There is an infectious, visceral response to frenetic orchestral music that can turn even the most mild-mannered individual into an imaginary-baton-wielding Toscanini, arms flailing and body bending back and forth like a human-shaped wind-sock on a garage forecourt. And listening to such frenetic orchestral music while at the gym was how I nearly broke my neck on the elliptical machine.
My limbs were exercising in perfect coordination, arms simulating cross-country skiing and legs faking cycling, when suddenly the aural hurricane called Platee: Orage by Jean-Phillip Rameau came ripping through my headphones. An irresistible inner-urge to 'conduct' the music immediately took over, so I unwisely let go of the elliptical machine's handlebars, waving my arms wildly in the air in time to the hyperventilating sound of the string section. Thus unbalanced, my feet lost their moorings in the whirring pedals and I found myself leaping backwards onto the floor mat, landing awkwardly but safely in a very undignified crouching position, Imagine the acrobatic equivalent of an anxious giraffe being shot out of a cannon and crashing right-side up into a bouncy castle.
All eyes in the gym were upon me. Raised-brow stares of curiosity and amusement rather than concern for my wellbeing. Ecce homo, I wanted to tell them, this is just who I am. The sort of person who listens to eighteenth-century opera, who wants to keep fit, and who often combines two very different activities that become dangerous if combined. For instance, I always take a brief respite from the stove to calculate my BMI when I'm cooking dinner. Sometimes I even do a few tai chi moves when I'm pruning roses in the garden. I'm a daredevil multitasker. What of it?
But I said nothing, stooped down gingerly to pickup my water bottle as I was still a trifle dizzy, then wobbled my way back to the changing rooms. I don't know. All that money in monthly gym subscriptions and expensive sweat-wicking shirts, and instead of rippling muscles all I've got to show so far is a reputation for exercising like a Loony Tunes cartoon. Perhaps I'll cancel my membership and try combining simple squat thrusts on the carpet at home while reading the novels of Patrick Modiano. What could go wrong?
Comments