You have to understand a
few things about me before you can really appreciate this story. If you picture me as an award -winning
basketball player in high school or even one who played a bit in university,
but had to quit to focus more on my studies, you’d be wrong. If you picture me as a grade school baseball
player enthusiastically cheering the team to its big win, you’d be wrong. If you picture me riding a bike or even
bowling a spare at a five-pin bowling alley at any time in my life, you’d be
wrong.
You might begin to get
the picture if you saw me sobbing in 1967 when everyone was supposed to do
those darned Participation exercises to get at least a red badge for
participating. I stayed home the day
they gave out the badges.
You might begin to get
the picture if you imagined me hiding behind the piano in the gym when it was
time to jump over that horse in grade seven.
If I got caught, I’d simply say, “I’ve had my turn.”
You’d really begin to
get my number when I confess that I was the one who lied about my background to
get my first teaching job in lean times, and ended up being assigned to half
time Junior Phys Ed. We did a lot of
health and folk dancing that year.
I am one who carried my
body around for many years, resenting that my intermittent, begrudging efforts
at that nasty thing called exercise didn’t give me hip bones that stuck out –
ever!
Nor did it give me a waist that
went in. Or a size where my hips and my
breasts matched. In fact, I always
believed if the rest of my body matched my bust size, I’d be pretty well perfect.
So understanding these
things about me, you can begin to imagine my inner turmoil as I lied about my
age to get into the SIM Gym (Seniors In Motion).
It wasn’t the lying that horrified me, as I’d
had much practice in that department about “things exercise” throughout my
life. (For the record, I don’t have to
lie anymore. I’m well in the over
fifty-five range now. )
Much has been written
about my first time there, my discovery of the meaning of “rows”, “reps” and
other gym-jargon, and the shame with which I realize I need to put stickers on
the calendar not just for ninety days like most change theories suggest, but to
this day.
After seven years, I
continue to be motivated by the sight of even the cheapest sticker. I race to the calendar as soon as I get home,
put on my sticker and gloat – even before turning on the coffee pot or
showering. If I’m in town, I rarely miss
– dutifully attending two strength-training sessions a week and often two or
three aqua fit sessions, too.
Given my shady
background, you can guess that my transformation hasn’t come by falling in love
with physical activity. Although I can
claim that I am slightly less grossed out than I used to be at the sensation of
sweating.
It’s all about the
people. I am the youngest in the class,
the least fit, and the special needs child, having to adapt every one of the circuit
stations, especially since I tore my meniscus and a few other bits of my knee a
couple of years back.
My classmates cheer me
on especially when I’m about to burst into tears and run out of the room. (Yes,
I admit, it still happens but not as many times as in the first five years.) They talk to me about other things, reminding
me I have a brain and expertise in other parts of my life. I am more than the vision of my weakest
parts.
But the greatest of all
are the trainers! Not once, but twice,
they’ve made surprise sessions that have thrilled and delighted us and made me
feel oh, so special.
The first was on my
birthday a couple of years ago.
Grudgingly, I went to my Strength Training Class because you know it’s a
good thing to do for yourself – working out on your birthday. So I’m told.
When I arrived I was
greeted with a crown to put on because it was a Princess Party! One other woman’s birthday was close to mine
and each of us was given special wands to begin the relay. After completing each exercise, the wand was
passed to the next in our team until every muscle group was worked and the
singing of the wand had been enjoyed to the fullest.
Next came a big box held
high over each of our heads. As we chose
a plastic bag full of goodies from the box we read out the body part that was
to be worked with our turn. Mine was
triceps, so I led the group through my favourite triceps exercise and was
thereby allowed to keep my baggie full of candy necklace, fun bubbles, a ring
pop and a chocolate golden coin.
We had intervals between
which we were to squat while putting together a jigsaw puzzle of an ugly frog –
reminding us of the many kisses required to find our handsome prince.
After much laughter and
a pretty good workout, we moved out of the gym studio to find a table bedecked
with a princess tablecloth, matching napkins and plates. Beautiful homemade treats were nibbled as we
chatted and sipped coffee. One of the
trainers had even made star-shaped sugar cookies mounted on wands ready-wrapped
to take home.
I know those trainers
enough to understand that they had great fun planning and preparing the
Surprise Princess Party for us, but words could not express the gratitude so many
of us felt at their efforts, but we tried:
“I can’t remember when
I’ve laughed so hard!”
“I’ve never been to such
an amazing birthday party!”
“I can’t believe the
work they did to get all this ready for us!”
And you’ll never guess
what happened the last Thursday before my wedding! They planned another special day -
wedding-themed – complete with special bouquets for me and another woman who
was to be mother-of-the-groom two weeks later.
We’re gob smacked. It truly is
the best gym ever!
Lori Edey loves to embrace the role of Princess whenever she can. Being humbled by real life, three felines,
and her struggles at the gym, the opportunities are few and far between.
See Brian Henry’s schedule here, including writing workshops and creative writing
courses in Algonquin Park, Alton, Barrie,
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