Aging is not for wimps

 

I finally arrived and begrudgingly have to admit that I have evolved into the grasp of the aged father time. Once nimble digits punched away on my keyboard and ordered a heating pad. Yes, I bought a heating pad. I have to confess that I had to make 3 corrections on my order because my fingers don't want to follow my brain's orders to push them all the way down or hit the keys I intended.

The old man, dressed in a white robe, long white beard and rusty scythe has taken up residence in the home 20, but has mercifully spared my bride. I detest the unwelcome visitor/resident and have sought help in evicting him. 2017 has become the year that I learned I am no longer the phenomenal athlete I once truly believed I was.

Bullet proof was a good description of me and other than the occasional fender benders our bodies experience, I always ricocheted and kept right on truckin'. I scoffed at lesser beings who seemed to be disintegrating in front of me and smugly declared that I must be living right. Being self-righteous has its moment of karma to be sure.

It all began to unravel for me in March when I noticed I had a stiff neck. I awoke early and figured I had slept in a position that caused the malady. I was scheduled to instruct an indoor cycling class at the NASA location of the gym named after the clock. I drove down and did the class and by the time it was over, I was in such pain I felt like going to the emergency room. I don't handle pain well.

To make a long story less boring, here I am 8 months later still attempting to straighten out my neck. I have what they call spinal stenosis or a narrowing of the bone channel occupied by the spinal nerves or the spinal cord. It's not uncommon I'm told and was exacerbated by injuries I incurred years ago. My VA doctor described it as "nasty neck" and that sums it up pretty well.

The VA's solution was massive amounts of steroids both orally and by neck injection and enough pills to put me in atrial fibrillation or A-fib.  At one point, my blood pressure hit 180 over 120 and they feared I was going to have a stroke. They determined I now needed to see a hematologist who prescribed me... more prednisone! I was now up to 13 meds and decided to simply stop taking all of them except my original blood pressure pill. They were killing me with medicine and actually induced gout with one of them.

I am one month withdrawn from all that and my blood pressure has returned to normal. My neck still hurts and after 6 weeks of acupuncture treatments, my 5 week long headache is gone. The chronic pain I suffered during the 5 months the VA prescribed pain pills is basically gone also. At one point I took 180 Tramadol pills in a little over a month. I imagine my liver looks like hamburger meat.

I am now being treated by a chiropractor here in Baytown with both painful and pain-relieving results. My gym visits have all but stopped with an occasional foray into spin class to keep my legs from atrophying. I have had to accept the sad fact that I am 65 and not 25 and that is the hardest thing for me to mentally digest. There is a silver lining in all of this though. I've learned to take control of what meds I will actually ingest. I now read the warnings and have adjusted what I eat and drink. I should have been doing this all along. The 5 months I let the doctors prescribe pills did not help me. I simply suffered through it.

It wasn't until I sought alternative medical help with the acupuncturist and chiropractor that I made progress. I think sometimes we need to listen to our bodies instead of turning them over to experts. I made some serious changes in my dietary habits and have rubbed enough topical analgesics into my neck to lubricate an 18-wheeler. I force myself to drink 8 bottles of water a day. So, I bought a heating pad and it seems to really be doing some good. If it means I am an old person, so be it. I need it.

My next evolution is to get a couple pairs of khaki pants, some brown brogan shoes or those tennis shoes with Velcro tabs, and a light-weight cane. So, when you see me out and about, don't be shocked, be gentle. Be kind and take control of your health.

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It's never too late to change

At the gym named after the clock, I got off my stationary bike and walked briskly to the front to see if I could locate more 2.5 pound hand-weights. I wasn't instructing this particular class, but we instructors often work together to help members achieve their fitness goals and we suddenly had more people arrive than we had weights.

I found a few in the stretching area and came back and at the door was a man watching the class. He appeared to be maybe 10 years older than me. I asked him to come and join us, as we had at least one bike left. "Oh, no, I think this is beyond my ability. I think I'll just stick to the recumbent bikes out on the main floor."

We exchanged a few more words where I explained that it is never too late to give it a go and that seeing the class is quite strenuous, he could come in and give it 10 minutes sometime. Well, it turns out he was 80 years old. Now he looked dang good for 80. In fact, he looked good for 75, but he was right. It was too much for him... at that time.

