Treadmills and Stairsteps

 Today I reopened a closed chapter of my life. That may be over-dramatized. Let’s try again: Today I renewed my gym membership. Don’t laugh.

 I went to the gym faithfully for over a decade, mostly to water aerobics, then for a bit to Silver Sneakers. (For you young’uns, that’s the exercise program for old people that most Medicare Advantage plans include.)

 Then I stopped.

 Why did I stop? This is a fair question, one that the trainer who re-enrolled me at LA Fitness today asked. First, I quit going to water aerobics because it became too popular. What for years had been a stable group of 20 or so people, mostly old women, who showed up and shared the pool amicably three times a week, morphed into a rowdy crowd of sometimes 40 people drawn by a charismatic teacher.

 This teacher, who led two of the weekly classes, drew an enthusiastic group of younger people who elbowed their way into the swim lanes. As a taller person, I always tried to get into the deep end, where I had more buoyancy to support my joints. That required coming to class 20 or 30 minutes early, but I did it.

 As the class grew, competition for the deep end became intense. I had to arrive earlier and earlier. I stay up late and earlier isn’t a welcome concept in my life, but I toughed it out and kept attending until, one day, I reached my breaking point.

 I made it into the water 40 minutes before class and warmed up while I chatted with friends. At 9 a.m., the instructor started the class, as usual, with walking. I walked away from the deep end and, when I returned, I found a woman in my spot. “Oh, I’m sorry, this is my spot,” I said blithely. Swimmer etiquette should have brought an “Oh, I’m sorry, let me move” response. What I got instead was a verbal attack.

 I found out in short order that I was an “old biddy” who had no business taking up space in the water and I should get out and let people like her (younger? ruder?) enjoy the class. Those of you who know me better probably recognize that I don’t respond well to intimidation. I simply said, “I was here first. You move.”

 The volatile situation had the whole class’s attention until the woman standing next to me moved to another spot and let the intruder have her place. I kept my spot in the deep end that morning, but I never went back.

 Instead, I started going to Silver Sneakers. It met at 11 a.m. instead of 9 a.m., so win-win, right? That was fun and I enjoyed it for a year or so—until I took a fall during a line-dancing segment. I had a bruise on my hip and decided to skip the next class.

 Like many people, I developed balance issues as I aged, and line-dancing exercises made me feel clumsy anyway. Classmates reassured me, though, that this fall wasn’t my fault—that particular patch of flooring had caused several other falls. (Damn! Fix it, LA Fitness!) Even so, the thought of a broken hip, a drastic injury in the elderly, scared me. And maybe my embarrassment got the better of me, too. I stopped attending Silver Sneakers.

 Two years later, necessity has brought me back to the gym. In October, Michael and I will celebrate our 50^th wedding anniversary with the adventure of a lifetime: an entire month living in Vienna, Austria! I’ll tell you more about the details as we get closer to the trip, but the important part right now is that we have to “certify” that we can walk two miles on rough terrain (read: cobblestones) and climb at least two flights of stairs before we go to Vienna.

 I think we could fudge on the certifying part; there are no notaries involved, just our word that we meet the requirements. But we want to be as fit as possible so we can enjoy every moment and every opportunity we come across while we are adventuring. So it’s back to the gym, this time to the treadmills and stairs.

 Nostalgia gripped me for a moment when I walked by the pool and hot tub area. I had spent several days a week in that pool and hot tub for more than 11 years. Apparently, the charismatic teacher had moved on, and the boring old-people classes were back to normal. Maybe I’ll stick my toe in the water again. We’ll see.

 Meanwhile, I walked up the stairs to the treadmills and managed a mile on my first day back. I plan to keep doing that several times a week until I achieve my two-mile goal without breaking a sweat. Maybe then I’ll tackle the pool and even a little line dancing.

 How do you plan to get out of your comfort zone this summer? Any goals you want to meet? I’d love to hear about them.

 Ciao