Aging with Spunk

I just got home from the gym where I took two back-to-back 30 minute classes, one of which was a spin class. I barely have the energy to walk up the stairs. I’m supposed to feel invigorated, not exhausted, right?  At least I think that’s the goal. It is the first time I’ve tried doing two classes together, but I didn’t expect it would take so much out of me, since I regularly do 30 minute workouts.  When I can breathe again, I’ll start chanting, “What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.”

Of course, when I consider that I was likely the oldest person in either class by at least ten years, I should be thankful I kept up with the younger crowd, even if I’m paying for it right now. Who knows? They may feel as bad as I do.

In another life, I ran, bicycled and went to the occasional gym class, but somehow those habits went by the wayside , and I found myself exercising only intermittently. A few years ago, I tried to convince myself to gracefully give in to the aging process and just accept my thickening waistline and arms that were beginning to jiggle, but try as I might I just couldn’t throw in the towel.  I decided I needed an intervention and started the search for a personal trainer. 

Since I’m pretty frugal, it wasn’t easy finding a trainer with what I deemed reasonable rates, but finally, I found one who was priced right and only a few miles from my house.  Even better, she hooked me up with Jen, another gal who wanted to start working out.  Jen and I have been working out together for three years now. We still keep up with our first trainer and have the occasional girls’ night out with her, but she’s shifted her focus to folks who want a true short-term intervention as opposed to “in it for life” folks like the two of us have become. I’m pretty sure we’re in it for life; after all, three years is a pretty long time. Thankfully, she found us another trainer at a gym with a variety of equipment and classes.

Shortly after finding Kelly, I also started walking on weekends with my friend Mary, who gave me the book, Younger Next Year for Women, which has been an inspiration. It’s an easy and entertaining read with alternating chapters written by a doctor and a gentleman in his sixties who, like me, realized he needed an intervention. Their advice is to “move” six days a week, which I don’t always manage to do, but I count five days as close enough.  Way harder for me is consistently following their advice for women to drink only one glass of wine or beer on any given day.  I’m smiling, as I picture another friend who’s a fitness fanatic, loves her wine and has a wine cellar to boot. After careful consideration, we’ve agreed this is one piece of advice we girls can ignore.  After today’s workout, I can assure you I’ll be enjoying a glass or two tonight—for medicinal purposes, of course.