90% of people who venture into what we call a Group-X class is not prepared for what happens in the next hour. I know I wasn't when I first began and I thought I was in good shape. I took my first Spin class (stationary bike) about 3 years ago and this was after hitting the treadmill and elliptical machines 5 times a week. I figuratively crashed and burned every class for the first 6 months.

Now let me clarify this, because it sounds like the class is too demanding. The class is as hard as you make it. Being a competitive person, I felt like if I couldn't do every little bit that the instructor asked, I failed. When they said "give the resistance knob half a turn", I did. Every single time and usually 20 minutes into the hour, I looked at the clock and prayed for it to get moving. It took me 6 months of 2 times a week before I could "hang" and that is when I realized how much I loved spinning. Never mind that 80% of the people around me were half my age.

Spinning is the ultimate cardio Group X class, but you don't have to do the full 60 minutes wide open to benefit from it. You do not have to spend months preparing to make that first visit either, but using the treadmill and elliptical machines prior to attempting your first class will give you a measure of your fitness and boost our confidence.

Make no mistake, walking through those glass doors the first time is dadgum intimidating, but if you have an instructor worth their salt, they will welcome you inside and get you set up on a bike. This is crucial because if the bike is not adjusted for your body, you will either work yourself to death, or possibly get hurt. After I've helped a person get the adjustments just right, I always ask them to take a photo of the settings, "So the next time you come in and adjust the seat, you will look like a pro."

 

I took my first Zumba class last Saturday at a Group X Instructor event in Midtown and for 45 minutes, I did something that only slightly resembled Zumba - but I did it and was pretty danged proud of myself.  I'm not a dancer.  I'm a linear karate guy. This makes me look like a robot or an Egyptian when I try to do circular movements, like Salsa or Rumba. The good part is everyone in the room was an instructor of some discipline and all of us who aren't dancers looked like spastics. It was a blast and I laughed the whole class.

Since my neck became a medical problem, I've had to stop lifting weights for the most part and seeing I do not need weight lifting for my lower half, I decided to try Zumba for more cardio, flexibility, and just plain exercise. Now here is the intimidation factor I talked about and even though I instruct in this Group X environment, walking into a Zumba class to participate brings a certain amount of anxiety, even for me.

Now add in the fact that it is basically an all-female class, and this bumps it up considerably. Well, at my home gym, I know many of the ladies and they were happy to have me embarrass myself, so I went this past Monday and took a full hour with Emily Haynie at command. Wow!  I sweated a lot and like I realized last Saturday, it is all about the feet and having fun.

Is it too late in life to take something like this on you ask (and you stand staring at yourself in the mirror).  The answer is no.  It is not. The first step and the hardest part is walking into that gym and inside the gym are many doors.  You simple walk through them one at a time.

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Muscles, Yard Work, and Honey-Do’s

We are a couple weeks into the new year and things are really shaping up. The trees are budding out; grass is beginning to grow, and my bride is itching for me to do massive amounts of yard work on our half acre of heavily landscaped homestead. Never mind that she’s a certified Texas Master Gardener – this is man’s work honey!

I used to go out and do yard work for six straight hours and it was just sweat, not aches and pains. Now I sweat at the gym for hours each day and it appears my muscles are only good for the gym! Yard work is hard I tell you! Heckfire, I can hardly open the plastic bag inside a box of Wheaties… I mean Cheerios. We all know what will happen to you if you eat Wheaties every day.

Try opening the lid on a Power-Ade or Gator-Ade bottle with out a Stillson wrench!  Did I just call a pipe wrench a Stillson wrench? Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe it’s just because I am getting old! My daughter Melody is a hair stylist at the Rat’s Nest and cuts my hair. The other day she cut it and when I got home, the top looked like I had been on an episode of Scare Tactics.  The hair was sticking straight up, so in my elderly wisdom, I trimmed it off in the bathroom sink.

When I leaned forward, I realized why she did it. Now I look like Larry Fine of the Three Stooges!  Whoop whoop whoop!  When did all this hair go bye bye? I don’t know!  I feel like Melvin Roark’s twin brother, but that is not a bad thing, is it? By the way, how does Jim Finley keep his gorgeous youthful looks? I think he’s been nipping at that fountain old Ponce was looking for.

Last year I trimmed on my photinia and ligustrum bushes 3 times and I swear; now it would take a field-grade pogo stick to cut them back. Any day now my bride is going to start pointing this chore out and I am smart enough to just trim them back before she informs me the 10^th time. Now it’s not like I don’t have the yard equipment or anything – or the knowledge on how exactly to go about it, because I have all the bases covered. I just don’t want to do it. I would rather go to the gym and work on my gym muscles so I can appear I am awesome.

