In the middle of our first Chorale rehearsel last night, I decided not to sing the Messiah this year. My favorite part of the work have, increasingly, been given to a small subset of the choir; between that and the large proportion of solo movements, the rest of the oratorio is... well, a bit of a slog. There's nothing quite like an entire concert hall full of people standing up when the opening measure of the Hallelujah Chorus rings out - but we don't perform in a concert hall anymore, either.
More to the point, I have this teeny tiny commitment to insanity commonly known as a half-marathon to run at the end of January. My major goals for the month are: 1) keep training; 2) don't get injured; and 3) don't, don't, ABSOLUTELY DO NOT get sick.
Under the circumstances, the decision to avoid a weekly gathering with eighty people in a tight space, where we will proceed to open our mouths and share air and spit consonants* for two and a half hours, seems like a no-brainer. Plus, late Tuesday night rehearsels inevitably leave me highly sleep-deprived on Wednesdays. There are faster ways for me to get sick than to wear myself out... but there aren't many of 'em.
I never thought I'd willingly miss a chance to sing excellent music, but I feel really, really good about this. It's such a relief! I've had the opportunity to sing Messiah - all of it - in a big concert hall with family and friends and a great audience. It's a memory I cherish. This year, I think that memory will be more than enough to see me through.
*Spitting consonants results in excellent diction and crisp sound coming out of one's mouth. But it also sometimes results in other things coming out of one's mouth.
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