Went to the gym last night.
It’d been a while. Years actually.
Until three, maybe four, years ago the gym had been routine but then something changed – laziness, I guess – and I stopped, choosing instead to walk, row and lift the odd weight at home in a bid to stave off osteoporosis.
I’m not in the worst shape. I’m what some younger women describe as ‘not bad shape for her age.’ If ever there was a statement filled with qualifiers, it’s that one.
So I’m at the gym last night – notably the oldest in a crowd of millenials and Gen X’ers – awkwardly doing my thing, and everywhere I turn, there I am. Let me tell you, there’s nothing like wall-to-wall mirrors to confirm how you’re progressing through life.
And here’s what I want to know:
What the hell happened to my arms? And when?
Skin quality has changed. Is that happening with you too? I can hear my younger daughter saying ‘I told you to moisturize more’ and I suspect I’m at a too little too late stage. But I have to tell you, I got a little wigged out when I caught sight.
And the underarm bit where I used to have triceps. You know what I’m talking about. It’s why you almost never see vain women going sleeveless.
My pal Pauline, her arms tight and toned, is newly certified as a personal trainer. She bemoaned the sight of her thighs in shorts. Since my thighs won’t be seeing the light of day in a gym any time soon, I clucked in sympathy.
When I got home, this woman popped up on my social media. She’s 81 and more determinedly fit than I will ever be. Her arms are amazing which tells me, with dedication, time can be reversed.
So, inspired, I ate a piece of chocolate to celebrate my new resolve . . . and broke a tooth.
That was my Tuesday.