Monday, July 26, 2004
I am so out of shape
Choir on Sunday kicked my butt.
This makes me sad and pathetic.
OK, maybe not pathetic, but definitely sad. It wasn't that I had to get up early—I was awake anyway. No, what exhausted me was the act of so much singing. And that is sad.
Part of it certainly is that I sang my little heart out. It's been a while since I've been in a choir where my voice was valued. In fact, I don't know if I've ever been in a choir where my voice was valued as much as I feel it is in this choir. After all, as a teenager, the adult voices always overpowered mine. And in college, there was Lucie to contend with.
Lucie was a friend of mine, so don't think I am being hateful when I say that she was a complete diva. She had (has, I presume) a lovely, rich, full voice. And she knew it, and the choirmaster knew it, and everyone in the choir knew it, and anyone who came to services on Sunday knew it. Lucie's voice stood out, no matter how much our choirmaster tried to meld our voices into a pure, seamless whole. And that's OK—but because of Lucie, I never saw much need to extend myself.
But now, I'm singing in what many consider to be the best volunteer church choir in the city (that seems to qualify the choir a lot, but there are many churches with many choirs, and almost all of them are volunteer), and my voice is valued.
Naturally, being valued feels nice. So I really belted out on Sunday. Even on the super-high notes that I have no business attempting right now, with a voice just fresh out of a five-year hiatus. And the effort of living up to my voice wore me out.
I'm looking forward to the fall, when many of the choristers who are currently on vacation come back. Then I can be one voice among many, instead of that amazing, yet untrained voice that stands out in a soprano section of four.
This makes me sad and pathetic.
OK, maybe not pathetic, but definitely sad. It wasn't that I had to get up early—I was awake anyway. No, what exhausted me was the act of so much singing. And that is sad.
Part of it certainly is that I sang my little heart out. It's been a while since I've been in a choir where my voice was valued. In fact, I don't know if I've ever been in a choir where my voice was valued as much as I feel it is in this choir. After all, as a teenager, the adult voices always overpowered mine. And in college, there was Lucie to contend with.
Lucie was a friend of mine, so don't think I am being hateful when I say that she was a complete diva. She had (has, I presume) a lovely, rich, full voice. And she knew it, and the choirmaster knew it, and everyone in the choir knew it, and anyone who came to services on Sunday knew it. Lucie's voice stood out, no matter how much our choirmaster tried to meld our voices into a pure, seamless whole. And that's OK—but because of Lucie, I never saw much need to extend myself.
But now, I'm singing in what many consider to be the best volunteer church choir in the city (that seems to qualify the choir a lot, but there are many churches with many choirs, and almost all of them are volunteer), and my voice is valued.
Naturally, being valued feels nice. So I really belted out on Sunday. Even on the super-high notes that I have no business attempting right now, with a voice just fresh out of a five-year hiatus. And the effort of living up to my voice wore me out.
I'm looking forward to the fall, when many of the choristers who are currently on vacation come back. Then I can be one voice among many, instead of that amazing, yet untrained voice that stands out in a soprano section of four.
