With some prodding from my husband, I have joined that special bunch of Boomers that is desperately trying to resist the aging process. Unfortunately, trying not to go downhill is an uphill battle. Every bit of me wants to plop comfortably onto the sofa and let my body parts settle into a gelatinous puddle. However, since I don’t like the prospect of looking ninety when I’m ninety, I’ve embarked on a new lifestyle. What a trauma.
After a great deal of discussion, my husband and I started taking evening walks. I was thinking stroll, but he was thinking jog. We realized the difference when he was half a block ahead of me and I couldn’t catch up.
I want to be a good sport and I really do want to be in shape, so I agreed to a compromise. We would walk for a while, then run for a while, but it didn’t really work out. The entire time, he ran zig-zagging in the road, from side to side, staying even with me as I lumbered along on the sidewalk. I felt like an armored tank next to a Corvette, so I called him a big show off. He didn’t hear me, though, because he was sprinting with his head back in an imitation of Eric Liddle, and was already on the opposite side of the road.
That was when I decided to ride the exercise bike instead. Even with that, he was right there working out with me, still showing off by lifting those he-man weights and doing all sorts of sit-ups and squats. As I peddled, he stood by, urging, "Go faster, if you want it to do any good!" Well, of course I wanted it to do some good, but I was beginning to think "doing some good" meant feeling bad. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long before he convinced me to join him in lifting weights, too.
I’ve noticed that sometimes a little help can be a hindrance, at least psychologically. My husband was trying to help, but I was resisting, so both of us got frustrated. In fact, I’m not sure just what, or who, he was referring to the first time he said something about a dumbbell.
I thought too, that he tended toward unreasonableness, but zealous people can be that way. He even sounded a little sarcastic when he insisted, "You really should do more than two repetitions each, if you want to build up your muscles." I thought he told me that muscles could be built relatively quickly, but I had been doing it for three whole days and still hadn’t seen any difference!
Then, come to find out, I’m not very good at breathing, either. He coached me by saying, "In through the nose on the easy part, out through the mouth on the hard part," or some such thing. Maybe it was the other way round. It doesn’t really matter to me at any rate, because I’ve found it works best if I just hold my breath the entire time and then faint afterward. That way I don’t feel any lingering discomfort.
I really thought I was making progress and was so pleased that, this morning, I flexed my muscles after our workout. I asked my husband to feel my arm because I knew it would make him proud. I was flexing for all I was worth when he put his hand on my bicep and said, "Okay – do it now!"
That did it. Phooey on getting fit. It’s way too hard on the ego.
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