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I love dancing, but not as much if I have to follow steps. There are times when some sort of formal choreography would no doubt make my routine look more impressive, but on the fun scale, perhaps dancing would lose its charm for me.

Freestyle is the way for me. A few random moves I’ve picked up from music videos or classes over the years, yes, but mostly, I fly around the room with only the music to guide me.

It’s either beautiful or painful to watch, but I could care less.

No one is watching.

After a full day of reading, I needed to move tonight, really move. And shout. So I popped on my headphones to test out the Pear heart-rate monitor and app, flipped on my pop-tunes playlist (I call it “Tuff Stuff” although “Fluffy Stuff” might be a more appropriate title), moved and grooved around the living room, and belted out my favorite songs (sorry, neighbors — at least it’s winter and the windows are shut).

Kyle was out, so I have no human witnesses, thank goodness. Chloe seemed a bit scared, especially when I was slinking across the floor for a modified bear crawl during Lady Gaga’s “Applause.” She’d lower her head, then turn away, then run off to hide upstairs.

After 35 minutes, I was exhausted but in a great mood, the endorphins kicking in from exercise and my spirits lifted from singing aloud. And I had proof of a good workout from the Pear app. Outside of dancing, I added in walking lunges, squats, and pushups and triceps dips on the stairs.

I could keep up this routine — minus the singing when Kyle is home. Seeing my uncoordinated dancing should be a big enough shock to his senses.

Thoughts to share?

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