Early Birds

I get up around 4:30 am every weekday morning. I didn’t used to be such an early bird, but about 9 or 10 years ago, when I started really getting into gardening, getting up at 4:30 am meant that I had time to do a little yoga and some strengthening exercises, have a cup of coffee in the quiet of the morning, and get out and do at least an hour’s worth of gardening before I had to get the kids up for school. During the summer months, being up that early meant that I could garden in cooler morning temperatures when the bugs were not quite so active.

It also means that I get to observe the early morning behavior of my neighbors. Some of them are sluggards, so to speak, with their homes showing no signs of activity until the day is well-advanced and nearing noon. Others will drive off in their pickup trucks or economy cars after 7 am, leaving plenty of time for whatever commute they may have and whatever morning rituals they may enjoy as they start work.

I was all alone, the earliest of early birds for several years. In the winter, it was peaceful but a little lonely sometimes. Then Zig Zag Man moved in to the garden apartments kitty-corner from me. I started noticing him one morning, around 5:30 am, when the weather was still cool, maybe late March, but not dangerously cold. He was a little paunchy, had on heavy sweatpants, a hooded sweatshirt, and mittens.

He came to my attention because, at first, I thought he was either drunk or senile – he was walking back and forth across the street in a zigzag pattern. Around one corner, down the block he went, making a full circuit, zigging and zagging. While walking, he had his arms held out laterally and was pumping them back and forth across his body. When he came back around on the second circuit, I realized that he was exercising, and not looking too damned happy about it either. He only made about 3 trips around the block before he gave out in front of my house, bending over, resting his hands on his knees, puffing.

I watched him amble back to the apartment building and thought, “hmm, I wonder if he’ll be out again tomorrow?” Considering how tired he looked, even beginning his second circuit, I kind of doubted it. I was wrong. Zig Zag Man has been faithfully circling the block now for about four years. I’ve watched him, 4 to 5 mornings a week, getting stronger, getting thinner, adding stretching exercises before and after his route, right there in his parking lot, and I’ve come to admire him.

I admire his consistency, his lack of embarrassment, and his choice to stick with his exercise regime. I admire his progress. In general, I stink at sticking to an exercise program. I let things get to me, I don’t prioritize it, and I wimp out. Zig Zag Man’s been good for me. A couple of times, I’ve found myself thinking, “If Zig Zag Man can stumble back and forth around the block, I can get off my lazy ass and ride my exercycle.” Or, “If Zig Zag Man can schlep to and fro in this nasty weather, the least I can do is lie down on a mat in my nice warm house and flail my legs around and lift some weights, fer chrissakes.”

I really don’t want to meet him, get to know him, and I’m not sure I ever really want to find out his real name. He’s just what I need him to be, a little inspirational, a little motivational, as my fellow early bird, Zig Zag Man.