That out building I paid to have remodeled sure looks nice. It is just a shame that the doors they made are heavier than the hinges and now I can’t lock the shed. My bride faithfully reminds me of this every three days and after numerous calls to have them promise to fix it.  I am simply going to do it myself… in a few days!

I just took a peek outside. My 25 foot tall “Dwarf” Chinese holly is heavy with red fruit.  In all the years past this meant Spring is here and any second now I expect the tree to be covered with Cedar Waxwing birds on their way south. It is a sight to see and hundreds of them will clean that tree in a day or less. The down side is that I will be cutting my yard for every three days and those danged shrubs will sprout like they are being hand-fed by the Jolly Green Giant!

Don’t get me started on bark much. Okay, thanks a lot just remember that you started it. I cannot haul in enough bags of bark mulch to satisfy my Bride’s desire to cover every square inch of plant beds with 3 inches of mulch. This means at least two dump trucks of mulch will be dumped in my driveway for me to shovel up and wheelbarrow to the back and side yards and my dad-blamed yellow plastic wheelbarrow rusted out over the last 6 months. Of course a man without a usable wheelbarrow is all but useless to most good female overseers, so I’ll have to buy a new one.

I would rather just repair computers in the sterile environment of my man cave, famously known as the Orbiting Command Ship Central or work on my gym muscles, but NOOOO, I have to do yard work!

Get ready for the spring pysch… here it comes!

Who am I kidding? I love yard work. It’s great exercise and everything always looks so nice afterward. I like to bag my yard, as it always looks so clean and neat, but mulching is better for it. Heckfire, I might even throw down some 15-5-10 fertilizer for my St. Augustine. Now that I think about it, it ain’t so bad. I’ll start on it tomorrow.

The road less taken is now my own

I’ve learned to wait quietly without frustration. Well, about 50% of the time. I can’t say for certain when I first realized I reached this mature stage in life. I most certainly earned it the hard way, as it was not a skill acquired without the accompanying agony.

My list of lessons is rife with obstacles. Having an appointment only means that I am expected to be there for them, not the other way around. Changing lanes to get ahead of someone only invokes the age old law that the other line moves quicker. Try it at the grocery store for a mini-lesson and the lane you jumped to will need the Managers approval within seconds.

Need a quick anything?  Other than Chick-fil-A, you are pretty much out of luck and might as well hunker down and be patient. Cresting an overpass, you see nothing but red taillights and decide to zip down the feeder instead. It’s risky and you are a pro, but soon get caught up behind a fender bender that brings you to a 40 minute halt.

Our fast-paced life takes 2 weeks to grind down to a peaceful state and by that time, the “relaxing” trip to Pago Pago is over and we are still tense. We arrive back in Baytown and with no apparent transition go immediately back to 90 to nothing. There is only one solution besides moving permanently to Luckenbach – learn to slow down or burn up on reentry. You can’t change anything except your perception of your surroundings. The sooner you accept this hard cold fact, the quicker you can sit back and take one for the team.

Almost to the day, I retired 2 years ago and it’s taken me 2 years to slow down. Now some might laugh when I write or claim to have slowed down, but I am not talking about activities, but my perception of life around me. “Slow down bro; you are retired,” has become my mantra. I can “hang out” at the auto parts store and chat with the counter person now instead of ricocheting in one door and out the other like I’ve done since I was 15.

It’s raining and the yard needs mowing? No biggie, I’ll do it tomorrow or the next day. That problem will repeat itself countless times and it is nothing to get agitated over. Yes, I realize it isn’t one issue that gets us tied in knots; it’s the stack of 15 problems that set us off like a firecracker. Our normal routines as working people have a queue of problems waiting to ambush us every single day and where does this frustration come to the surface? When we are forced to wait on almost anything.

I have to confess I am not always successful. As an example, this week I was needing to buy an item at one of the home improvement stores.  I searched like a Yorkie going for a rat for all of maybe 10 minutes and the staff was having a large motivational gathering. I couldn’t get help because they were busy getting pumped up so they could help customers. I went to the professional lumber area and stood quietly at the counter and watched 4 clerks stare at a 5^th one as they tried to thread a spool of paper on one of the registers.

