Ride That Funky Bike — White Girl.
4:10.
That’s the time I heard harps playing this morning.
Reaching over, I grabbed my phone and snoozed the harps.
Rain splattered against the window pane. That meant I needed to get my rear to the gym for no chance to exercise outside today.
A usual group of suspects attends a 5:15 a.m. spin class. I try to include myself in that number twice a week.
This morning our instructor was hill happy. Lots of excruciatingly long hills and lots of bumpy roads. We all exchanged glances in the dark.
Have I ever blogged how much I love spinning?
Yes, I was slugging through the workout when out of the blue a funky guitar riff came on. A song I hadn’t thought of since seventh grade.
And once that familiar long ago music started, it infused my body with a 12 year old’s energy.
I didn’t even like the song much back then.
It was okay but not like today.
This morning 37 years later, it was the greatest song ever.
My tone deaf self was singing along and my feet where straining at the cages wanting to jump down and dance.
My body was on a stationary bike staring at her 49-year-old self in the mirror, but my mind was in the cafeteria at Glenridge Junior High on a short schedule Wednesday waiting in line for a rectangle slab of pizza and a chocolate cookie the size of a small dinner plate.
Remembering how surprised I was to find out the guy that sang this was actually white.
Memba that?
If I had listened to the lyrics that would have been quite apparent.
It was a great two minutes spinning back in time.
Then Adele came on and we were rolling in the deep and up another hill.
Ugh. This white girl had ridden far away from seventh grade and was pooped.
Any song send you back to seventh grade waiting in line for frozen pizza?
