Gym Stats, May 2013 The first time I see a jogger smiling, I’ll consider it.
~ Joan Rivers
“Well, you’re in training.”
That’s what my friend said to me when I told her my daily workout regime. Every morning the weights, step-ups, sit-ups, wall push-ups, balancing on alternate feet till I fall over. Every evening walking at the gym, the level ever higher, the speed only inching up because I don’t want to jog. Knees and ankles can’t take it anymore. For 30 days.
I’m in training.
Not for a 5k run or Iron Person. Hah. I just want to be able to lift my
suitcase into the overhead bin without anyone’s help. I want to step down from the shuttle bus without a thump because I've got muscle control of my knees and they can hold my weight. So I’m lifting pink, red, blue and green weights every morning, watching MSNBC, getting updates on our so-called foreign policy.
Then in the late afternoon I rush to the gym and jump on the treadmill, my clunky tennis shoes slapping the rubber, my eyes glued to the telly once again, missing the Cold War, those nasty Commies and British spy films. Mutual deterrence, now there was a policy.
I’m in training.
To walk from West to East Berlin and check out the Stasi Museum. My daughter, studying in Berlin, has a 5th floor apartment and I don’t know if there’s an elevator. My heart pounds just thinking about it.
I’m in training.
Building those quads to walk the Old City of Jerusalem, along the Mediterranean in Tel Aviv and the Crusader city of Acre.
I’m in training.
It has the sound of commitment. Intention. I feel toned and trim just saying it. That’s not what the scale says, but I ran up the stairs yesterday. Ran! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve even attempted that? I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count that high.
I think I’ll try them two at a time tomorrow.
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