Sing A Happy Song

Did I mention the singing?
I know you guys know I'm a musical nut when I'm exercising, but I don't think I've given you quite the picture. Walking along public streets, I sing.

I mean...properly. Quite loud. And a lot.

I know, I know - you avoid people like me when you see us on the street, for fear the music in our heads turns nasty and tells us to scoop out your brains with a grapefruit spoon, don'tcha? Don't blame you - anyone self-revolving enough to sing out loud on a public street as they walk along is probably worth avoiding. But here's the thing -
It feels really good. And anyone who encounters me gets a recognisable tune, in the right key, (it's a Welsh thing) and they get it for a fraction of a second. If it inconveniences them at all, it's for that fraction of a second, and then I'm gone.

Meanwhile, my brain is focused not on the walking, or the cycling, or the distance that doesn't get shorter no matter what you do...it's on the singing. And singing releases the happy hormones, and helps you not only to get through, but to feel you can do more, and go further, and not want to kill anyone, and not even actually feel the pain until much, much later.

By which time, you can take drugs.

So tonight, for instance, I rocked my way across Hyde Park, swinging what used to be hair to the sounds of Status Quo (I know! Old man rock! But I simply don't care, so nehh!). The pair of Muslim ladies I encountered looked at me askance - which is tricky to do through slits - as I sang "Whatever You Want..." roughly in their direction, but then I was gone into the dimming sunshine and the warmth and the green, and they had something scandalous to talk about. Yeah, technically it's antisocial, but it's also no harm, no foul - it's not as if you can mistake my musical enthusiasm for anything particularly threatening. It's just a happy fat fuck singing as he walks along. Even in the 21st century, I'd like to think that's more of a comical image than a scary one. So if you see me coming, sing along, or don't, but I'll be on my merry way.

In other news today, this morning's blood sugar was 5.5, so clearly the Moroccan meal didn't do too much damage, and, after talking to my pal Jake (who runs marathons, but says that three years ago, he was 'morbidly obese'), I've decided to up my cycling - so tonight, I did 15 miles. Ten tomorrow. That means 80 miles a week on the bike, plus the walking.

Time to sing a happy song, I think.