I was on the road in the middle of the night Monday. It was really 5:30 Monday morning, but since we had just moved the clocks forward by an hour it felt like 2 a.m. To put your mind at ease, this was not due to a dire emergency or even some secret mission. I have been doing the same thing three times a week for almost a month.

Yes, heaven help me, I am going to the gym. Anyone who has seen me there will attest to the fact that I am not fit to be seen in public at 5:30 a.m. My hair looks like I slept with a rake in it. My gym clothes probably met me at the door (I really have to get more gym attire). Yesterday’s mascara has formed linebacker pools under my eyes. It’s not pretty. It’s probably not even publicly acceptable in some countries. Everyone at this all-female fitness center is very friendly and nonjudgmental. They also look much more put together than me first thing in the morning. I don’t even turn on the light when I’m getting dressed at that hour – how is it that people show up with perfectly coiffed hair and clothes with noholesorstainsfora6a.m. workout?

My brain is still adjusting to the early morning routine, which has changed from hitting the snooze twice to fumbling for my glasses and throwing on a T-shirt and yoga pants at the first alarm. The time change threw a wrench into the ritual I had for the first few weeks. It was a bit more enjoyable when I was riding into a gorgeous sunrise instead of feeling like I just left a drive-in movie.

The real reason I am willing to start this early is so I can get home to my beloved coffeepot as soon as possible. Prior to coffee, every machine looks like a weapon of torture. They may be pieces of metal, but pre-caffeine, I imagine them snickering at me as I quietly grumble a few choice words with each exercise.

Much to my body’s sheer delight, the last piece is the stretching area. I can deal with waiting another five minutes for coffee if it means appeasing my moaning muscles with a good stretch.

I am still trying to adjust to the post-sweat schedule. Since the exercises take a little over 30 minutes, I decided that doing it in the morning before work would be the best time. Really?

Right around 6:30 I hit the road to come back home, praying that I don’t hit every red light or worse – get stuck behind a school bus – on the six-mile return trip. As I come tearing through the door, Spouse stands a safe distance away. I race through an express shower, throw makeup and clothes on, and toss my breakfast and lunch into my bag, hoping whatever I grabbed is edible, before bolting out the door for work. My mate has wisely finished all bathroom related tasks and usually feeds the cats before I get home so that I have a clear shot to the shower. It takes precision and pure luck not to step on a feline sprawled out in the hallway.

The goal is for me to get into shape – other than the shape I’m in, which is round – and feel better. My knees will thank me, my heart will thank me, and a couple of women’s clothing stores will thank me when I go on a shopping spree to celebrate my fitness victory.

I’ve started to feel a little better physically and may even buy some new gym clothing this weekend before others start to catch on to just how often I’ve worn the same T-shirt. Hey, I may not look put together but I’m still there when the place opens, sneakers and water bottle in tow, and visions of coffee mugs dancing in my head.

— Contact Janine Talbot at janinevtalbot@gmail.com.