The aging process...

Getting older sucks! There. I've said it. How many others have made this statement recently?

And what brought about my (most recent) exclamation?

At the gym Thursday evening, I was participating in an aerobics class. No, not decked out like some Olivia Newton-John video reject. Not for me. I wore what I usually wear five times a week. Comfortable non-intimidating, non-fashion statement well-worn clothing. About 25 minutes into the step portion of the evening, I felt something "pop" in my left calf. And so ended my exercise session and my evening. The next hours were ice packs and tensor bandages. Deep Cold product was also slathered on as I hobbled into bed. All five cats and Ben were huffing the fumes and looking decidedly laid back.

Since I became a born-again gym rat, I have been an exercise zealot. Harkens back to my youth and early 20's when I was in pretty good shape. Training for competitive rugby and lots of weights saw to that. Now it's about cardio and lean muscle mass.

I returned to this world a couple of months after having hip-replacement surgery two years ago. I needed some form of low-impact activity and aqua aerobics was the solution. From there, I graduated to land classes. Yes, it’s often a Bess Motta “four more” environment, but it’s truly enjoyable. For me. It’s about the exercise. The feeling better about oneself. And the camaraderie. Yes, there are the younger women in classes, eagerly seeking approval, decked out in quite impractical tight clothing, occasionally falling out of a plunging neckline as they troll the hallways looking for companionship. But there are also a group of more mature (age-wise) individuals that are there for the benefit that pain and sweat can bring.

So here I am, in my early 50’s, doing what I can to be physically healthy. TLATO gets it – but only to a point. Will she be joining me anytime soon? Not a chance. In fact, during my recent sinus trials and tribulations, she actually “hid” my gym bag!

Exercise injuries can occur to anyone. They don’t discriminate. As I pointed out to a far from sympathetic Sheryl, injuries happen to the best athletes. She countered with the fact that many of them make ridiculous amounts of money and that a twinge or tear can be tolerated. To so-called weekend warriors such as me - not so much. I still have to work to put (12 grain) bread on the table. I do not have a crew to help pick up life’s pieces.

I am at a loss to describe the expression on Sheryl’s face earlier this morning when I said that the calf muscle was feeling much better and I’m only hours away from my next class. Don’t misunderstand. It’s not that she disapproves. There are times when she wishes that I would forgo the endorphin-laced Kool Aid.