It was a Wednesday morning at the YMCA, and I was sweating at the elliptical machine in rare form, reveling at the shuffle iGods who placed Blur’s "Common People" after The Killers’ "Somebody Told Me."



Such sublime pleasure couldn’t last, of course. There, in the midst of my revelry came the most god-awful sound, not quite human in origin. I started, and saw the source of the noise: a normal looking, 50-something man in Russell shorts and a muscle shirt, on the elliptical next to me, singing.



I think it went something like, "Aaaaaaau, Aaaaaaau, push it, push it, to the limit," but the actual words became indistinct as I pushed my little volume button up.

No good, I still heard the caterwauling, and now the exercisers around us noticed.

I wondered desperately how to escape: the guy was freakin’ loud and oblivious, rather like the grunting power lifter, or the individual in aerobics class making bird calls, and I was uncomfortably captive on my elliptical.



Don’t think me a hater: I get the whole, "whatever motivates you," thing. I like to make little hand motions to the beat, and I occasionally lipsync when the song is good and the running is rough.



But come on, kids: show some couth. Some of us just want to hear the music while we sweat.