Musikfestlympics

Next to Christmas, Musikfest is the biggest thing to happen in Bethlehem—it’s a pretty big deal around here. Loads of local and nationally known bands (500 says fest.org) set up at 15 different stages for a week; and folks crawl through the sticky August downtown streets like flies to poop taking it all in.

Not to be a Grinch or anything, but I’m not a huge ‘fest fan. Maybe my attitude was tarnished when I lived on actual ‘fest grounds’ and heard every giggle, conversation and Celine Dion song from the flutist outside my window for days on end.

This year I’ve wandered down to Main Street a few times (mostly because my buddies wanted to) Sunday morning I Musikfested solo, though. Main Street was quiet and all the pop up food tents were covered. I was on foot, desperately attempting to get some summer mileage in.

I ran down to the Historic District, one of the ‘fest’s main hubs. Here, a few workers were awake, getting tents stocked for the day, setting up stages and folding chairs. I ran down a stretch of road, double-lined with tents. It was audibly quiet, but visually chaotic.

Maybe it was the heat, an overdose of Olympics, or both, but I took in the scene and pictured myself leading the Olympic Marathon in London. The trash cans marked the course, the tents were gobs of cheering fans and the screaming from my hamstrings was praise from the crowd. My stride was rhythmic, ugly I’m sure, but I pictured it as robotically effortless as elite marathoners usually look.

Annnd then the tents ended and reality set in; reality in the form of punishing hills on my way back to my apartment. Sigh. Waking up from day dreams is rough.