The only reason I would take up jogging is so I could hear heavy breathing again. Erma Bombeck
This posting is not for the faint-hearted. The past two months have been spent dealing with reshaping or should I say rebuilding my aged frame. I’m discovering that I’m not getting the results as fast as I would have in my younger years. I’m not going to say that it’s a painful process both emotionally and physically, because that’s too mundane. There is no hankie wringing here. I decided to join a health club to ignite my slow metabolism. My lack of willpower for abstaining from Hershey chocolate and bottles of Bud Light is interfering with my endeavors to get buff. Six pack abs are more important than being placed on statins. Come on, just the word, statins, sounds so elderly. So, what is it I have been doing to help my situation one might ask. Well, I joined Pilates in an earnest attempt to build core strength. But, for crying out loud, the instructor talked so fast and quietly while she walked the room with her microphone, I worked my neck more just looking for her. There were some other mature women in the group who suggested that I give ballet fusion a try. This class involves an exercise bar that is held for an upper body workout, all the while executing a “fondu” (one leg lowers with the other one up, supposedly) then quickly “releve” (rising to the balls of one’s feet). I’m concentrating to the best of my ability while hearing the instructor shout, “Ladies, I’m sorry if you have to buy a pair of smaller jeans.” I will remain in this class not only because it’s “cool”, but I actually need to find my balance. I’m still not satisfied, however. Upon returning to the women’s locker room, I’m not sweating and breathing heavily like the others. A cardio workout must be added to my regime. Zumba, here I come!