Grin and bear it….

    I didn’t have a problem being gullible growing up.  My mom never had to pour warm water over my tongue because some big kid had talked me into licking the metal icetray, I was never convinced to try tasting yellow snow by my brother, nor was I ever the first one asleep at the slumber party only to wake up later to look for my frozen bra through eyelids covered in shaving cream.  Nope, those just weren’t my weaknesses.

    But I was very competitive.

    So much so that there’s a trail in history of broken bones, broken windows, and a pigtail left hanging very high up in an old oak tree behind me.  Yep, I was the sucker for the dare that taunted, "You can’t do that!"  You would think that time would have a way of mellowing that out.  You would think.

    Part of the girls’ homeschooling included enrolling them at the local YMCA to ensure they got an adequate amount of daily physical activity.  I wasn’t prepared, however, for Roo to think it would a wonderful idea for the whole family to join.  Roo?  The man who thinks that proper exercise is a good combination between golf and ice cream?  I was floored by the idea…and not exactly on board.  After a lifetime of working out I have come to the place and solace in age where I am content with growing old gracefully.  And with as little sweating as possible.  I relented only because of my love for him, my joy in his excitement, and the completely unrelated fact that the gym is around the corner from Starbucks.  Yep, boy howdy, you get some stares walking on the treadmill while sipping and Iced Caramel Macchiato + 2 shots, + whip, + cinnamon powder.  The world, I have found, is full of haters.  Still, after a two year break, here I am again back in the gym.

    I personally believe the treadmill is aptly named so….I tread.  I have no idea how the girl next to me reads her book running like that, I think it would make me carsick.  Or tread sick if you want to get technical.  One lady carries dumbbells on hers, swinging her arms while holding them and walking at a rather brisk pace, and it makes me wonder what would happen if the sweat that is pouring off her neck makes her hands all slippery and she loses her grip.  I don’t think the wall mirror behind us will survive.  I’ve been here for a couple of weeks now and this is my routine.  Walk slowing and do no harm.  I am improving at it every day!  I’m also enjoying the reading time because when I stick my earbuds in my ear, I can pretend not to hear people when they talk to me….and be totally acceptible for it.  It’s the good life, I’m telling you.

    Friday, however, I was midway into my long, slow tread when I realized that Roo and the girls were nowhere near me.  Granted, they aren’t professional treaders like me, but they usually are nearby on the bikes or rowing machines.  Peering over the grunting heads in front of me I spot them across the gym near the weight machines and my belly does a weird, sickening little turn.  Why am I thinking that this is not a good thing?  Roo makes eye contact with me and waves me over.  I pretend that I don’t see him.  He gets persistent.  I am the queen of ignore – I even start walking faster.  Finally he gets lost in the machines and I don’t see him again until we are all walking out together.

    "Honey," he exclaims, "That was fantastic!  You won’t believe what we did."

    "I’m sorry, have we met?"  Maybe I can pretend that they are someone else’s excited family.

    "No, really, listen.  We signed up for a program that evaluated us and gave us a workout plan.  Each day, the computer will print out our exercises and then when we’re done, we put in how we did.  That way, your program is monitored and the computer will adjust it for you to keep it challenging!"  He is beaming!  I am looking at a beaming crazy person.

    "So, what you’re saying, is that you are not going to be on the treadmill with me anymore?"  I’m wondering who’s going to hold my towel.

    "I’m saying none of us are going to be on the treadmill anymore.  I made your assessment appointment for Monday."  I am looking back at this beaming crazy person and I just don’t have any words.

    Monday arrives to the excitement of everybody in the household but me.  And, of course, the day flew by and before I knew it I was sitting in a gym office waiting to be assessed.  Do you think I was a bit surprised that my instructor was a fantastically fit blonde, about my age, who reminded me of an 85 pound piece of poofy haired beef jerky?  Of course I would pull the fitness nazi while Roo and the girls got the retired volleyball coach.  Steeling my mind, I am determined to find a way back to faithful treading.

    "Well, Ms Lama, you look like you’re in great shape!  What is your main form of exercise?"  She is sounding sweet and I promise you, it is all an act.

    "Pulling fat 3 year olds down from chandliers."  I reply. 

    "Cute!  And it is working for you, isn’t it?"  Saccharin sweet.  "How are your eating habits."

    "I’ve been in the habit of eating since I was little.  This year I am concentrating on mastering the food groups one by one.  I’ve started with chocolate."  You’re right, I’m not even trying.

    She ignores that.  "Let’s get you on our amazing assessment machine and see what we are working with."  So I take off my shoes and socks and step on what looks to me like a bathroom scale that one of my kids have hooked up to a ham radio.  It’s twinking lights and beeping sounds.  I have a funny giggle blurbing up wondering if I pray, maybe it will beam me back to the treadmill.  It doesn’t but it does spit out my report.

    Guess what?  My numbers are better than hers.  HA!  Take that, lettuce wrap!  HA HA! 

Pride, she does arrive before the downfall.

    They are trained to sense that certain look in your eyes, I am sure of this.  Smelling fresh blood, she starts chatting me up about how I must have been a super healthy and strong </strong>woman all of my life and how this will probably be mundane to me and with my experience and did I think maybe I would want start with an easy strength test because I was a teeny weeny little bit old now.

    ***Insert note:  This is the time your reasoning facilities need to kick in.  The robot should appear, waving his flapping arms made from dryer vents and yelling, "Danger Will Robinson! Danger!"  If you are unwise enough to pull out his powerpack, you too will say…..

    "Oh, truly, I don’t think that will be necessary."

    I haven’t been on the treadmill since.  My life of treading is over.  Granted, she taunted me and continued to egg me on through the strength tests with snippy sweet remarks born from the misery of a life that has not seen gravy since the 90’s.  But her baconless angst still offers up no excuse for the fact that I caved to pride and worse….have not backed down since.  Yes indeed, some forty years later and I am high up in a tree with my pigtail caught on a branch.  I’m such a sap.

    After a week of working out here’s what I’ve learned.  You can pull a lung.  I don’t care what the doctor’s say, I’ve lived it.  I may have also twisted my ankle or….I dislodged an ovary and it fell all the way down.  Either way I’m am being careful with it.  On something called the Hack slide….I’ve leaned not to hack.  I told the spotter I was just checking for internal bleeding but the truth was I think I compressed my diaphram to a degree that I can finally make those underwater whale sounds I’ve always thought were so cool.  You know, they communicate that way.  Do you know what they are saying?  Stay treading, folks, stay treading!  

    I’ve learned crunches new ways because the old ways are, I guess, just passe.  So now, I crunch with my legs in the air slanted at various degrees.  It’s really an amazing feat – and guaranteed to cause you to walk bent over for days.  Roo asked, "Honey, are you sure you’re okay?"  "Of course, darling, I’m just holding in my core."  "Really….cuz it looks like you just got off a horse and are going to throw up."  What does a man know about stomach crunches anyway?

    The girls think I am amazing.  They wait to work their crunches with me and we spot each other on the weights.  They huff and puff with the weight while I pray for a brain bleed.  They’re smiling and they’re happy and Roo…Roo is still over there with the retired volleyball coach developing great stretching.  Which is good, really, truly it is.  If he was closer I’d be too tempted to drop a barbell on his head.  I will make him pay later.  When I can lift my leg again I am going to kick his butt.  And then….I am going to kick mine because that seems like the right thing to do.  Maybe the force of a good kick will bring my ovary back up to my abdomen, ya never know.

Lama