sit up, then stand and force me to walk about in the dark.  The toilet seat.  At this hour, in the dark, I’ll sit. 

So.  The bed is inviting.  I imagine embracing the pillows before I actually do.  But I’m up now.  I’m lying here but sleep has left me. Sleep’s fingers can either clutch at you to return, immediately, or gently push you away.  They’re done with me for now.  If I stay here I’ll flop about and kvetch.  Pants.  Belt.  iPhone.  Last night’s magazine.  Well intentioned.  Shirt.  No.  It smells like yesterday.  New shirt’s over here. Down, one stair, two feet at first and then, holding firm, faster, one foot, one stair, one foot, one stair.

Remarkably, there is plenty of time in the day when you’re jetlagged and up at 2:30AM.  Meditation?  Sleepy fingers got ahold of my lapels while I sat there, in the dark.  Calisthenics?  Certainly.  Glance through all the emails, in two separate accounts, which earns you a gaze at the news.  It’s Super Tuesday back home.  It’s already late afternoon for them.  But they won’t call anything yet.  Still I check., over and over,  between email replies and to-do list pruning.

It’s 6:00AM and the gym is open now, isn’t it?  I can head over there and get back before the family gets up, before I need to prepare any food.  Oscar Madison style then; sneakers shorts and a tee shirt beneath a brown overcoat.  The car turns on effortlessly as it always does.  Lights, rearview mirror, some tunes and up to the dingzi lukou.   Chirping once and then six seconds later.  Safety belt to quench the chirp.

The gym’s packed.  I’m not so special.   My Stairmaster is occupied.  Who is this lady?  I stare.  “How much longer are you going to be on?”; emanates as I take off my coat to hang it.  Looking.  Put my wallet in my coat pocket.  Hendrix helps as I attempt my routine on some other machine that doesn’t do things the way I want them to at this hour.  A live album with the Experience from Miami that I had never heard before.  He says a lot of the same things to crowd that he always does.  He reinvents his standards majestically, the way he nearly always does.  Twenty minutes on I’m done with stairs and she is still going strong on my machine.