So, there I was last night, watching Madonna Veronice Louise Ciccone of Michigan, rock her broken heart at Ford Field, Detroit. A rare performance in her hometown. (FYI - born in Bay City, but her family home is less than a mile from my house).
A show I definitely did not want to miss.
But a show that left me feeling fat, frumpy and deeply uncool at not too far off 40.
This woman is 50. Yes, 5.0. FIFTY! And she leapt, skipped, danced, bumped and grinded around that stage for 2 1/2 hours like she had the energy of my toddlers.
Me and my friend (sat not quite in the Gods) weren't surprised at her showmanship. I mean, she is all all about theatrics. What had us digging deeper into our popcorn was the vast difference in what we've achieved body and health-wise these past 10 years, since we last saw her play live, and what Madonna's achieved.
We felt old. Much older. We have baby fat. Plenty of it. We were out of breath climbing the stairs at the parking lot. She looks younger. Fitter. And definitely skinnier.
I know all celebs are skinnier and smaller in real life than they look on the TV or an album cover. I've interviewed enough of them to realise that you rarely make the A list until you're pocket-sized. (Except of course, if you're a model.)
But this woman, The Material Girl, is Pollyanna on uppers.
I've cooked spaghetti thicker than her thighs.
We couldn't take our eyes off her thighs. And nor could all the men in the audience either. Gay or straight. Her thighs pay homage to diet, exercise and expensive body treatments.
I wonder if Kabbalah gets you great thighs too? (Join and get a free pair of spaghetti legs every time?!)
What I did observe though, to my great relief, was that she did sit down three times. Ah, see old age does affect us all. Even multi-millionaire pop icons.
She still obviously would kick all our ar*es at the gym. She certainly gave her 'teenage' dancers a run for the money in the energy stakes.
But she definitely took her looming divorce rage out on that stage. It was a show tinged with angry moves. Lots of thrashing the floor (and not just in the Spanish dancing which accompanied La Isla Bonita). And even 'fake' tears during an acoustic version of You Must Love Me (Am I the only Madonna fan, who loved her in Evita?) The old romantic in me, likes to think she was singing this to Guy in an attempt to save her marriage, but the realist says that she was singing it to us, her audience and fans, in another insecure cry for lifelong audulation. Such is the psyche of an artiste.
Whatever was going on under her costume (not much, consider how lacking in coverage those shorts were) one thing stands out from last nights show..
I have, unwillingly, become an unfit, unhealthy, lazy-arsed, 30-something, who hasn't exerted as much physical energy in the past 2 1/2 years as Madge did in those 2 1/2 hours.
I've got old without really taking note of it, acknowledging it or changing my lifestyle accordingly to accomodate this ageing process.
And as much as I try to remain hip, cool, fit and young, who am I trying to kid? I mean, me and my friends approach to last night was so 'Mumsie' it was embarassing.
We emptied our wallets of excess credit cards and pics of our kids - in case we got robbed.
We charged our phones - in case we needed to make an emergency call.
We took two maps - one in case we got lost on the roads and one in case we got lost inside the venue.
We located the bathrooms straight away - thankfully near enough our seats so we didn't miss too much of the show when our bladders gave out.
We rang home twice - to tell hubbies we'd got there without being shot (Well this is Detroit). And the second time, to tell them the car hadn't been vandalised and we hadn't been carjacked when we were leaving.
We didn't drink - alcohol.
We ate popcorn - kill me now!
We wore jumpers - enough said.
Jeez - the last time I saw her (at Earls Court, London) I smoked, boozed and danced my way through her concert. All inhibitions thrown to the wind and I did every move to Vogue. This time, I tapped my toes, not wanting to annoy the lady next to me with any invasion into her 'dance space' and got mildly annoyed at a girl two rows infront who stood up and busted dance moves that kept blocking my view of the big screen.
So, that's it. I'm done hurtling into middle age with my middle age spread. Things are going to change in Mom/Mum land. They have to.
I am, wait for it, going to get fit! I am going to put away the supersize box of cookies and opt for a smaller pack. With fruit. If Madonna can leap around at 50 like an Oompa-Loompa, then so can I.
Alright, that might be a tad overambitious, but I am going to join the loose-some-pounds party with the wonderfully inspriational blogcrew at BlogToFit.
I can't promise to step on the scales all that often, but I can promise to cut out some of the cr*p from my diet and to use my legs for something other than putting up on the couch.
And hopefully, like the two Daves and Tara, in a few months, I will be fitter and healthier than I am now. If I lose weight, that'll be a bonus. As Tara says, it's 'baby steps' and if I can do some of those steps to the soundtrack of the Material Girl then it'll be Like A Prayer answered for me.
Come on over with me and get that party started!
