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I grew up with a father for whom fitness was a daily activity. Although his long time job as a milkman itself was extremely physical; jumping in and out of a tractor trailer and hoisting heavy milk crates into the stores to which he delivered, he supplemented it with running, hitting a punching bag and jumping rope with weighted handles. That began when he was a Golden Gloves boxer in the Navy. In his 20s and 30s he belonged to the YM/YWHA (Young Men’s and Young Women’s Hebrew Association) which is the Jewish version of the YM/YWCA. Although their paths didn’t cross until years later, my mother worked out there as well, from what they told me about their relationship origin story. When we were kids, he taught my sister and me how to box. We would jump rope with him, ride bikes, run, skate and sled. He and my mom set an example for life long fitness. She swam, rode bikes and jumped rope. She was the one who mowed the lawn. In their retirement, she taught Water Aerobics and Senior Stretch called Stretch With Selma. Think of it as chair yoga for older folks. He helped to manage the gym at their Town Center. This they did until their late 70s when Parkinson’s Disease robbed him of his ability to engage in some of his favorite activities.
I became a competitive swimmer at age 11 with Olympic aspirations, but not Olympic commitment and discipline. Still, it was a huge part of my life until I was 18 and then I was a life guard and a swim team coach for three more summers. I enjoyed dancing, although I am more an improv dancer than engaging in anything that involves structure and measured steps.
For many years, I worked out in gyms, hoisting weights, doing cardio and swimming in the pool. I called them my ‘playouts’ which I thought of as much more fun than workouts. One morning, after what I considered a normal workout at Planet Fitness, I was driving home to shower and get ready for a day of clients at an outpatient substance abuse practice. That’s when I experienced a simultaneous series of sensations. Jaw pain and tightness, nausea, searing heart burn pain front and back, palpitations, lightheadedness and dizziness told me that I was in the midst of a cardiac event. Following insertion of a stent, adding medications, changing my diet and diving into cardiac rehab, my workouts were structured. I was tethered to a heart monitor, supervised and recorded for several months. Once I was off the tether, I returned to Planet Fitness, where I was on the day my life changed immeasurably. I enjoyed feeling vital and energetic and rarely groaned about getting myself there.
Then came COVID and I discontinued my membership, creating a home gym in my living room. A recumbent bike, yoga mat, exercise ball and hand weights filled the space and my time. I missed the camradery of the other folks working out around me.
I’m glad to be back at PF following a three year absence during the pandemic. This time around, I am easing my way back into shape, physically and emotionally since my tendency is overdoing it. I was diagnosed with COPD a few years ago after work exposure to second and third hand smoke for 14 years. I love my time there and do my best to leave my self judgements behind that sound like “You should be pushing harder,” and wistfully comparing myself to others who do more and who look like I did in my 20s. I’m 64. Then I remind myself that I am in the Judgement Free Zone and focus on what I can do. I also note people much older than I am, and some with walkers and canes that help them be mobile in between using the machines. They inspire me. I take accountability photos when I am there and have extended workouts from 45 minutes to 90 minutes when I can. I chant the mantra in my head, “I am healthier and stronger, slimmer and trimmer every day.” Although he died in 2008, I hear him saying, in his gravely voice, “Come on, doll baby, five more minutes. A few more reps. You’ve got this.” And so I do. — Main photo iStock. Inset photos by author Edie Weinstein.The post The Daughter of a Gym Rat Follows in His Footsteps appeared first on The Good Men Project.
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