Don't forget the lyrics

I am so over winter.

I know it is exasperatingly passé to complain about the weather, but everyone else is doing it, so I will too: spring, you have really outdone yourself this year. I’m used to surprise hailstorms here and there, but you usually tease me with a few warm, sunny days in between. This year, you’ve been stingy even with your mild 50-degree days, and for that, you suck. Seriously.

OK, now that I’ve gotten that out, I’m going to move on to something even more exasperating. Endless Winter 2011 has forced me to spend more time exercising inside than I would prefer, but excess elliptical training is not the main source of my frustration.

As any routine gym user will tell you, indoor exercise can get really, really boring. Electronic devices like built-in TVs and iPods are effective sources of entertainment—to a point. But there comes a time in every regular gym-goer’s life when he or she simply cannot fathom the thought of sweating through one more episode of Dancing With the Stars.

Somewhere over the course of my many years as a runner living in the Arctic tundra of western Montana, I developed something I like to call Silent Gym Karaoke. As you might surmise from the title, this activity involves soundlessly mouthing the words to your favorite songs as you listen to them on your personal music device.

My favorite variation of this game was inspired by the popular television program Don’t Forget the Lyrics! It involves randomly pressing the pause button on my iPod and trying to correctly complete the next verse of whatever song I’m listening to.

My second favorite variation of this game involves pretending that I’m Steven Tyler and the gym is the stage at an Aerosmith concert. This version allows for a good deal of creativity with facial expressions and microphone stand stunts.

Here’s the problem: based on observable reactions from my peers, I get the feeling that my rock star miming routine is annoying—possibly even frightening—to the general population of gym users.

The other day, for example, I was cruising along on the elliptical to the beat of one of my favorite songs, “Fergalicious.” It is common knowledge that I know every single word to every single Fergie song, so I was (silently, of course) rocking pretty dang hard—especially when I got to the line about being “up in the gym just working on my fitness.” (Because hello—I was actually up in the gym working on my fitness.)

I was having such a good time that it took me awhile to notice the grumpy old dude—er, ill-tempered elderly gentleman—glaring at me from across the room. He stood motionless next to a stationary bike with one hand resting on the seat, as if to say, “I cannot possibly continue with my planned leisurely bike ride/AARP The Magazine reading session until you have ceased behaving like a complete idiot.”

The moment I realized his menacing gaze was directed at me, I closed my mouth and cast my eyes downward in embarrassment. I stared blankly at my machine’s electronic screen for roughly three minutes—enough time for Mr. Blister to start his workout and become distracted by a riveting exposé on denture adhesive.

When I was sure he was sufficiently occupied, I cranked the volume on my iPod, skipped ahead to “Glamorous”—another Fergie fave—and karaoked like a champ. And no, I did not forget the lyrics.