It was just after 7 AM. It was sunny, and I was out walking. There was a slight breeze. Cars were driving by with people on their way to work, people starting their day. In more than one of them I saw someone drinking coffee, usually in a travel mug but one distinctly in a Starbucks cup. It felt good to be out early moving my body, getting my morning exercise, tracking my steps on my FitBit. 580, 581, 582.
It hadn’t been a difficult walk thus far being mostly downhill on 3rd Ave NW and on into the heart of Fremont. 583, 584, 585. Two squirrels chased each other up and then down a tree and then under a car and into some bushes. I had on my Hawaiian shirt ready for casual Friday on the office. I was strolling and looking about and feeling pretty good about things, about life. 586, 587, 588.
Still, I was a little tired. This early morning exercise wasn’t my usual thing. Normally at this hour I’d be one of those people in a car with coffee on my way to work and perhaps checking Twitter at stop lights to see what craziness had happened in the world in the last few minutes. I might have NPR on or a CD in or no sound other than my own thoughts. I might be hungover and sipping a Vitamin Water Zero in between sips of coffee. 589, 590, 591.
Up ahead there are people on the sidewalk exercising, which for them looks to be their normal routine. They’re doing lunges. Three men and one woman with dumbbells in each hand are stepping, lunging, stepping, lunging again. After about 10 steps they change directions and head they other way. It looks exhausting. There’s a trainer there urging them on as they strain to keep at it. I can see the effort is getting to them. 592, 593, 594. The trainer says something and they stop. They set the dumbbells down and breathe deep. They drink water.
As I approach, I can hear the trainer. “OK, great job, guys. One more round and then we’ll head back inside,” whereupon they pick up their dumbbells and start at it again. 595, 596, 597. I stop about 25 feet from them. 598. Inside for them is the Northwest Fitness Project, a gym. It’s right next to the George and Dragon Pub, my destination. Car retrieval. That’s my morning exercise motivation. Not my health. Not to lose weight. Not to get a jump on the day and do something productive. It’s just car retrieval after a night at the pub.
I unlock the car and step in. 599. I start the engine, roll down the window, turn on the radio, KISW, the Rock of Seattle. George Thorogood’s “I Drink Alone” is playing. I hear the trainer, “OK, we’re half way there. Come on!” I look at my FitBit again. 599. That’s not half way to anywhere, but it is all the way to the pub from my house. It’s a distance I know well, a distance I’m comfortable with, and given that I have plans for the Pub for the evening, a distance I will most likely walk again tomorrow morning.
I pull out of the George parking lot looking one last time at the lungers as George Thorogood gives way to Black Sabbath’s “Sweet Leaf.” They have their routine. I have mine. And I wouldn’t change a thing. Except maybe I’ll upgrade soon to one of those FitBits that can track my heart rate.