I was walking on the treadmill tonight. And though I’m not suppose to “run” until the first of the year, I did try to jog a bit on the TM. What I did didn’t really qualify as running so I do not feel I defied any doctor or therapist orders.
None of that has anything to do with what I was going to write about.
But it’s where I was thinking about something. I was having a memory moment while treadmilling. Which is often the only way to get through treadmilling.
The memory?
Of a group of friends who have gathered. For years. On Tuesday’s. To socialize. And sing. And they share that with total strangers.
We received that gift one night.
And I only shared it that one night. But I miss it.
As I trudged along in the basement in the dim light with my MP3 player skipping along from song to song I realized I wasn’t even listening to the music I was skipping through. Nothing was hitting my mood. So instead I just played that night in my head.
So instead of treadmilling I spent a night in Ireland. In the dimness of the pub. Listening to a group of friends sing along. Singing under my breath a little. Careful not to sing loud enough to be heard. That would not have been pretty. I had a grand evening. That night, and thanks to that night, for a few minutes on the treadmill.
A great few moments of joy.
