Only psychopaths are awake at this hour.
Barely conscious, I lay gazing upward into the early morning abyss. Eventually, my eyes adjust to the blackness and I will myself from the comfort of the bed sheets.
Methodically, I move around the dark unit careful not to make noise. For any sound is amplified dramatically in the morning stillness. I gather my belongings strewn across the floor and sneak through the door.
The air, unlike mid-summer in the Salt Lake Valley, is cold and harsh. As always, I look to the stars to feel a little less crabby as I make towards the 1997 Nissan Elgrand illuminated by the dull flickering street lights.
The old van warms slowly over the half hour commute. The gentle hum of the engine allows my brain time to acclimate softly. The radio is kept stilled. Today I am excited to return to the familiar. And underwhelmed at the normality.
Arriving, the gym is lifeless and stony and within minutes, the early risers come shuffling through the doors. They resemble the Walking Dead: eyes glazed, postures stiff, movements sluggish and listless. The creak of joints is audible, joined by the groans that escape those that lounge over foam rollers.
Fourteen have shown for the 5:15am class. I converse with a few, before the topic of The Apprenticeship inevitably arrives. I mutter something about “a valuable learning experience” and quickly bring the conversation to a close.
I am unable to clarify my own thoughts on the events of the last four weeks I realise. Pushing this aside, I launch into my brief, optimistic that these would arrive shortly hereafter. They don’t.
Not for another 18 months.
CHANGE IS THE POINT 