Weights

I tried lifting weights today. At one time in my life I was super-weight lifter. This was not today.  I say this as I puff on a cigarette, drinking a diet coke, wondering about commitment and goals.

One does have to be at least interested in the next level of health. As one approaches 50 in a little less than 5 hours one contemplates one's demise, possibly sooner than expected keeping with my current lifestyle, and also the kinky grey hairs that have begun to populate my head in outrageous numbers.  It is time to get serious -- or less serious -- or get to the damn Walgreens for hair color.

Every time I set a goal I seem to go backwards rather than forward. The second I say 'weight loss' I gain five pounds by the next morning. There are a 1000 things that lie in wait ready to sabotage starting a new exercise program: I need new tennis shoes because I do have a bad achilles and ankle, the pool requires a whole one minute walk to get to plus the time it takes to find my bathing suit and the time to find flip flops to walk to the pool. And there could be people there! An 55+ community waits for moments like these when a newbie shows up. It could fuel gossip for a week.

A block of time is an imperative requirement. Have you ever noticed the women that stay perpetually fit also seem to live in their exercise clothes ready to drop and do 500 push-ups at any moment. And the only time they are in comfy clothes is when they are so cutely curled up with both legs drawn under them taking up only 1/2 of chair, the long sleeves of their seemingly oversized shirt curled in their hand past the end of their wrist, only a thumb ring showing, signifying the coolness of a movie star.

If I work-out indoors on my treadmill this too requires the right apparel which is buried under many layers of "fat" jeans. Of course if the ipod is not charged then then all bets are off; exercise without music is painful; all I do is concentrate on every body muscle that has not moved continuously in this repetitive motion of one foot in front of the other farther than the mall - where the bookstore and a comfy chair looks more appetizing then the clothes store anymore.

I actually dug out suitable clothes to start my morning walk. Placed them on the floor next to my bed with my new tennis shoes that are too small, and I had to order them online because I have a wide foot and the Fitness stores seem to think the only people that work out are already thin and in shape so therefore don't have cute clothes or shoes in my size--I digress. I put them there a week ago and have stumbled over them twice on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night, thus having to using muscles to catch myself from falling. I've decided to count that towards my work-out goal. 5 calories burned each time, maybe 10.

The gym still awaits to be graced with my presence and see the wonderful transformation that will transpire as I show up day after day with determination. The awe I will inspire. The respect I will command. The voices that will say look at what she did, wow she looks great. Wait. I don't look great now?

There's the rub. One really does have to appreciate where they are before they begin. I am fine as is. If I want to be more fine that that is a choice, not the 11th Commandment.

Tomorrow is 50 and the day I will venture outdoors when it is only 90 degrees at 7 am to start a daily morning walk, hoping to avoid eye contact with the consistent elderly walkers who I see walk by my living room window every morning who seem to understand commitment better than I. Growing old is not for the feint of heart -- in more ways than one.