I was in the groove, cruising along at warp speed, which for me is 2.5 mph, on the gym treadmill. I was feeling empowered, energized, engaged in the rhythm of the moving floor pulling me along -
To the sound of Olaf's song In Summer from the Frozen soundtrack.
And that's how I roll.
For Christmas my very thoughtful and observant spouse, knowing I would love having some tunes in my head while I envy how easily everyone else in the gym seems to be able to get off the treadmill without a parachute, ordered an MP3 player for me to use when I (try to) walk. It came with zero directions, and it didn't want to play nice with my iTunes on my laptop. So I held onto it until I could get together with someone who had specialized knowledge in electronics. My children. In this case, my future son-in-law, who is extremely patient when I hand him things like this and say "Make it work, please."
During the short time we were with the kids a couple of weeks ago at our niece's wedding, The Fiance had figured out that the MP3 player wanted the iTunes songs to be MP3s - and so he did that for me, making a separate file for me to keep MP3 versions in.
I want to say here and now that I thoroughly appreciate the fact that he acknowledges my inability to retain simple instructions.
Let's get back to me and my treadmill tempo. As I bopped to Love Is An Open Door and glanced around the room, I was thinking that I was probably the only person there who was listening to the soundtracks from Frozen and Wicked, a couple of numbers from the movie Music and Lyrics, Christmas tunes by a cappella group Pentatonix, and - yes, I admit it - a few pieces from Glee.
It's not that I can't exercise to the songs you may be used to hearing on the radio. I just don't have the same connection with "Daisy Dukes, bikinis on top"as I do with "Pop Goes My Heart" which is, ironically, a fake 80s hit. I wouldn't be fitting any body parts into Daisy Dukes - my style is more Delta Burke (that's not a slam - I love Delta Burke). And I haven't worn a bikini since I was 7.
The thing is, I never just sing. I get into it. If you see me drive by you will probably realize that I don't notice you. That's because I'm in the middle of performing at Madison Square Garden, perhaps harmonizing with Pink, trading verses with Michael Buble, or simply taking over when Idina Menzel needs a break. And the hand movements - there has to be a little action to go with the attitude. My girls know that being in the car with me and music means there will be choreography at stop lights (and possibly if we're moving really, really slowly).
So I have to wonder... did the guy to the left of me who was working up an actual sweat running on his treadmill happen to notice that I closed my eyes during "Let It Go" - which he obviously couldn't hear - and hope I wasn't about to lose my balance and catapult backwards into the wall? And the woman who was looking for a machine in the row in front of me - did she catch the combination of pain and passion in my eyes when "Don't Write Me Off" was playing in my head and hope I wasn't about to make a pass at her?
It doesn't matter what rocks me when I roll on one of these things. It only matters that I've dragged myself to the gym, spent a half hour pounding along, occasionally attempting to sip on my bottled water while trying to hold onto the railings the whole time. That's where I'm off to this morning, in order to walk off maybe one or two buffalo wings after going out to dinner last night at one of our favorite local spots (we're not going to talk about the beer or the garlic mashed potatoes... or the dessert).
So if you happen to spot me trudging along at the speed of snail on a treadmill, feel free to wave, even though chances are I'll be absorbed in the music (if not fascinated by Saturday morning television) and may not notice.
But if I do... please come and help me back to my feet after I wave, lose my balance and slam into the wall.