I’ll be honest and say I didn’t last much more than 60 seconds before I walked off shaking my head. I was within 5 feet of them and they never took their eyes off the paper spool-challenged coworker.  As I walked away, I took a few deep breaths and made my way to the part of the store that ultimately held the tool I needed. When I checked out, the lady asked, “Did you find everything you were looking for?” I chuckled and went out the door as happy as I would have been if someone had put the item in my hand. I deserve an award for patience.

A good deal of my acquired new maturity is due to the time I spend at the gym named after a clock. I can burn frustration with calories and by the time I leave, I simply have little fight left in me – and that carries over to the rest of the day. Sure, taking a drug or something else would be easier, but that is a path I want to avoid. Besides, I get a good blast of endorphins as a reward and I like that opiatic hormone.

Running all over like a fried chicken with its head cut off will not save any of us any credible amount of time and only make us more agitated. Some of us simply need a break to gather our wits, but that my friend is for another column.

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The Blue Star-shaped Glass

On my geocaching adventures, I happened upon a paperweight of blue glass in the shape of a five-pointed star. It was inside one of the caches I was seeking. The rule was that if I took it, I had to leave something of equal or greater value. I left 2 dollars. Time would reveal that it was not an equal trade.

I don’t know what it is about this simple piece of beautiful glass art, but it has been on my desk for about 4 years now and I am remiss to part with it. I often pick it up and hold it to the light and look through it. It reminds me of Long Beach, California when I was 8 years old for some strange reason.

I used to walk down Long Beach Boulevard into Compton and there was a business with fishing nets and blue glass balls hanging on it. I used to stop and stare at how beautiful they were and the rich color mesmerized me. I imagined pirate ships and exotic islands and untold secrets.

What hold does this crystal have over me that I am so attached to it? I don’t have an answer to that and no doubt the person who released it into the public didn’t think anyone would feel passionately about such a bauble. The truth is they probably haven’t thought twice about it since they placed it.

If asked I wouldn’t even pick blue as my favorite color; that color would be green. Neon green is my choice, like the Christmas tree lights or maybe pistachio sherbet. Is it possible that a green star would have more of an effect on me? Simple pleasures, I know and that brings me round to the purpose of this column.

Living in the moment. 

Late last month a group of us hiked 12 or so miles on the Lone Star Trail up by Huntsville. 12 miles doesn’t sound like much, but strap on a 20 pound backpack and do the numerous water-crossings and root-infested trail and it is a long danged stretch requiring half a day of fairly steady walking. We stopped for a rest and sandwich at the halfway point and that is when I felt compelled to expound on living in the moment.

Some people call it taking time to smell the roses, but it is more than that. It is recognizing that you are at a special place in your life and savoring it. It is having an epiphany that you are having the time of your life. You could be any place at that moment and not recognize how wonderful the experience is. Most of us relive it later and that is when we get connected.

I was on my Spin bike at the gym the other day with a group of sweating people and I glanced at the clock. 20 more minutes! 20 minutes of beating myself down. 20 more minutes of self-abuse… or is it only 20 more minutes to experience something most people wouldn’t recognize as wonderful? At that point my whole mind-set shifted and I felt a surge of emotion. I was in the moment and yes, I can do this in spades – or Spandex! Those last 20 passed in a blink of an eye.

When we go on vacation we take our cameras so we can relive the experience later and we zip past the very experience we came for. The photos don’t do the visit justice and we miss out almost entirely. The sad thing is this is exactly what we continue throughout our lives. I’ve talked to many people who have been on cruises, but not once has anyone really relayed the experience in specific detail.

None of them remembers or reminisces about seeing their own blue star-shaped glass. One of my brothers had a mouse crawl on his lap while he was bear hunting in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He calmly watched it make a burrow in the heated pillow he was sitting on and will recall that moment over and over again for the rest of his life. Most people would not have the identical memory for sure, but his was amazing.

Children live in the moment almost 100% of the time. As adults we learn to ignore most of our life and focus on emergencies, distractions, delicious food, and tasks. My future is to find more blue star-shaped glass and I’ll have to slow down and make it a point to find it. How about we start today?

How about we slow down to see those little things we are missing. Last night I stepped outside and right above me in the sky was the planet Jupiter glowing like the moon. My mind went immediately to our ancient astronomers and once again I marveled at how they mapped the planets. Early this morning I witnessed Mars and Saturn in the south-eastern sky. Wow! So simple and free and so unnoticed by most.

