Hallelujah, Twenty Reps

I arrived at the campus gym yesterday, Sunday, to do a little working out. I have a firm routine. I keep to it. I do, so stop rolling your eyes.

Stretching, cardio, weight machines, finishing stretch. There, see? I have one, so there.

At any rate, I arrived at the gym at noon. I feel it is important to mention that I was wearing sweatpants, a bandanna on my head, a sleeveless shirt, and sneakers. Why do I find it necessary to point this out to you? Because upon entering the lobby of the gym, I realized at once that I was the only person dressed this way.

I was greeted by the sight of young girls in Sunday dresses and bows in their hair. Ushers, standing at the door in dress pants and button shirts. Old women wearing hats, men wearing ties, young boys looking very angry because they were wearing ties also, and likely against their own will.

And, oh, yes, I should also mention this one more detail:
There was a large sign post in the lobby, bearing the bright message: "Palm Sunday Worship Service."

Is it apparent now why I mentioned what I was wearing? If not, read it again and just add a look of abject humiliation to my face, and it will all make sense.

I had completely forgotten it was Palm Sunday. Not one to be perturbed (well, not entirely), I passed through the lobby and heard the main gym filled with jubilant worshipers, singing at the top of their lungs. I swear there was an organ somewhere in there, but I didn't dare go to the door to look. Not in this outfit.

I slipped upstairs to the weight room. Inside, I got into my workout clothes and settled about my stretching.

Now, picture this: you climb onto your cardio machine and prepare yourself for your run, when the floor below you bursts with the Hallelujah Chorus, or some hymn or another, sung entirely off key by at least a million Christians, but sung nonetheless.

Hey, you don't have to sing on key at this time. It helps, but you are rejoicing, not winning a talent competition. God will understand.

I was a bit thrown by this. For the rest of my workout, I tried to keep my earphones turned up, but every once in a while, during the change from one song to another, I could hear the sound of scripture being read, and thoughtful stories being told. Then, the organ would play and more singing would commence.

It is very hard to focus on trying to lift weights when all this is going on. In fact, it is almost impossible.

I couldn't get over it. Here I was, surrounded by smelly, sweating, grunting college students, working away at machines and jump ropes and treadmills, and below us stood at least a hundred families in Sunday clothes, going to church. It was very disconcerting.

How do you focus when something like this happens? Granted, it was a change from the ordinary music that is played over the gym speakers, but this was just weird.

And, let's be honest. I wasn't exactly dressed for church.