The most significant aspect of today’s workout: A fast mile-and-a-quarter on the treadmill. There was a time when I would’ve given up about halfway through that. Distractions, y’know. A book that needed writing, a paper that needed editing, an interview to be scheduled, a dish that needed washing. Any “real-world” excuse at all, and the exercise session would end.
What kept me from quitting today? Barry Gibb.
I have a dark secret: I’m sort of a dancing queen. I can’t help myself; I came of age during disco. If it has a fast four beats to a measure, I can’t be stopped. The toes start tapping, the hips start twitching, and I’m up and moving. My husband believes I’m some sort of an automaton when it comes to pop music. But a girl’s gotta dance!
So that’s one reason I’ve never owned an MP3 player. Music, like exercise, distracts me from real work. And I’m a serious adult now. Can’t be jumping up and dancing every time a little Abba comes my way.
Last week I finally broke down. “If I’m going to be using the gym,” I told my better half, the professional geek and avocational musician, “I need tunes. Help!”
“Use Pandora,” he said.
“Just install Pandora on your phone, set yourself up some radio stations, and be happy.”
Who knew? I installed the free software, played around for a bit, and finally nailed it. One Motown station, and one Disco station, plus a Sloop John B. station for cooling down.
And now I even have my own drinking game: Every time an Earth, Wind and Fire song pops up, I stop what I’m doing, and put in a lap around the outside of my gym.
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