Like my blue star-shaped piece of glass, most people forget to hold it up to the light.

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Is couch sitting your plan for old age?

Dick Van Dyke is 90 years old, still dances and eats a pint of ice cream every day.  One of my buddies at the gym is Al and Al is 80 give or take. He comes in 5 times a week to work out and he told me it is the secret to his longevity (that and his wife is quite a bit younger and he has to keep up with her – if you know what I mean).

Jack LaLanne finally died at the ripe age of 97. If you didn’t follow this amazing fitness pioneer, you need to look him up. Back when kids wanted to look like Charles Atlas, Jack was doing it right. In his tight jump suit, he was doing things that worked and will still work. Look up the word Burpee (exercise) on the Internet and then ask yourself if you can do ONE.

Jack LaLanne

If the answer is no, then I have good news for you.  You CAN do it, but it will take a plan and some time and some pain of sorts. The old saying of how do you eat an entire elephant comes to mind here. One bite at a time is the answer. You start with as big of a bite as you can handle and just don’t stop eating.  I have another concept to impart. Eating this elephant is going to take you a lifetime.

Like Jack did and now Dick, and Al, they move to keep moving. My pal Ren Fitts is a gym rat now after being told he was heading for a wheel chair. Does it hurt to push yourself at the gym? You better believe it does. Arthritic knees and joints scream their displeasure and we just push through it. It’s going to happen one way or the other, so why not fight against it?

The simple truth is it’s not too late to start. Did that get through? It’s not too late to start. I know. You say you have no history of exercise and you would be lost at the gym. You don’t know how to use the equipment and you would feel like a sore thumb at a coin-flipping contest. Let me think. There’s about a hundred other reasons for not going, but let’s take a look at how to get started.

Ren Fitts

Roseland, Jenkins, Blue Heron, and Emmitt Hutto Drive have good walking trails and they are free. Get a comfortable pair of shoes and go to one of these places. Your goal is to walk a 15 minute mile. When you can do this, you are ready to join a gym. I go to the one named after the clock, but there are others. The mornings are full of seniors, so that should be your target time, if possible. The evenings have the testosterone/muscles group and the place is crowded, so try to do the mornings.

Almost any person exercising will answer a question and help you with a machine, so don’t be bashful. The treadmill is a good starting place. If you start there, aim at walking at a 3.5 mph pace for one hour. When you can do that without needing a crash cart, move on to the elliptical machines in front of you. During the transition time where you worked-out on the treadmill, observed how to use this particular machine.

When you can do 30 minutes on this piece of equipment, you are ready to use the machines in front of those. You have watched many people during this time operate all of these individual machines, so now all you have to do it imitate them. At any time, you can ask one of the personal trainers (free of charge) to explain how to safely operate any of the machines. They will happily accommodate you.

You are now ready to bump up your training to a whole new level and you have a couple of options. You can hire a personal trainer to train you and train you they will. It’s not cheap though, but we are talking about your future health and fitness. Another option is the Group X classes. Spin class is intensive stationary cycling. Boot camp is anything goes and you are probably not ready for that. Strength & Body Pump is organized and intensive high repetition weight lifting. Zumba is cardio dancing and Yoga is pretzel human body twisting (I don’t do it but should). Do not fear these classes. The instructors are great and will recognize and accommodate your fitness level.

Join a gym or don’t. Exercise is more fun in a group dynamic though and you will meet interesting people who share your desire for better fitness and health. It’s your body, so take care of it and maybe, just maybe when you are 90, you will eat your daily pint of ice cream and then get up and start dancing.

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Oh Mr. Blues, please go away

About 20 years ago, I self-diagnosed a condition caused by the lack of exposure to the sun.  I had no idea there was an actual name for it.  All I knew was when the sun didn’t brighten my eyes for a couple of days; everything took on a dull and gray appearance reflected in my attitude.

Way back in 1971 when I was stationed in Great Falls, Montana and serving the US Air Force, I went through two long winters.  That is when I first noticed this gloomy condition called S.A.D. now known as seasonal affective disorder and then the real kicker came; it usually affects women.  Can’t I get a break here?

With the continued absence of warm rays, I become sullen and unproductive.  All it takes to snap me back is for a bright ray of sunshine to poke through the clouds and I am instantly cheerful.  Simply knowing that the sun is out is enough to make me happy and I love to go out in the heat of the day and exercise.  “Good day sunshine!”

