Yesterday morning I stepped out of the house just after 5 a.m. to head over to spin class. My neighbor across the street was getting in his car to head in to work. After the usual exchanges of “Morning!” he said,
“Walking to spin?”
“Yep.”
“Are you happy about it?”
“Nope.”
We both chuckled and I went on my way.
And why hasn’t somebody done an all-Prince themed ride yet?
I have mentioned before how much I don’t like working out. Everybody pretty much knows this about me, it is no secret.
That is still very much true. I am also still going four times a week.
A couple of the instructors at 5:30 a.m. have been there since the beginning. They know me, my limitations (as in how much, even after all this time, I still suck at this), and I have come to know them a bit.
To that end, I can no longer hear Whitney Houston without thinking about one of the Instructors. Chris usually plays a lot of remixes, and there are a few artists he plays more often than others, Whitney Houston being one of them. Maybe not every week, but I’ve heard her over the last nearly two years (holy crap has it been that long?) at spin class more than anywhere else.
This past week one of the other instructors, one of the newer ones, played Whitney Houston during her class. That weekend I heard Whitney Houston on the radio a couple of times.
Each time I thought of Chris. Like a reflex – or Pavlov’s dog.