Say It Isn’t So…

I joined a gym. It’s still sinking in for me, too. The girl averse to exercise has an app to track her fitness. Has Earth fallen from its axis?

The reason? I’m old. The realization that rising from the floor takes hands is embarrassing. Criss-cross applesauce is not a friend. Lowering to the bottom shelf at the grocery store requires a one-handed launch back up. Have you touched the floor at Fry’s? Pfft. A spry young thing spied the launch. Horror was etched across her face.

Generally, a disdainful look at her outfit and shoe choice would do the trick, but I had to catch my breath and grab my lower back. And deal with the stars from rising too quickly.

I get a message from said gym; a trainer wants to guide me through my health needs. We can create a plan together. Yippee. I’m headed to a gym filled with beautiful people, in great shape, to list my goals and examine what’s preventing me from reaching them. Is this a mystery?

There’s the curious shoulder pain that comes and goes if I lift my arm too quickly. Do I share that my neck always hurts? That I haven’t run in at least ten years, and do not see a reason to do so? Although I move shockingly quickly in heels, I doubt that garners points in the fitness world. How about thigh jiggle so unsightly, the search is on for shorts that tuck and hide from waist to knee? Are there cute tops that encase bat wings?

There’s swimming, pickleball, and classes especially for people my age. Excuse me? Am I really going to join a class with people my age? People might think I’m my age. Swimming–again the thighs. Mastering the strategic placement of a towel at the end of my lane–wait, can I lift myself from the pool? Where’s the ladder? Okay, move the towel next to the ladder, at the ready for encasement of jiggle and dimples.

Play pickleball, they cry, much happier than they should be. Are we forgetting that the last time I played pickleball, I ended up in the ER with a concussion, X-rays for a battered arm, and convincing the doc that my eyebrows were immobile due to Botox, not injury to the head? Middle Chicken and I laughed really hard at that one. The doc, not so much.

Baby Chicken is at fault. She threw out the challenge to consume 100 grams of protein a day. Side effects? Energy, no 2 p.m. meltdown, and an occasional smile. It’s a tangled web when it comes to life improvement. Who knew? Was there really anything wrong with watching Housewives and eating crap? Turns out, if you are what you eat, this girl was a rat in a trash can.

I’ve been twice. I met the young, able-bodied trainer. Much to my chagrin, he did not say, “Hola Princessa, would you like a margarita while you treadmill?” I don’t know when I’ll become happy about it. Something’s gotta counter feeling good, eating well and having more energy. It can’t be sweat. Can it?