At the gym
Friday, April 27, 2018
My husband goes to the gym at 6:30am. All those years of commuting into New York City conditioned his body for an early rise, and it continues on today, well into his retirement.
I prefer to go to the gym after everyone else has left. In fact, I probably would like it best if everyone were gone, with the whole gym to myself. Of course that never happens.
Our gym is part of the local YMCA, so after the early commuters leave, the young moms arrive, drop off their little ones into a day program, and take over the exercise equipment. And, I might add, they do it in style. Many of them are quite beautiful, in their tights, and form hugging tops, with their peaches and cream skin, and their thick, flowing hair casually twisted and placed on top of their heads.
It's the older crowd I want to be part of, sometime after lunch in the p.m.
That is when you find folks with more lumps, bumps, wrinkles, and scars, wearing loosely fitting clothing, and working just a little slower on all the machines.
That's my crowd. I am wearing black sweat pants with an extra large black cotton top, and black sneakers worn only in the gym. I don this outfit at home, sparing myself from exposing bare body parts to strangers in the locker room.
My loose clothing also helps to hide the wiggles and jiggles produced by some exercises, along with the awkward poses required for those thigh muscle builders.
My eyes are usually staring straight ahead, either at a screen, or unfocused, and I'm fairly confident that everyone else is doing the same. The atmosphere is one of self-congratulation: we are here and working on it, still keeping it all together as best we can.
If the weather is bad, I will use the treadmill for 2 or 3 miles. When the weather is good, though, I prefer to walk outside, enjoying the sights, sounds, and feel of nature.
I leave the gym feeling very good. It is with a real sense of accomplishment that I get into my car and drive home.
I can just feel those muscles growing...