5 AM - Chapter 1 - Georgia 10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVz12z4fpB6
The Criminals. That’s what they call us. Some others might refer to us as the “Breakfast Club.” There are only four of us who are consistent. Sure, we’ll get the odd day when someone else decides to join, but they never come back. I’m okay with that. I like our small group. It makes it much easier to focus on the workout.
Some people love working out in large groups. I am not one of those people. Being up at 5 AM is not for the faint of heart, but it’s worth it when you get almost the entire gym to yourself.
My alarm jolts me awake, and I smack the button on my phone to shut it off. I groan and sit up, turning the brightness down to keep my eyes from burning as I look at the temperature. It’s still pitch black outside. The temperature reads 38 degrees on my phone. I sign into class on my phone, check Facebook, and then decide to get up and stretch before throwing on my gym clothes and throwing my hair into a ponytail. I take a long look at myself in the mirror, noting the bags under my eyes from getting up this early for the past year. Sighing, I head to the kitchen, grab a water bottle, and fill it up before walking to my car.
There’s a slight breeze in the air as I walk into the gym. It’s not unusual for it to be this chilly in April, but I do wish it would warm up. The furnace in the gym doesn't work, so I keep my sweatshirt on as I set my bag down and get everything ready for everyone to show up.
I start by turning on the TV to get the programming set up, and then I turn to write what the workout is on the whiteboard, so it’s on both sides of the room. Today is back squats for the lift, with wall walks, GHD situps, and burpees for the workout. Son of a bitch, are they trying to kill us?
Groaning, I walk back to the bench to take off my jewelry. My mom, Jennifer, walks in, just as enthused as I am when she spots the board. She’s the one who convinced me to start coming to the gym in the first place, although I started coming to 5 AM without her telling me to. Honestly, she’s been actively trying to get me to switch to 6 AM so I can sleep more. Not that it matters much. My body has acclimated to waking up early by this point.
I chuckle as she walks up to me, plopping down on the couch in the waiting area before yawning. She takes a swig of coffee out of one of the three thermoses she brings with. It’s excessive, but without it, she would murder somebody. Literally. She tried to give it up for Lent one year. It lasted half a day before my brother and I begged her to drink some.
“Good morning to you, too.” I sit down on the bench across from her and mimic her yawn. I snatch her cup of coffee and take a drink before she grabs it back from me. A smile sneaks across her face as she takes another long drink, then sets her cup down on the floor before opening her gym bag. Picking up my own bag, I open it to take out my sneakers and put my sandals in it. I don’t care if it’s cold this morning. Once the sandals are out, they stay out.
Michael walks in next. Mom and I are always first, since we both arrive roughly ten minutes early. Michael is consistently the third to show up, averaging around five minutes early each day. Trudging forward, he sits across from me on the other side of the bench and gets his weightlifting belt out for back squatting. Michael is tall and lanky, but muscular, with thinning brown hair and a short beard. He’s naturally the talker of the group, but none of us talk much today after seeing what’s planned.
As we start to stretch and get the rigs ready, Rowan wanders in. He’s always the last to arrive, being that he lives the farthest away, around twenty minutes compared to five or ten minutes for the rest of us. He’s already prepared when he walks in, and he joins us to stretch. Rowan is a solid wall of muscle, tall, with tattoos covering his arms and messy black hair. He’s quiet, intimidating at times, but I don’t think he has a mean bone in his body. Even though he looks powerful, he gives off a shy sort of vibe, like he doesn’t want to be seen.
We all stretch separately, focusing on what our own bodies need to feel good. We make sure to stretch everywhere, but focusing more intensely on different areas. Since my hip hurts the most, that’s what I try to stretch. My mom focuses on her right shoulder, since she jacked it up doing pull-ups a couple of months ago. Michael and Rowan both focus on their legs primarily, since we need them to be warmed up for back squatting. We’ve been doing a progression since the beginning of the year, where we add five to ten pounds each Monday and do twenty reps in a row. We’re on week nine, and have one week left to go. Mom and I are at 125 pounds, Michael is at 245 pounds, and Rowan is at 325 pounds. None of us have failed yet. I think we’re all too stubborn.
As we work our way up to the weights we need to be at, we mindlessly chat about what kind of music we want today to hype us up. Not that it matters. We all get to pick a song to do the twenty reps to, and once you put that much weight on your back, you stop caring about what song is playing and focus on not being crushed.
I mention ‘80s pop music, which elicits a groan from everybody.
“What, what’s wrong with ‘80s pop?”
“That’s the worst genre of music,” Michael asserts.
I gasp at the blasphemy that just came out of his mouth.
“There’s no way you just said that,” I say as I lean under the barbell and rest it on my upper back. “Modern pop is so much worse,” I continue.
“She’s got a point,” Rowan interjects as he gets under the rig after Michael. “At least they were optimistic.”
“Well, to be fair, most of them were probably on drugs,” Jennifer says. She would know, having grown up as a teenager in the ‘80s.
We argue a little more before finally deciding on classic rock. No surprise there, we barely listen to anything else. At this point, we’re just procrastinating on finishing the back squats, but if we ever want to get to the workout, we have to get it over with. My mom goes first, and we all stand back and encourage her, counting the reps loudly until she hits twenty. When she’s done, she racks the barbell and takes a knee on the ground, breathing heavily.
I go afterwards. I struggle just as much, and am seeing stars at the end of it. I sit down and catch my breath before I stand up and go to grab some water. I end up chugging half of it before I take a steadying and deep breath to calm my racing heart.
Michael goes next, and Rowan finishes us off. I can’t help but watch him. He makes it look so effortless, even if I know he’s trying just as hard as the rest of us. By this time, it’s 5:40 in the morning, and Michael has to leave to get his kids ready for school. Rowan opts out of the workout, so it ends up just being my mom and me. By the end, our bodies are shot, and we’re lying on the ground, half-dead from exhaustion.
When we gather the strength, we peel ourselves up off the ground and wander over to the table to grab our things and head out. The 6 AM group is slowly coming in, all hopeful and smiling, but then they take a look at us and their smiles drop. If only they knew the workout ahead of them.
We sit and chat with Rowan for a bit before he heads off, and we decide to head out too. I throw my sweatshirt on and brace myself for the cool air as I climb in the car and drive home to get ready for work. On the short drive to my apartment, my mind drifts aimlessly from what I have to do at work to the chores I need to get done tonight. When I pull into the driveway, I sit in the warm car for a few seconds before gathering the courage to turn it off and haul my butt inside before I freeze. Most of the cars in the parking lot are gone, already headed off to work. I quietly slip inside, trying not to wake anyone that might still be in the small apartment complex, and sigh to myself as I open the door, not ready for what today might bring.
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnCaqsWMIlG
10Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGohFWunwgZ
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