Exorcised or Exercised?

I'm off from work though the new year, though in light of how productive I have been in recent weeks my boss may have assumed I went on holiday from Labor Day and stayed there. Let's keep this our little secret, okay?

I am attempting to maintain my schedule though the big blank block in the middle 'going to work' will have to be repurposed I suppose. I'm also learning the joys of sleeping in beyond three in the morning though I'm not sure how many acquaintances might think half past six is "sleeping in."

I go to the fitness center a lot later than I previously did to the chagrin, I am assuming, of the folks who are there at seven as opposed to the dearth of folks at four in the morning. My routine being what it is is one thing, being God's special creature inadvertently in public is something else entirely.

During the winter, I wear a tee-shirt over my whatever fabric these things are that don't trap the sweat on your body shirts. I have no idea what fabric it is, creepy crepe if I were calling it by how it feels but I'll bet that's not its name. Anyway, I'm not wearing the shorts during the cold months, but I wear long sweat pants.

When I get to the fitness, I hang up the thermal vest and the sweatshirt I wear over the tee-shirt and then take and hang up the tee shirt as well. After my session on the elliptical, I towel off with one of the two towels I bring with me, grab my tee shirt and head for the changing room all the way in the back past the weights area.

I guess I'm still on my early morning rise and shine routine because as I take off the creepy crepe shirt, every morning and towel off before putting on the dry tee-shirt, I have developed a habit of singing lyrics of my own invention to the melody of the beloved Moon River (despite entreaties from Henry Mancini's estate).

I think the estate would be even less happy if they could hear the words, which involve the Dark Side of Star Wars' The Force for reasons I can neither explain nor comprehend. Be grateful I don't know how to work the sound recorder, or you would be praying for deafness in 3, 2, 1. "Darth Vader! Vadering the Darth, and all the other junk you see...." There's more, of course, but why?

I do not have any musical talent or ability but undeterred I make up for my lack of tunefulness (tunoisty?) by singing at the very top of my lungs. Volume has always been an American virtue, I hope. At four oh bright early most mornings that doesn't usually bother anyone within two square miles of the fitness center; at eight or so, however, the population density is considerably greater.

I discovered that as I exited the changing area yesterday and at least a dozen or so folks in various areas seemed suspended in their masquerade pretending I wasn't there or they weren't there or both. That was when I realized the changing room door wasn't sound-proof, not that I was able to catch or meet anyone's eye to be able to ask them.

It was a very quiet and surprisingly long walk from the back of the center to the front door. Sort of like Napoleon's retreat from Moscow but without the wine. I'm hoping I remember there are other folks around and about today as my chances of convincing them my performance is part of their monthly membership dues seems to me to be slim at best as opposed to slimming which, after all, is the object of the exercise, literally, right?
-bill kenny