Routines

I haven't had a very good track record with joining a gym. I have an aversion to wasting money and long ago came to the conclusion that for me a gym is a waste of time.

Most gyms require a big commitment, the kiss of death for a non-athletic overweight middle aged person attempting to integrate this slowly into a lifestyle. The commitment seems to have an inverse relatioship between how much it costs and how little its used once you sign on the dotted line. The last gym was paid for up front and I immediately found reasons not to go. Unless I went with Sue.

Sue was the perfect gym buddy who rummaged through the equipment and liked cardio just like me. She wore oversized shirts and sweated too much and got really red in the face, just like me. We laughed our way through workouts so our lumpy and inflexible muscles didnt' notice they had just spent an hour to the good. And when we would finally give up and go home, we proudly thought of ourselves as 'regulars' when we looked at the membership fob hanging from our keychain.

Sue could completely ignore all those spandex-y size 0s with cropped t's showing off a flat midriff and whose ponytails rhythmically swung (swang?) as they ran for 6 miles on the treadmill. It's bad enough we're out in public in paint clothes without having to also relive the ghost of Christmas Past.

I got into the walking kick because of Maria, who was as reliable as the sun. When we walked 4 x a week, what got me out of bed was knowing she would be at the curb waiting at 5:45 am sharp. She was a tiny little woman from the Azores with a heavy accent and fascinating stories of her grandmother and having to flee the occupation of her country and start over. But after a couple of years she developed bone spurs and shin splints and after a hiatus she got a job out of town and we never quite recaptured the routine. Then I moved.

The Merrilee years followed, a really wonderful friend who faithfully met out front at 4:30 am. Yes, I do have a thing about mornings. Anyway, we would harness the dogs and head out on a 3 mile trek in 45 minutes. It was breathtaking - she was a fast walker - but also the time of day with stars to clear our heads and energize us for the strenuous days. I was angry when plantar fasciatis incapacitated me and then there was that sciatica thing and then the falling-in-love-and-moving thing. But it was good while it lasted.

I re-fell in love with walking on our trip. I had forgotten how great it feels to do every day. It turns out we walk well together, at the same pace and all that, so we attempted to pick up a routine at home but didn't quite find the right time or place that works. Weather or sleepiness or fatigue, you know, after work, evening or early morning times that didn't quite jell.

And so last night we used the passes to the Y, the ones Betty gave us to try it out, and she was right. It is great. It is full of cool new equipment and open 14 hours a day, and is modestly busy with people that look like they need to be there, people like us.  It is kept at a constant 73 degrees and you won't believe this but you can plug in an Ipod or headphones and watch your own tv show right on the treadmill. What will they think of next?

At the Y, one modest charge includes classes, basketball courts and all the machines plus we get the senior rate now (!!!) so it's even more of a deal. And best of all, you pay as you go, month to month.

So off on another adventure we go - we are joining tonight. We are determined to reacquaint our muscles with routines that will limber them up enough to try Yoga. The trip opened our eyes to a lot of things, which included realizing there are a lot of things left on the list to do before we are ready to hit the rockers.