“You’ve got to be kidding. I’m too old for that kind of stuff,” my friend said in response to my suggestion that a fitness class might help us both with a weight problem.
A phone call assured me there was no age limit, although the registrar asked if we had any medical problems. I didn’t mention my inclination to fall asleep in front of the TV.
I knew we were in trouble the first day when I showed up in “fortrel” slacks and navy running shoes. I was surrounded by cover girls right out of Cosmopolitan magazine, in up-to-the-minute jogging attire. I crept into the change room, only to be met by the sight of bodies in states of undress. Memories of my daughters sleepover parties surfaced. Shoes, jackets and tote bags were strewn everywhere. I picked my way through the mess, checking the impulse to tidy along the way.
Cautiously opening the door to the exercise room, I was greeted by the “thump, thump, thump,” of music blasting at a decibel that had my earlobes vibrating.
“I’ll show them,” I said to myself. And I did—for about five minutes—and then when I didn’t think I could crawl, let along jog, another moment, the instructor called, “Bring out the mats!” A young lady took one look at me and offered to get me one too.
“Now bend and stretch and touch your toes.” I could hardly believe how my legs had grown the past few years … there was a lot of empty space between my fingers and my toes.
The session two days later include an outdoor run. I smiled as all the girls sailed by me, then without a twinge of conscience I took a short cut back to the gym. (There has to be some perks to being a grandmother.)
We have a week to go and the girls and I sit and have coffee together. They talk about their kiddies and I talk about my grandchildren. Somewhere between the toe-touches and the deep knee bends the years between us have slipped away.
So, next time you see those young beauties jogging past in groups of two or three, look for me. I’m the short, grey-haired gal way at the end.
Based on a story originally printed in Discovery Magazine, March 1989.
