So, I hit the NRH Centre gym three to four times a week. I started at thirty to forty-five minutes and, by the end of each session, my face beamed such a splendid cherry red that folks stop to stare at the tomato (that would be me) using the work-out equipment.
Looking for actual muscles seemed to be an exercise in futility, but I kept going: three to four times a week. Week after week, I persevered because I had a secret weapon.
Experience: When I'd turned 40, I had learned to jog, a pretty fast jog (13 minute mile) for an older dame. Even ran in a 5K one year.
Now, I'm not 40 anymore. As matter of fact, I haven't been 40 in a number of years, but that experience (I ran for three years -- straight -- didn't miss a single day) taught me that I could keep working out at the gym and perhaps find that jogger again.
Being obsessed with the written word, it seemed most apropos (and necessary for my motivation) that I seek out and enlist solid words of wisdom. Strong medicine was essential if I planned to stay true to the goal and be better than ever.
The bottom line, to me, has always been: if I talk loud enough and long enough and use enough logic -- in my head -- then I can make myself believe anything.
Who brought me inspiration?
“If I’d known I was going to live this long, I’d have taken better care of myself.” Eubie Blake, age 100 (who was Eubie Blake? James Hubert Blake, better known as Eubie Blake, was an American composer, lyricist, and pianist of ragtime, jazz, and popular music.) Simply put -- the man rocked the music world.
Who else inspired me?
"How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?” Satchel Paige, often considered one of the greatest baseball pitchers to ever take the mound.
Now, it's 11 months later and have I accomplished my goal?
1) I've found that jogger again.
2) I have muscles, which I promise, I did NOT have when I was 18.
3) Each of my work-out routines is now 90 minutes in length.
3) Perhaps best of all. My daughter (the 19-year-old) and I were at the gym a month or so ago and working on the Roman Chair together. After I left for the next piece of equipment, a woman on a nearby exercise bike asked my daughter if I was one of the trainers. Okay, that was good. Then she ask if I'd turned 40. That was better.
So how old would I be if I didn't know how old I actually was? Pretty darn young.
To all those who whip the beast of age with exercise, balanced eating, and a healthy sense of humor: May you find that inner youth again and enjoy all those years one more time.
As always, thanks for stopping by the back porch.
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