Yes, I Joined a Gym

Check the weather report: Did Hell freeze over?

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

Yes, I did it. After a successful 50-year campaign to avoid athletic injuries by avoiding all athletics, I took a first step toward fitness. To do it, I had to overcome a crippling fear – the kind we now would label PTSD – of gymnasia in general and men’s locker rooms in particular. It was in the middle school locker room that I first experienced pure anarchy, the lawless state that occurred whenever the coach left his young wards unattended for more than five minutes. The strong became predators, the weak and the small became prey, and the normal aromas of sweat and moldy socks were tempered with the powerful scent of testosterone run amuck.

What finally trumped my fear of the gym was an even stronger urge – the fear of falling. I am approaching that age when a fall can be not only painful but the first step in a cascade of bad to worse health outcomes. I have seen it happen often enough among those in their 80s and 90s. I have even seen people my own age fall and need months to recover fully. My reading (most recently, this sobering piece) has convinced me that falls are the indirect result of weakening muscles and deteriorating balance. I decided it was time for me to move from athletic avoidance to fall avoidance by undertaking strength training.

To be totally honest, the “gym” I joined is actually a wellness center, attached to a rehabilitation facility and next door to senior housing. This appealed to me, because there’s an excellent chance I’ll be the youngest person in any fitness class. But first things first: I needed a fitness assessment before I could do anything.

The Fitness Assessment

The assessment consisted of me moving through a dozen or more short exercises such as walking as if I had been stopped for a DUI, standing up from a chair repeatedly, standing on one foot, arm curls, and more. I thought I performed rather well. That isn’t what the assessment showed. In five exercises I rated “below normal,” and three of those scores were noted as “a fall risk.”

Okay, so at least my instincts were correct and I joined for the right reason.

Based on the assessment, I was paired with a personal trainer named Russel for eight weekly sessions of what should be labeled Remedial Strengthening: Jell-O Molding. In our first session Russel had me walk back and forth across the training room while he observed.

“Your feet are too close together,” he said. “You want them to be hip width or shoulder width apart.” He then demonstrated a wide stance walk. I recognized it immediately. It was the jock swagger. All the high school football players walked that way, as if to say, “Howdy partner, I just stepped off my horse,” or more likely, “I have to walk this way to give my super-sized package more breathing room.”

“And notice your left foot,” said Russel. I looked down. My left sneaker was turned out at a 35 degree angle. “You lean to the left.”

I said, “No one who knows me would be surprised by that.”

He asked me if I did sit-ups regularly. I assured him that I did. “Show me how you do them.” Lying flat on a mat, my legs bent at the knees and feet flat on the wall, I interlaced my fingers behind my head and did a quick five. Russel was not impressed.

“I’ve been doing these daily for years to tighten my abs,” I said. “Are they doing any good at all?”

“Not really,” said Russel. “Except maybe strengthening your neck.”

Slow Progress

Russel is different from athletic coaches I knew in my youth. For one, he is not sadistic. Also he has a sense of humor, and he meets me where I am, not where he thinks a normal fit person ought to be. In other words, he is patient and willing to go v-e-r-y  s-l-o-w-l-y.

He also assigns homework – exercises I can do at home. In the first week, three sets of sit-ups (the right way), three sets of standing pushups against a waist-high counter, and marching (in a wider stance) while carrying weights. All that three times a day, with two days of rest. In week two he added squats with weights.

Russel also recommended I take a protein supplement. “These exercises burn up calories,” he explained, “and you’re going to need extra protein to build up muscle.” Two scoops of protein powder mixed with water – just like baby formula – and drunk once daily. My wife thinks drinking a protein supplement qualifies me officially as a gym rat.

By our third session, Russel said he was already seeing improvement. “Really?” I said. “I just feel sore all over.”

“Check yourself out in the mirror at home,” he said.

I looked in the mirror. I still can’t see much change, except for one thing: My belly is not sneering at me. In fact, it is staring back at me with a newfound respect, as if to say, “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

Well, yes. Yes I am.

If anyone had suggested a year ago that I would spend an hour a day doing strenuous exercises, I would have asked what they were smoking. But I did some calculating. If I continue to spend as much time on these exercises for 20 years (being optimistic), it adds up to more than seven solid months of my life. It might be a colossal waste of time. But if it helps me add a year or more – maybe several more – to my health span by helping fight the ravages of gravity and entropy, it will be a sound investment. And not a moment too soon.

Was your transition to retirement bumpy?

I want to interview people about their own retirement experience for a book I’m researching. If you care to share your story, please email me at don@donakchin.com to set up a remote interview.