That Crazy Lady at the Gym

Stop the presses...I went to the gym yesterday. Yes, it has been a full year since I showed my face at the Y for a reason besides "Mommy and me" swim classes. But yesterday Princess went to school in the morning, and I (in my continuing search for me - see previous post) thought a trip to the gym would do me good. I dusted off my sneakers, found my ipod earphones, and off I went.

It was great - exhilarating and fun. In my previous life (before husband and daughter) I loved going to the gym, especially lifting free weights. When I was in college, those little dumb bells helped me lose that freshmen 15 ( and the sophomore 10). So I really owe them a visit, at least for old times sake. I still love my infrequent trips to the gym, as they allow me to just focus on being healthy and give me 60 minutes to listen to my music - really loud. And this music listening may be where I get myself in trouble.

In the life before my previous life (aka high school), I was a dancer and music lived in every muscle. It was impossible for me not to tap my foot, shake my shoulders, and/or snap my fingers when a song was playing. If I knew the song well, it was more impossible for me not to mouth the words.

This kinesthetic condition continues to this day. I can hide it a bit on the treadmill because I simply time my walk/run to the beat of the music. While "Mr. Brightside" by The Killers plays, I run quickly; "Stay" by Dave Matthews gives me a boost as I trudge the incline. But the problem really shows itself when I move to the beloved dumb bells. Again, I can time my bicep curl so it aligns with the beat, but any trainer will tell you you should rest between sets. And so I sit on a bench for a few minutes. Before I know it, I am mouthing words to a song only I can hear and nodding my head like a bobble head doll. I don't know how to control it. Yet I don't know if I should have to.

A few weeks ago my husband, Princess and I took a trip to my sister-in-law's house. On our way there, we passed a large marina with an active running path. As traffic slowed, I noticed a woman with large headphones dancing and singing as she jogged. She was living by the motto "dance as if no one is watching," because she was swinging her arms, jumping up and down, and shaking her whole body. To me, she looked like she was having a great time. I felt a pang of jealousy of her uninhibited nature. My husband thought she was crazy.

While I rested on the bench yesterday I thought of her. She would probably bob and sway and sing without a care. Perhaps I should do the same. So I let myself go a little. I did not bust out with a Martha Graham performance (well more like a So You Think You Can Dance? reject), but as I did my ab crunches I moved a little more, I mouthed all the words, and I felt really good.

Maybe I am now known as "that crazy lady at the gym," but I like to think they are all just jealous.