Who enjoys listening to constant whining? Hardly anyone. And who relishes reading about an old guy's desperate attempt to cling to some semblance of fitness? Probably not very many people. So I am not going to put this blogpost on Facebook today. Will just put it here as part of my blogged chronicle (now five years and counting) of my health and fitness challenges as a septuagenarian.
Man, yesterday turned out to be such a downer. I began the day so excited, but then wound up unable to sleep last night out of frustration, and posted the following status update on Facebook (which I have deleted this morning):
Good thing you get points for just showing up 'cause I was god-awful today. A fitness misfit. Probably should be reassigned to Silver Sneakers or shipped out altogether. Instead of the Dawg Pound, maybe I am better suited for the Coney Island hot-dog-eating contest. Can't sleep tonight just thinking about it all.
The thing is, our senior fitness class moved for one day to the famed "Dog Pound" ("Dawg Pound" in my Southern lexicon), a formidable, fenced-off area at the Core Fitness Club where the super-fit young folks strive to become even more ripped by doing herculean moves with weights and other workout gear. (The temporary change of venue was to enable workmen to install nice new flooring in our exercise room.)
I was excited for the challenge, but I just wasn't up to it. Of course, we did a senior version of circuit training, but I was doing very little right, except maybe the pushups off a stability ball and the pushup planks. I was horrible lying flat on my back and maneuvering a weight, terrible doing balance moves, and awkward moving with stretch bands under my feet. A real klutz. My wonderful, supportive teacher told me to "quit being so hard on yourself," but I couldn't help it. I felt my self-criticism was fully justified.
The heat wave isn't helping. Even a dawgwalk at dusk brings no refreshment. And as for the Dawg Pound, I gather conditions are supposed to be Spartan, and not for pampered old souls like me. So few fans were blowing, and I was slow to acclimate.
Really, though, I need to stop being a crybaby over this -- it was just one disappointing day. For a year and a half, this class ("Sarah's Challenge," I call it) has been a series of energizing, uplifting days for me. I believe I have made gradual progress in my physical condition and mental frame of mind at 76 (a nice patriotic number for celebrating the Fourth of July). I don't know what the road ahead holds -- whether I should just stay this course or transition to something like aqua therapy. But I should enjoy it to the max -- and stop whining!
© Robert Gray Holland 2018
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