“I need to laugh and when the sun is out
I've got something I can laugh about
I feel good in a special way
I'm in love and it's a sunny day”

There are other triggers that boost my mental well being though, thank goodness.  The good Lord knows a warm church service can boost my spirit and it does.  We have an aspiring young minister named Tuan who delivered the message this past Sunday that is still bouncing around inside me.

About a week ago, right in the middle of some grayness, Mr. and Mrs. V of KPFT’s radio program “Blues on the move” came by the house.  They are a delightful couple to visit with and my friend Buddy “Love” Brewer recommended I repair their computer and I did.  That was a bright light in a dull week.  Mrs. V has a very infectious laugh.

The gym named after the clock remains my mainstay to fight the blues though.  Karate, running, and general exercise has always been a big part in my mental health.  If you believe you are too old to start working out, let me say this about senior citizens and the gym.  In the morning, it is quite possible that the bulk of the people there are over 40 and some near 80 or older.  Yea, that’s right.  Old people exercising to keep what they got.

It is a myth that you can go through life pain free and when you get old, you will suddenly rein in and die.  The truth is, you begin getting painful signals early on and they just get worse until you need surgery and a ton of pain meds.  Exercise does more than build muscle.  It gets the blood flowing.  It increases your lung capacity and if you do load bearing exercise, it thwarts osteoporosis.

All those years I put in at the Plant didn’t stop me from losing one inch of height and when I discovered I was no longer 5-11, I knew I must begin lifting weights or continue to lose bone mass.

“We take a walk, the sun is shining down
Burns my feet as they touch the ground”

Aside from the fact that the exercise releases a hormone akin to an opiate to stave off pain, there is an actual gym culture or mentality amongst the exercisers.  One of the best known people who visit there is a sunshine fellow named Joe.  Everyone knows Joe and Joe knows them.  Joe’s my friend and I jokingly tell him he needs at minimum a 3 hour workout just so he can make his rounds.  It’s actually true though.

One of my favorite people to talk to is a retired educator named Al.  Al’s a most interesting man and up in years.  Al comes in using a 4-footed cane and usually hits the stationary bike before using the resistance machines.  I dearly love chatting with him and like Joe, a ray of sunshine to me.

I get tips on working out from Michelle, who I call Michelle Fitness.  Her fitness blog is here: http://michellecfitness.com/  I do believe she is one of the strongest people in that gym and I’ve seen her lift weight most men wouldn’t attempt.  As I’ve said before, don’t joke about women being the weaker sex, especially at the gym.  You will just let everyone know you are either ignorant, bigoted, or a jerk, or maybe all three.

The biggest mood booster I do every week, regardless of rain or shine is the Spin class.  It is 45 minutes of stationary cycling and burns 600-800 calories. Throw in the 15 minute pre-cycle we do to get ready to stand on the pedals or sprint and you have one plus hour of heavy cycling.  Must I say it is about 95% female dominated?  Most men take one look at the class, shake their head, and say, “Heck no!”

The subsequent effect of this exhausting exercise is a feeling of well-being that lasts the rest of the day.  Our instructor‘s name is Page and she is a drill sergeant with a smile and a pixie haircut.  When two people left the class early this past Wednesday, I jokingly told her she had killed them off.

S.A.D. affects a lot of men and women and there are things we can turn to, to relieve the symptoms besides over-eating, which all of us do time to time.  When it comes to the Blues, the only ones I want in my life are the type that come from Mr. and Mrs. V’s radio program.

* Lyrics Good Day Sunshine – The Beatles
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Gym bullys, yes, there are gym bullys

What follows is an actual conversation at the gym today with a guy who slams weights around and ties up 3 machines, making it his personal gym. I pegged the guy as a bully the first time I saw him. I was using a machine and I got up in between sets and he came up and laid a towel on the machine, a bottle of water on another, and began to work out on a 3rd machine.

I detest bullies and rather than avoid them, I, for some twisted reason like to get in their path. I know. It’s a weakness in my personality, but I learned years ago that placating a bully only empowers them. Besides, I like a bit of drama now and again, but who doesn’t?

The machine I wanted to use, or was using was a shoulder press and I sat down, facing his towel, which he had draped to claim ownership. Immediately, like a wasp guarding his nest, he walks up and says, “Really dude?”

