The Spy Game

Most people I've seen at the gym have music playing through headphones as they do their workout. Something about the beat moves those muscles to flex.

My music begins in the change room.

It's the tune of "Mission Impossible".

Now before you start chuckling at the image there, I don't think that it is a reference to my efforts in the gym.

I enter the usually empty changeroom, set my duffel bag down on the bench, and the music begins. My mind kicks into gear with the tune and my actions are swift.
The changeroom is no longer a changeroom. It is now a storage room in a ritzy hotel. I am an undercover agent for national security, setting up the scene for investigation.
The sound of the zipper on my duffel bag echoes off the concrete walls of the room. Time is of the essence.
I take out my tools - ear pieces, video surveillance, recording devices ...
My pulse speeds up with the adrenaline rush, my senses are heightened.
The mission is simple.
Get in.
Get out.
No one will detect my actions.
Home office will monitor my surveillance and protect my cover.

The music plays on.
I half expect Tom Cruise to come around the corner, gun in hand.

Sigh.
And this, just in the changeroom before the workout.
I am exhausted already.

My coat is hung.
My running shoes are laced.
My water bottle is in hand.
And I leave the room.
The Mission music fades, and I psych myself up to hit the weights.

This has become my daily routine six days a week. My hubby is my workout partner. My fellow agent. Because every good spy needs another to have their back, right?
Through grunts, sweat and a little pain here and there, we get through the workout.
Am I feeling stronger? Sometimes.
Am I feeling healthier? Most days.
Am I feeling like I'm doing something good for my body? Every day.

Back in the changeroom, I gather my gear, zip up my bag, and leave the room as if nothing happened.

Till the next time.

And I leave chuckling at myself.

"Mission Impossible"?

I think not.