You won’t believe this but I have joined a gym! Yes, indeed, at my Great Age.
I did once have membership at a
local health club way back when I was a Working Gal but I reluctantly had to surrender my membership when I retired as I couldn’t manage to justify the expense per visit. Especially when I only ever used the swimming pool where I would swim up and down
very, very slowly (the poor lifeguard had to keep jumping to his feet for a better view, in order to assure himself that I hadn’t actually died in the water - yes, I really was that slow) before thankfully making my way into the café for a restorative
skinny latte. And, occasionally, a bun.
My new gym isn’t one frequented by the fit-looking lads and lasses of the Lycra Brigade. No, it is one designed
precisely for people like me with rickety joints, dodgy knees and Recovering Shoulders. It doesn’t have to be a shoulder that’s Recovering, I guess it could just as likely be a knee, or a hip or just about any part of the body you care to mention.
It is, however, an exclusive club in that you have to be referred for membership by a Medical Professional. Which, in my case, was Sweet Sophia, my physiotherapist. Was this something I would be prepared to consider, she asked me at my last appointment? Well,
you know me, I hate to disappoint - so of course I said yes. It was worth it to see her pleasure as she skipped off to fill in a referral form for me.
was that the other day I found myself wandering the streets in my car looking for the Rowans Gym. It was surprisingly near home, I could easily walk there and back so long as I still had enough puff left to carry out my exercise programme when I arrived.
Yes, indeed, I even have an exercise programme, compiled by my new personal trainer, Marie. At least, I have half an exercise programme, we are going to work on the second half next week. It will involve much stretching, apparently. Which is good because everybody
needs to be stretched, don’t you think?
Marie is an extremely perceptive person. She observes that I still instinctively protect my Recovering Shoulder when,
for example, using an arm to push myself up from a low chair. She watches me as I clamber clumsily aboard exercise bikes, treadmills, and rowing machines and is quick to veto machines which look as if they will do me and The Recovering Shoulder more harm than
good. She tells me that she thinks the rowing machine is going to be my best ally in my Fight For Fitness. Eat your heart out, James Cracknell. What I particularly love about the rowing machine is that there is a strategically placed grab rail on the wall
next to it to help me haul myself out of the low seat when I’ve finished pushing and pulling. You wouldn’t find that in the usual type of gym, where everybody is fit enough to spring onto or off of every exercise machine with nonchalant ease.
What’s more, there are classes I can join. There’s yoga, Pilates, Boxercise, table tennis, Bootcamp and something called Strong and Steady, described as an “entry
level class specifically designed around improving strength and stability.” Marie tells me it is particularly good for those who have a tendency to fall or are afraid of falling. I am not sure if this includes the likes of me who has made a practice
over many years of falling up (and down) steps and stairs. I also like the sound of the Chair Based Class, not necessarily because it is chair based, you understand, but because the blurb informs me that it is “followed by a drink.” Designed to
appeal to the coffee drinkers among us. I tell Marie that I plan to give all the classes a try, to test out which I like the best. She nods, approvingly and I bask in her approbation. Such a Teacher’s Pet, I am.
Mr B suspects that I am looking for Blog-worthy material, hence my sudden enthusiasm for joining a gym.