September 7, 2019

September 7, 2019

The alarm went off. I hit snooze. I never hit snooze. I contemplated. I wrestled with the voice in my head. I got up. 

Bathroom first, weigh in second, coffee third. 

Out the door. Power Hour is today. At the studio. Saturday morning. I haven’t been there on a Saturday in months. It felt odd getting up. It was hard getting up. Even sleeping in until 7am, didn’t feel like enough. I usually get up at 4:45 a.m. That should have been enough. 

I wasn’t sure if I would have to leave really early because of the construction on the road. Pilot cars and all of the fun that goes with that. 

Off I went. Coffee in cup holder. Bryan Cranston book on audible. Good, it looked like they might not be working today. Oh wait. Too soon. Yep, there is the flagger guy. 

I stopped. I wonder how long it will be this time. The flagger is old. He might not be that old, but he looks really old. He walks around to my window. Ugh. I just want my coffee and my book. I roll my window down and ask him how he’s doing. He said good. Awesome, I thought to myself. He said something about the rain and how they wouldn’t be able to put down the top layer if it was raining. They could still grind though. 

I was just staring out in front of me, watching the nothingness that is the highway. Looking at the dam and taking the beauty of the area for granted. Then out of nowhere, I hear him, the flagger, talking fast and slightly louder than before, “Have you been saved by the blood of Jesus Christ?” He said it fast and his voice sounded kind of strange, different from the his earlier small talk. I said, “Yes I have.” “Well that’s good,” he said. He told me most people have to ask him to repeat the question. He must ask it often. Even the ones who have been saved ask him to repeat it. 

I felt smart. I didn’t have to ask twice. I felt like I was listening, even though I was daydreaming. He then made more small talk. He placed his hand on my windshield. Weird, I thought. His fingers were dirty. I thought it was odd that he put his hand on my car. Why? Just a gesture? Just finding his balance? I don’t know. 

I don’t know why at that moment, I thought of writing about him. I thought of the strangeness of the stranger putting his hand on my car. Maybe it’s normal. I don’t know. I wondered about him. I wondered where he was from and what his life was like. I wondered why he would ask that question. It pulled at me. 

Off I went to the studio. Off I went to Power Hour. Off I went to have a great workout and see great clients. 

The thoughts of the flagger returned to me many times today. I’m not sure why. It was an interesting encounter with a stranger. 

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