I’m at the gym and I realize I’ve forgotten my earbuds. Surprisingly I don’t care (much). A couple of years ago I would have had to return home to retrieve them. At that point in my life I simple would not have been willing to step onto that treadmill without Usher, Lady Gaga, or the Black-Eyed Peas. The driving beat, the tempo (3.5 mph for my short legs), and yes, the fading words and spirit of youth.
Dancing, sweating, lusting youth.
But this aging baby-boomer body no longer needs the Party Rock Anthem (but at times I do want it!) I work at convincing myself that I would feel worse if I skipped the gym than if I actually pushed myself to go. I heed the angel-voice and ignore the pitchfork guy. Closing my eyes imagining a young me slinking onto the dance floor, performing perfect body rolls while walking nowhere or torturing my glutes and quads on the elliptical, no longer works. Reality interferes, and I’d rather be elsewhere than on the dance floor trying to be young. I’d rather accept my age, and dance to the oldies (and with them!).
Today I didn’t think Oh, no! but instead Oh well, and proceeded to the recumbent bike, knowing something else needed to be exercised along with my heart and puny muscles hiding under ample adipose.
Is that why I said to my husband during a long car trip last month Don’t they have an NPR station around here? Or asked Where’s PBS? I’m missing Call the Midwife.Or proclaimed We need a blue-ray player with internet access for the new TV so we can watch TED talks and documentaries.
I need to use my MIND instead of climbing into the front car of a rollercoaster and going along for the ride (though Lost was a great ride, andHomeland and Game of Thrones still are!).
A fight against the downward spiral or preparation for the next adventure?
Yes, both. Though the latter is kinder and gentler.
