GETTING BUFF

I have found out once again that it can be lonely in a crowd.

Actually, I felt pretty out of place when I first started going to the YMCA. I had started out doing aerobics with the Silver Sneakers group. This is supposed to be people 55 and over, but it’s mostly over. In fact, there were no other people younger than me, and not even one my age. I was the baby. Yes, I am over 55; however most of the people in Silver Sneakers were around 75 and upwards of 95 years old. The reason I felt out of place is because when I first started, I couldn’t keep up with them.

They were warm, friendly and very considerate of me. ” Here, sweetie… just sit right here and I’ll get you some water!” And, “You shouldn’t try to do so much at first!” and…”Claude, keep an eye on this one….she’s new.” This sweet woman (Celeste) is 86. These wonderful women and men show up religiously to do a solid hour of aerobics…..non-stop. Granted, I have a limited breathing capacity. I should have started slowly and worked out a little longer each time.

After a couple of months, I decided that I’d just go to the work-out room and ride the stationary bikes and do some weight bearing exercises. I bought a set of ear phones so I could watch and listen to the news while “spinning”. This was much more to my liking. Yes, I did get winded at first, but it got easier, and I was able to work up to an hour. I was really getting into doing this three days a week. I actually felt smug, and thought of my neighbors sitting at home watching soaps and turning into lumpy curds and whey.

Suddenly, I was snapped out of my self-satisfied, smug-trance when I heard,

“Hey Celeste!” You’re late, Darlin’, so let’s get to work!”

In waltzed all 4’9”, 85 year old of Celeste, waving at everyone; everyone being about eight of the Silver Sneakers group that had sneaked in while I watched the news and enjoyed my smugness. They had just finished doing an hours’ worth of aerobics, and most of them were running on treadmills. Celeste was there to work out with her trainer. I interrupted up my cycling and sauntered over to Celeste, who was bench-pressing her own weight. As I approached, she spoke cheerfully to me:

“Hey Sweetie! We thought you’d given up on the class. Are you coming back? We’ve missed you!”

Well, I honestly didn’t know what to say, so I hatched one up.

“Well, I’ve really had a problem with…..” Celeste interrupted with,

”Do you by any chance know how many reps I’ve done of these lifts?”

I didn’t know, but I told her,

“Six. How many are you supposed to be doing?”

And she said:

“Started on ten today!.......seven…… eight….”

This was wearing me out, so I excused myself and went back to the comfort of my stationary bike, put my headphones back on and closed my eyes to finish my spinning and listening to the news.

As I was dismounting, Celeste came up to me and asked me if I’d like to go have some Mexican Food with her. She was famished! Well, why not! She was just adorable, and I was just a little intimidated with her 85 year old ability, and pea-green with envy of her and her determination and her stamina. We got changed, and she said,

“We’ll go in my car. I think you’ll like it!”

“Sure thing!” I said. “See you in the parking lot.”

We each refilled our water bottles and headed out. I walked over to put my gym bag in my truck. Soon Celeste was there, tooting her horn. She was fast. I turned around to see a fire engine red, 1970 fully loaded and restored Pontiac Firebird. She must have seen my jaw drop down. As I got in, she patted the console of the classic and told me that it was her husband's’ “baby”. It was the first brand new car he’d ever bought. She drove it daily, and he drove the Lexus. Then she volunteered that he was her second husband, and that she’d traded up by marrying a considerably younger man. I guessed that she was probably older by about 23 years. That would make her husband about 63 years old. She did look great. Geeeeeeeezzzzzzze!

Over lunch, she told me that she was probably the most pampered “older woman” that she knew, and I’d have to agree. According to her, he gave her anything she wanted. Her husband worked for HP, and was going to retire in two years. She said that it was her mission to stay in shape for him, so he wouldn’t get bored when he retired. That’s all she volunteered. The little thing ate like a horse and had two giant ‘Ritas on the rocks. What a woman! I had a taco salad and water.

Instead of going home right after lunch, I went back to the Y and picked up three membership applications for the YMCA, determined to recruit some of my friends (my own age) to work out with me. Most of them still work, by the way. I took an application to one of my dearest friends. She was busily getting files together for their CPA. I explained that she could meet me at the Y on her lunch hour or before work. It was very close by and it would be fun. I’d go any time she wanted. I was dangerously close to begging, and I was fighting back tears. She looked at me from across her desk with a look of deep caring and concern, and then burst out laughing and said,

“Are you crazy!?”

That having been a bust, I took an application to my next door neighbor, and she actually agreed to go with me one day as a guest…. just to check it out. She actually got up early the next day and was ready. I was really encouraged. Afterwards, she said that it was just too early for her. She’s a night owl, and I get up entirely too early for her. I just tossed the third application in to the shredder. I’d just have to brave it alone in Silver Sneakers.

‘Nuff said…… I continued to go to the "Y" until I needed some minor surgery, and then placated myself with the excuse that I needed to recover from that surgery before resuming my work-outs at the gym……and my own resolve to work out three times a week just sort of fizzled out, went down the toilet, petered out and went away for the next year.

There is new resolve looming.



In the almost year that I haven’t gone to the gym, I’ve gained about ten pounds. That’s over what I’ve gained over the past five years. I have a closet full of clothes I can’t wear, and I refuse to buy bigger. That is not trading up. It’s not that I expect to get back to the “cute and adorable” days. Those are long past, and I truly wouldn’t trade anything for where I am today. It’s just that I’d dearly love to shape up, tone up and yes…..buff up what I’ve got just one more time. It’s much harder than it used to be. Gone are the days when I could eat all of anything I wanted and maintain a svelte 135 lbs. And, spending the day working in the yard was plenty of exercise. No, I don’t expect to get down to that weight ever again. I just want to take off the additional ten lbs. What that extra ten lbs. is added to, I’m not saying.

So, I’m resolving, once again to get back into decent shape. I’ll go back to the Y. I’m not much of a challenge for myself, because I’m the only one that believes my lies. (No, no, no ! You look great in tight jeans !) I do need the inspiration of anyone willing to sit beside me, exercise with me and crack a whip over my head.

By this time next year, I should be in good enough shape to at least wear Bermuda shorts. Does my butt make these jeans look fat?