I’ve picked up a terrible new habit at my current job: I’ve started walking.
It happened out of desperation. I don’t really have anything to do on my breaks—I don’t eat with anyone at lunch, and the nature of the workplace does not lend itself to socializing much with my coworkers (not that I haven’t tried). Plus, after the whole Fitbit shackle debacle, Jason and I had finally compromised and gotten me a new, more fashionable shackle. So now I feel obligated to use it.
I quickly realized on my excursions that the podcasts I normally listen to—Liar City, Generation Why, Undisclosed—while informative and entertaining and full of true crime and murder, weren’t exactly inspiring walking music. (The episode on John Lennon’s death made me want to crawl into bed and build a fort out of my blankets. Not exactly “get out and move” listening material.) I needed a playlist: music with an easy walking beat, something I could keep pace to.
This wasn’t nearly as easy as it might sound. I queued up “With or Without You” by U2 and found it was much too slow, and a little depressing. Next up: David Bowie’s “Suffragate City,” which has a piano riff so fast-paced, Olympic walkers (do they have those? They should) couldn’t keep up without barfing. I sat on the curb and waited for Mr. Bowie’s ridiculous attempt to raise my heartbeat to fat-burning levels to pass. He seemed to realize his error, called in his pal Freddie Mercury, and “Under Pressure” came on next. This proved to be a win, and I had my first entry on the “If I’m Forced to Exercise” playlist.
If you know me at all, you know I’m not going to have a playlist without Duran Duran. But I quickly discovered that “Rio” and “Is There Something I Should Know?” were impossible to listen to without singing along and doing what I considered rather impressive hand motions reminiscent of the MTV videos for these very songs. But I’m still trying to get people at work to actually talk to me: I didn’t need to give off a “crazy lady” vibe by be-bopping outside the building, dancing and singing out of tune. I continued on through my Durannie library, finally finding a more serene yet still catchy solution with “Danceophobia.” Score!
This early success was followed by a large string of failures. The entire Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack was a bust. Ditto The Very Best of Neil Diamond. I’d thought the Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill album was a no-brainer, but it turned out that “Now, here’s a little story I got to tell, ’bout three bad brothers, you know so well” was surprisingly difficult to step in beat to. (Yes, apparently all of the albums on my phone are a mix of things I listened to as a teenager and things my parents would listen to.)
Slowly, I was able to cull a list of songs with a good beat that I could walk to. Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” was a nice addition. Bowie made a second appearance on the list with “Let’s Dance.” I added two tunes from INXS’s greatest hits—“Need You Tonight” and “What You Need”—and then looked at my progress so far. Everything on my list either came out in 1985 or sounded like it did. Turns out my idea of “good walkin’ tunes” meant “heavy synthesizer.” Apparently, you can take the girl out of the eighties . . .
The best part? It took me so long to put together my “If I’m Forced to Exercise” playlist that it gave me something to do on my lunch break for three full days instead of exercise. So don’t worry, folks: I suspect this new habit is just a passing phase.
It happened out of desperation. I don’t really have anything to do on my breaks—I don’t eat with anyone at lunch, and the nature of the workplace does not lend itself to socializing much with my coworkers (not that I haven’t tried). Plus, after the whole Fitbit shackle debacle, Jason and I had finally compromised and gotten me a new, more fashionable shackle. So now I feel obligated to use it.
I quickly realized on my excursions that the podcasts I normally listen to—Liar City, Generation Why, Undisclosed—while informative and entertaining and full of true crime and murder, weren’t exactly inspiring walking music. (The episode on John Lennon’s death made me want to crawl into bed and build a fort out of my blankets. Not exactly “get out and move” listening material.) I needed a playlist: music with an easy walking beat, something I could keep pace to.
This wasn’t nearly as easy as it might sound. I queued up “With or Without You” by U2 and found it was much too slow, and a little depressing. Next up: David Bowie’s “Suffragate City,” which has a piano riff so fast-paced, Olympic walkers (do they have those? They should) couldn’t keep up without barfing. I sat on the curb and waited for Mr. Bowie’s ridiculous attempt to raise my heartbeat to fat-burning levels to pass. He seemed to realize his error, called in his pal Freddie Mercury, and “Under Pressure” came on next. This proved to be a win, and I had my first entry on the “If I’m Forced to Exercise” playlist.
If you know me at all, you know I’m not going to have a playlist without Duran Duran. But I quickly discovered that “Rio” and “Is There Something I Should Know?” were impossible to listen to without singing along and doing what I considered rather impressive hand motions reminiscent of the MTV videos for these very songs. But I’m still trying to get people at work to actually talk to me: I didn’t need to give off a “crazy lady” vibe by be-bopping outside the building, dancing and singing out of tune. I continued on through my Durannie library, finally finding a more serene yet still catchy solution with “Danceophobia.” Score!
This early success was followed by a large string of failures. The entire Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack was a bust. Ditto The Very Best of Neil Diamond. I’d thought the Beastie Boys’ Licensed to Ill album was a no-brainer, but it turned out that “Now, here’s a little story I got to tell, ’bout three bad brothers, you know so well” was surprisingly difficult to step in beat to. (Yes, apparently all of the albums on my phone are a mix of things I listened to as a teenager and things my parents would listen to.)
Slowly, I was able to cull a list of songs with a good beat that I could walk to. Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” was a nice addition. Bowie made a second appearance on the list with “Let’s Dance.” I added two tunes from INXS’s greatest hits—“Need You Tonight” and “What You Need”—and then looked at my progress so far. Everything on my list either came out in 1985 or sounded like it did. Turns out my idea of “good walkin’ tunes” meant “heavy synthesizer.” Apparently, you can take the girl out of the eighties . . .
The best part? It took me so long to put together my “If I’m Forced to Exercise” playlist that it gave me something to do on my lunch break for three full days instead of exercise. So don’t worry, folks: I suspect this new habit is just a passing phase.
Here I am, after a strenuous workout of searching for A Flock of Seagulls on iTunes.
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