He had on Beats headphones, as he is very fashionably conscious and I looked at him and spit out, “What? You think you own this machine?” He turned and walked away.

When I am in between sets, I walk. I don’t sit and pass time. If someone is actually on the machine when I come back, I get an alternate machine – they abound, but no one can claim ownership of a machine they are not using.
I finished what I was doing and walked to the front and talked to the manager. He was incensed and asked who the guy was and I fricken pointed him out. Sue me, but it sure beats the alternative of me taking the guy to ground.
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Womens. Don’t underestimate em!

I’m now into 5 straight months at the gym named after the clock and yes, I know the word womens is not grammatically correct, but in a sense, it is.  All women are not the same and my reference is in this vein.  Like fishes, women can be quite diverse and well, different, but in the end, they are still very female in nature, with a certain amount of tenacity that confounds men in general.

The older I get, the more I appreciate their persistence and individuality and I can say that and still basically retain my caveman man-card.  A man-card is a delicate thing at best I reluctantly admit.  Women instinctively know this and we buffoons who carry them, blindly believe we have womens buffaloed… well we don’t and they tolerate us with a generous amount of levity and leeway.

I got my man-card nearly revoked this past Tuesday when I sat my ample rear man parts on the skinny seat of a “spinner” exercise bike at the gym.  It was my second encounter with this heinous and ingeniously designed torture device and I foolishly thought “this time” would be easier.  It wasn’t and the reason is the Spinning instructor - a slim woman in every respect (except for her muscular thighs) is a danged-burned sadist.  Yea, I said it.

Now, this last statement is open for interpretation and probably not the consensus of the “weaker sex” in the class, but I’m telling the truth when I say that she yells out commands pretty much like R. Lee Ermey in the movie “Full Metal Jacket” and she does it with a sweet countenance and smile – which doesn’t fool me one durned bit.

“UP!” she screams and in the mirrors, I see all the womens rise up on their pedals and begin to pump with reckless agonizing abandon.  Hey!  I’m good for the first session of “10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-3-2-2-1!” and I plop down on the seat only to realize with emasculating  horror that the “1” is being held for 10 seconds and all the womens are still up and pumping with mindless zombie giggly enjoyment!

The instructor remains sweat-less and in what can only be described as super human estrogen exertion, pumping her muscular thighs like she is on effortless vacation.  I stare at the floor and I see a growing puddle of…water?  Why didn’t they clean this up before I came?  Who left all this salty water here?  It’s a total tapestry of injustice!

“UPPPP!  MORE!  YOU CAN DO IT! (and then the kicker)  I LOVE YOU!”  I love you?  What?  She doesn’t love me.  I don’t feel any love.  Nope; none at all.  Wait.  My fellow peddlers are all grinning.  Yeah, they feel the love.  I don’t.  I don’t get it.  “Why am I here?  Why did I come here today?  Did my Bride do this to me?   Yes, she’s also grinning.  Did she coerce me?  Am I still sane?  What is the meaning of life?  Am I a Democrat?”  So many confusing questions and all I see is the fog of estrogen rolling over me.

My mind is cloudy. I have “gym-brain”.  Gym-brain, that elusive narcotic state of induced endorphins, where a person truly believes they are rational and walk around in the gym like an extra on the Walking Dead TV show… and I keep peddling.  I cannot fail here.  After all, I am in the company of the weaker sex, right?  I need to man-up and I do, but my masculine backside doesn’t leave the seat, even though all the spandex in the room rises to the commands of the instructor.  Certain portions of my anatomy are now so numb I wonder if I am being skewered.

I close my eyes and pedal furiously.  I’ll catch up.  Yea, I am still in the race.  I have an ace in my pocket these womens don’t have.  I have bulging man-muscles and lots of them.  I’ll power past them and they know it and I know it.  Meanwhile the puddle of water is growing below my bike and I suddenly have an ugly epiphany and it’s not a happy one.

It’s not my fault that I am sweating more than everyone else.  It’s hotter over here.  For some stupid reason, the two fans are pointed more towards the womens than me.  If I had the cool wind they have, I could ride in the same easy comfort.  What, my 20 ounces of water is gone from my water bottle?  The danged weak bottle must have sprung a leak and that is why the floor is so wet.  Yes, that’s it and such a simple explanation!  Whew, that’s a relief and I gather comfort from this discovery!

