Let’s Get Physical
It’s 5:46 Saturday morning when I pull myself out of bed to get ready for my class. At the gym. Because I’m one of those people now. Grumbles aside, I get up, shuffle around the house for a bit, have some coffee, put on a spandex blend outfit, wash my face, and warm up the car.
It’s a short drive to the community center where my comrades in arms and thighs await. No one is more surprised than I am to realize that I belong to a fitness group. When I joined last spring, I struggled to make it through the classes most weeks. Seeing others who were not super fit struggle and modify their workouts gave me the motivation to continue, and it eventually became a routine. I bonded with people and started seeing results on the scale and in my body. I’m not sure when I first realized I was doing full push ups instead of the modified ones, or how long it took for me to be able to run the laps around the gym rather than walk them, but it was a gradual change.
For this workout session, the gym is set up in stations. There are TRX straps hanging from basketball hoops, mats set up with kettle bells, weights, and medicine balls placed around them, along with a few cones and jump ropes sprinkled around for good measure. I find myself thankful it’s oldies and not dance music cranking out of the stereo system as strains of ACDC are a better match for my grunts and gasps today. I try not to swear too often while I complete my rotations of burpies, squats, and crunches. I’ve developed a little reputation for my potty mouth and this class is chock full of parents of students, former students, and future students, so I try to keep my mouth PG-13 now. I’ve been called “perky-disgruntled” for my curmudgeonly but participatory ways. Someone has to be the Eeyore of the group. The hour goes by quickly this time, not always the case. I find myself surprised, and grateful, to hear the final whistle blow.