Exercise. Working out. Staying ‘fit.’ Training. Conditioning. Toning. Running. Prancercize. (honestly. ‘prancing’??? Kills me. Every time.)
Yoga. Pilates. Zumba. Crossfit. Spin. TRX. Boxing. R.I.P.P.E.D. Body Pump.
Free weights. Plyometrics. Cardio. Kettlebells. Strengthening.
I could go on, but I decided to stop and have a donut.
Here’s the thing. Friends don’t let friends get outta shape. Why, you ask? Because it’s too damn hard to get back in shape once you’ve been out of it for as long as I have.
I have these friends. So-called. One of them has encouraged and nudged and cajoled and reminded and hinted and flat out scolded me for a couple of years to join her at the local fitness center. It’s hip. It’s cool. It’s a great place to ‘get in shape.’ I managed to put her off for quite a while. “My knees,” I’d complain. “I really need to go,” I’d agree, “but I can’t find the time!” I’d mention my decreasing flexibility, my struggles to climb stairs or even climb out of bed some mornings. Eventually, I was on the receiving end of a simple eye roll. She knew my yapping about ‘needing to get in shape’ covered up a total lack of interest or inclination. Donuts, on the other hand… And then, another friend, who may or may not be the most competitive person on the planet, returned to the fitness place after a self-imposed hiatus. Of course she began in January. Of course I’d already decided to ‘give it a try’ myself, it being January and all, and looking like a sack of potatoes at son #3’s wedding as the final straw.
So, for four months, I’ve been Zumba-ing and toning and occasionally yoga-ing my way to an early grave. Yesterday, for instance, I decided I could manage two classes in a row. HA. Zumba for cardio (never mind that my feet sometimes can’t do the footwork. It’s embarrassing, really), and a toning class for, you know — toning. Kettle bells. While I might be exaggerating a tad when I claim that these cute but deadly weights might just kill me, I do think that they will render me unable to speak (I’m a bit of a hand talker), because I think I may have torn, at some point in my 40s, one or both of my rotator cuffs. Seriously. So, one of these days I am going to be performing the ‘halo’ move with a kettle bell, and my arms are going to fall off. Or whatever it is they do when the rotator cuff completely ceases its design function. Not only will I no longer be able to ‘get fit’; I’ll also be mute. Egad.
Still, the misery is not without its reward. I think I may have noticed a bit less of me in the mirror the other morning. And my pants are a bit baggier. So, fewer spuds in the spud bag. But yesterday, after two hours of trying to get in shape, I sort of wished I could just climb ‘the stairway to heaven’ instead of lugging the laundry to the second floor. And where were my friends????? One of them left immediately after Zumba. (She’s no fool) The other? Some story about remodeling the bathroom…
Friends. They don’t let you get outta shape. Well, not my friends, at any rate. And I love mine dearly. I do. I would not want to do life without them. The thing is, they will soon be doing life without me. Wait a minute…