“UPPPPP”!  What tha?  Again?  Doesn’t she realize we live on the Gulf Coast and there are no hills here?  Is she from Idaho or something?  There is a distinct smell of moldy potatoes in the gym.  What about coasting?  How come there is no coasting in this spin class?  I don’t get it.  My gym-brain is swinging all over the pace as I try to convince myself that I am still in the race.  I am, right?

You’re danged right I am and as the instructor tells us we are finished, I look around and smile.  I can do this and the ladies are gracious enough to not point out that I am as wet as a whale, as I mop the “spill” on the floor with my towel.  “I’ll show them next week what a real man can do.”

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Gym work and juicin’

Who knew you could drink celery, kale, and carrots?  Probably the same person who swears this is a fun and delicious drink.  No, I was not ignorant about juicing vegetables and fruits, as my dearly departed father-in-law Willard Reneau turned his entire garden into liquid for years.  In fact, he drank so many carrots that he turned orange.

Recently my bride and I (read my bride) decided we would begin getting a boost of vitamins and minerals by drinking a glass (or more) of yummy green liquid each morning that frankly tastes like a combination of rabbit food, water, and rabbit food.

She giggles as she drinks it, as if she can feel the tiny fingers of health rushing all over her, while my own experience is what I like to call, well… repugnance.   Now over my 40+ years I have drank a lot of things and some of them have been of the adult beverage kind with varying results to my palate.  In fact, I remember the first time I drank straight bourbon.  It was so disgusting; I couldn’t imagine who initially thought it was something a human should taste.

Five minutes later, I understood.  I’m still waiting for this revelation with the rabbit food.

The jury is still out on the green elixir.  Instead of feeling wonderfully healthy, I am find I am rushing for the throne.  Well, not literally rushing, but you get the idea.  All those vegetables and fruits must travel through my innards at something like 60 miles an hour or faster and they are probably scrubbing out toxins and build-up poisons… at least that is what I’ve been told by my expert.

My bride, who recently lured me into the workout place named after the hours of the clock, explained that the benefits of combining  juice and gym is something not even a rocket surgeon could argue over.  “It’s going to turn you into a powerhouse of manliness!” she exclaimed as I watched her drain the semi-thick green glass of pulpy goo.  “Yum!”

“You think gym and juice will do the trick?” I asked innocently as I looked at my gut hanging over my belt and the container of chunky green sustenance on the counter.

“You better believe it,” she said and poured another glass – the one I was supposed to enjoy.

“It looks disgusting,” I said and eyed it suspiciously.

“Oh, but the benefits of juicing make it taste wonderful and just imagine what effect it will have at the gym!”  Her eyes were dancing about with an obvious sparkle.  Now to add insult to nutritious injury she has also advised me that I need to stop eating DJ’s boudin every morning and switch over to oat meal.  Oat meal for the love of all that is natural!

Now, as a 61 year old man, I realize to some I should turn in my Speedos and tenni-hoppers for baggy khaki pants, suspenders, and brogans and maybe I should, but oatmeal over boudin is pert-near crossing the line in my book.  Sure, I’ll go to the gym and all, but these major steps need to be eased into, like the juice.

“Can I drink maybe just a tablespoon of juice and after a couple of weeks move up to a quarter of a cup?”  The look on her face pretty much told me I was going to drink the wonderful concoction.

So off to the gym we go and surprise of surprises, there are a lot of plus 40 people like me there.  One fellow in particular gets on one of those contraptions that makes you look like a combination of running and hopping like a kangaroo and stays on it for an hour.  The first time I observed him, he was covered in sweat and just kept going and going, so I gave it a try.

It’s not near as effortless as it appeared and I went back to the treadmill.  Did you know that if you get on a treadmill and walk at 4 miles per hour for one hour, that when you stop it and step off it feels like you are still walking- if you keep from falling flat on your face that is.  Yea, I learned that one real fast.  Now I slow it down and walk for about five minutes before I get off.

I was talking to my bride’s trainer, Anisha P. and she told me one fellow went off the back end of a treadmill the other day and like to have done a flip.  “It’s one of the things we watch for,” she said straight-faced.  One of the things we watch for???  Good grief, talk about embarrassing!  To me it wouldn’t matter if I broke my leg, all I would be thinking about is who saw me do the flip and then there’s the unexpected results of drinking that juice and the speed at which it moves through my body.  Yikes!  Double embarrassment!