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Thursday, April 16, 2009

America's Got...Something!

Today is not what I would call a good day. I know, I know. I am supposed to be immersed in the practice of positivity. I should say this day was a lesson in patience and not a BAD day....when my thoughts got pitiful and my eyes got weepy, I should have rolled out my rarely used yoga mat, gotten into lotus pose so I could breathe happiness in and exhale toxic thoughts out....yeah (pregnant pause) Rome wasn't built in a day.

BUT, this post isn't going to be about my virus infected computer (ERROR! Your computer will shut down in 60 seconds. Save your files...did we mention 60 seconds??) or my umpteenth rejection letter from a potential employer (your resume is exceptional but we've decided to go with someone more exceptional or someone with the same resume who got to us earlier, or no one because of an unexpected job freeze, or...you get it...we're rejecting you). Nope. This post is going somewhere different.

So, I got ready to go to the gym with the same scowl/pout on my face that I had when I was 3 and couldn't have gum from the display in the checkout line at the grocery store. My mom and my husband know that look better than anyone. Sensing my funk, my husband tried to cheer me up by holding my hand like we were school kids. I thanked him for the gesture. I even cracked a smile but I was still sad inside and my pout soon returned. We got to the gym, I grabbed a balance ball and started my ab work. Hubby got a ball and plopped down beside me. He poked me in the arm a couple of times and just when I was about to shoot him an annoyed look (when I'm deep in a funk, I tend to wallow there for at least an hour), we were interrupted by The Walking/Jumping/Dancing Crazy. This guy came bolting into the room with a loud "WOO-HOO!!" Then he started running around and clapping. Then came the real performance. I kid you not, he broke out in a full on disco/techno dance performance while singing at the top of his lungs. He stopped, did a couple of bicep curls while screaming bloody murder and then he gave someone on one of the circuit machines a lesson on his form. A woman stretching on the floor shot him a look when he broke out into part 2 of his song and he screamed "Am I too loud?" She knodded and he said "Yeah. Headphones!" and danced out of the room. I caught my husband's eyes in the mirror and we both burst out laughing. He noted that maybe they should ask "Are you crazy?" on the gym membership application. We decided to leave that room and I went to the women's training room (because apparently we need a separate space) to find some peace. When I finished with my weight training (I sound like such a health nut don't I...makes me laugh as I sit here planning what dessert I'm going to have after dinner), I went out into the main gym to do some cardio. I chose a bike and about 1 minute into my 6 mile trek, the woman next to me decides to sing. Mind you, I was wearing headphones and was listening to Oprah on full volume (to drown out the dance music blaring over the gym soundsystem) so when I say sing, I really mean shriek loud enough to blow out my eardrums. I turned to look at her and I see a woman that looks to be about 60, with her eyes closed, hands waving in the air belting out a song like she is auditioning for America's Got Talent (or America's Got Off Key and Crazy Sewed Up and Locked Down). Again, I laughed (this time to myself so as not to blend into the brand of crazy that took over the gym today) and leaned into my 6 mile ride. She was still singing 2 miles in and the dancer from earlier came dashing by and paused for a clap, dance, WOO-HOO combo near the row of bikes. He moved on and a man came to join my row of bikers. As soon as he sat down, the singer silenced herself and remained that way for the rest of my bike ride. I smiled and remembered that God has a great sense of humor and I instantly rose above my self pity. So, America's Got...Something and I got my lesson: self pity takes you nowhere but down and, as cliche as it is, laughter often is the best medicine.

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