Today I’m going to one of those specialty gyms for an introductory workout. There will be a weigh-in and nutritional analysis, and maybe if I’m lucky, fat calipers. Then I’ll join a small cadre of other women who are also there to “pursue our fitness goals.” Every one of us will be avoiding the mirror and thinking, “How did it come to this?”
We’ll be led through a strength training circuit by a bored twenty-something who thought for sure he’d be working with the Patriots when he signed up for that Personal Fitness major in college. Then after that, the nice lady in the front office will try to convince me to sign up for their special package, wherein I will pay an exorbitant fee to show up three times a week and repeat this process. She’ll use phrases like You deserve this!
Then I will NOT say what I’m thinking, which will be, No, I DESERVE to look like a misshapen loaf of bread, because I drank all that wine this winter…
Whatever. I’ll just smile and pull out my checkbook.
The real problem here is Jesus.
Becoming a Christian has sapped me of all will to work out with any regularity. I mean, I’m not afraid to die, so the whole “do it for your health” angle is lost on me. And I read somewhere that in heaven, we’re all 35. I looked GOOD at 35! If that’s the “reset” age, I’m psyched! Why workout now, if I have that to look forward to? Maybe it’s a SHOW OF FAITH to not worry about my appearance now? You know, because I’m so confident in the promise of heaven?
Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works either.
I never understood why people stopped working out as they got older. Then I arrived here. My kids marvel daily that you can be as old as me and still have the will to live. (Then again, they think 2001 was a really long time ago. That’s why I send them to school. So they can get educated about what old really is. And give me a few hours to where no one is saying things like, “Do people your age wear hoop earrings?” which of course is code for, I like them, give them to me… )
The other problem is that I’m used to having some sort of sports-related or other athletic goal to work towards. Somehow, getting to a size where it takes less denim to cover me doesn’t have the same motivational force. But I will don lycra and sneakers and head off to my fate. I may leave my glasses in the car – if I can’t see it it’s not really happening, right? The last time I did something like this, the young trainer looked at me wide eyed and asked, HOW LONG has it been since you worked out??? So I’m expecting a good time.
Pray for me. I’ll let you know how it goes.