A couple of days ago I noticed it was much easier to go up and down the stairs. I live in a 3rd floor walk-up with 32 steps. Some days it has been a daunting task to face the stairs. However, it has never been an option; my bed is at the top of the stairs. I've also planned my grocery store trips so I can carry everything up in one load if possible. It has limited the amount and weight I can buy in any one trip. And just for fun, I have a torn medial meniscus in my left knee. The stairs have not been my friend.
As the weight has melted off, the stairs have become easier. I almost sprinted up them last evening. So it was time to take the next step.
I had been on a fabulous date with a man who works out 5 to 6 times a week, a retired basketball player. Long, lean and totally unlike me. I'm built like my ancestors, the Finnish reindeer herders who are built low to the ground with short legs and big butts so they don't blow over in the wind in Lapland. If my legs were proportionate to my torso, I would be 6' tall. No matter how much weight I lose, I will always have heavy thighs. In the horse world, I am the Clydesdale, not the thoroughbred. Muscles. So, this guy thought I was just fine. Really. He said so. And I didn't even ask. So, all day Tuesday, I thought about the gym up the street from my apartment. I could walk to it.
I joined and paid a year in advance on Tuesday evening. That will get me through the 60th birthday. Then walked home. Signing up was all the drama I could handle that day.
Last evening, Wednesday, I went to work out for the first time. This is not a fancy gym; this is a GYM. Machines and weights. It is not filled with gym rats and body builders. It's filled with people like me or people who were like me. I managed 30 minutes on the bike and 15 minutes of upper body work on the universal. And then a massage. Hey, a girl has to take care of herself!
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