life as a musical

If you’re looking for music to spice up your workout, I would recommend against the Doxology. I’ve discovered this week (as I’ve been going to the gym; five times now, even! Go on, tell me I look skinny even though I know you can’t see me!) that even with the Passion remake, that Praise God From Whom All Blessings Flow is just not going to be the high intensity part of your workout. I’ve also found that working out with music has helped me a lot. I don’t look down in disgust every 15 seconds that it’s only been 15 seconds. Thank you ipod, thank you passion, thank you shanes, thank you one and all.

The only danger in walking around with my ipod (at least to the gym and back) is that life starts to feel a little like a musical. Or at least a soundtrack. I get on the bus and, even though I am surrounded by what feels like half of the city’s population crammed inside that moving tin box, I feel strangely like I’m marching to the beat of my own drummer.

I had an incident this week. As I was on the way to said gym, I got on the bus. The bus was already very, very full. In fact, I was standing on the step to get on the bus and the doors were closing just inches behind me. That fact, however, was lost on the ten people who got on the bus after me.

With such crowded space, I was diligently guarding the ipod stashed in my jacket pocket. Crammed spaces are havens for pickpockets, even in a closed area like a bus. My stop finally came, and ipod and I both exited safely. I did my workout (while watching a lady practice her salsa dancing in between the weight machines and the treadmills…she must have an ipod with her, too) and as I walked out to the bus stop to catch the bus home, I reached into my pocket. That’s when I realized my bus pass (the rechargeable card you can swipe to get on buses) unfortunately did not make it out too.

The music playing in my mental musical was not happy music. I was reminded of the time several years ago in countryside asia, where 100 local dollars was swiped out of my purse, right under my nose. The veggie seller peddling her red bell peppers saw the whole thing happen, and told me about it in meticulous detail once the thief was safely out of reach. My anger at the time seethed, that she wouldn’t have stopped him, warned me, done something to help. I remember feeling so violated. Grrrrr. Right from out of my purse!

And so all that came back to me as I angrily trotted back to the bus station. No matter that old man winter was loosening his grip on our city and the blue sky was back and the sun was shining brightly. Someone was raining on my parade, an unidentified thief, willing to be audacious enough to snatch my bus pass while we were packed in on bus 56 like sardines.

I grumbled under my breath all the way to the bus stop. Words like dishonest, crooked, sneaky kept coming to my mind as I angrily generalized the entire continent. Behind me, I heard quick footsteps and instinctively reached into my jacket to secure my ipod. I jerked as I felt a hand on my shoulder.

The bright orange gym suits of the Fitness club surprised me. An employee had found my bus pass under one of the weight machines. He saw me walk out and sprinted half the block to catch me.

The few remaining steps to the bus stop were me kicking myself for being so willing to generalize, even in my anger. The music to that day’s musical changed quickly from tense and melancholy to an upbeat fanfare, heralding the dude in the orange sweatsuit.