““And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” ”

— Friedrich Nietzsche

Yesterday was a rather enormous day for me in terms of kicking goals and taking names, and it got to the point where if I didn't find some way of letting some of the 'YAY' feeling out, I was going to spontaneously combust.

Sadly, as I had the equivalent of ten metric tonnes' worth of work to get through, a mid-afternoon champers was out of the picture (dammnit). So what to do, what to do?

Hard as it is to believe, I chose to - ugh - exercise.

Which isn't actually as weird as it sounds.

One of the perils of both a. working from home and b. sitting in front of a very large computer screen all day is that whilst the mind is massively busy, the body is in the equivalent of a chocolate coma. So at the end of the day - fidget central. And yesterday - I really, really needed to be running down the street, punching the air, saying 'I couldah beenah contendah' with Eye of the Tiger playing loudly in the background.

Or possibly the theme from Flashdance.

As it was, I donned the black stretchy pants and running top (no need to not be chic about this - I was celebrating after all) - and off I trotted out into the exceedingly average Gold Coast afternoon.

God.

I really, really hate running.

Admittedly I have Rheumatoid Arthritis and shouldn't do anything beyond a gentle amble, but - well, if Rocky Balboa could keep going, yada, yada, yada...

And I bet the most the Duchess of Cambridge said whilst popping out the Royal Squealer overnight was 'oh, bother'. So soldiering on, stiff upper lip trembling slightly, knees popping like corn, I ran up to the beach.

The thing that got me there (apart from excess adrenaline over total work wins), and the whole point of this post, was this.

Music. Really, REALLY loud music.

Much of it was totally daggy, and I think I was singing along (or wheezing along) at the traffic lights, and bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet, so no doubt I looked even more spaztacular than usual. Plus I run like a total girl, so I must have provided the locals with some serious entertainment.

But man, it was worth it. Music may be the language of love, but more importantly yesterday, it was the language of 'I can do this without having a myocardial infarction'.

And also the language of total, total kick-arse.

I'm going the distance. Possibly not for speed, Cake...

But definitely the former.

Aah, ahhhhhhhh...