Yes, it's my (groan) 63rd birthday, and yes, there's a blizzard out there, and yes, the aerobics workout Tuesday brought me pain no ibuprohen or even Jameson could erase...but NO excuses ... The second aerobics class of the week begins on schedule, snow flying and piling outside the windows.
I consider leaving the weights in the box. I consider, and even pick up the "Tootsie Roll" one-lb-ers... I complain that no one brought cake... or Jameson...
Aerobics instructor laughs energetically and turns up the rock'n'roll energetically and grins demonically...
No slack was cut the birthdayTweedle this morning.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Grace ~~ Tuesday, Feb. 22, 2011
My "core" [I always think "core of an apple? ...the part you pitch?"] feels stronger from all the crunches and so on. But grace? Apparently not achieved, yet.
Evidence: I knocked over a glass of water onto the keyboard of my laptop, killing it (or, hopefully, knocking it out temporarily) yesterday. I write this on the farm computer, a 20-mile round trip from town. Just sayin' ...
Evidence: I knocked over a glass of water onto the keyboard of my laptop, killing it (or, hopefully, knocking it out temporarily) yesterday. I write this on the farm computer, a 20-mile round trip from town. Just sayin' ...
Monday, February 21, 2011
So We Skipped A Day ~~ Monday, Feb. 21, 2011
Daughter says, when you make exercise a habit, you will miss it when you skip out. I'm guessing she means physically, instead of sentimentally. No love lost, yesterday, for the cold steel machines that measure our efforts, but we pay a price today.
Cost of laziness? Tweedles rusted solid in the joints, like rained-on Tin-Man relics, off the Yellow Brick Road in a ditch!
Cost of laziness? Tweedles rusted solid in the joints, like rained-on Tin-Man relics, off the Yellow Brick Road in a ditch!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Rescue ~~ Feb. 19, 2011
It is a movie I haven't seen: My Best Friend's Wedding. The last hour of it. Of course, the commercial breaks are maddening, but I keep "treading" and "elliptical-ing," determined to hold out to see the end.
Husband, already in street clothes, returns to rescue his plot-crazed wife, "Would you like me to tell you how it turns out?"
"Yes, please!" (puff, puff, gasp)
And so the Tweedle Team logs another morning at the gym.
Husband, already in street clothes, returns to rescue his plot-crazed wife, "Would you like me to tell you how it turns out?"
"Yes, please!" (puff, puff, gasp)
And so the Tweedle Team logs another morning at the gym.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Punishment for Rationalizing ~~ Friday, Feb. 18, 2011
My friend Linda applaudes my "exercise regimen" with my grandchildren this week, but the hour at the gym this morning shows me what a mirage I manufactured. I can't find enough Aspercreme to knock out the pain of newly shredded muscle tissue.
Oh, well, at least I'm back in the traces, with Mr. Tweedle. He - at least - has actually lost a little weight.
There was a "new" treadmill at the little town gym this morning...no difference in level of misery, however.
Oh, well, at least I'm back in the traces, with Mr. Tweedle. He - at least - has actually lost a little weight.
There was a "new" treadmill at the little town gym this morning...no difference in level of misery, however.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Change of Venue ~~ Feb. 12-17, 2011
Six days away from the little town gym. (Two, for the husband, who came home early.)
Cardio Saturday 2/12: walk, walk, walk ... all over The Legends, KC, KS...stairs in Chateau Avalon, from bed to bathroom (2-story theme Castaway room) several times in the dark after celebrating (belatedly) 38th anniversary barhopping...
Cardio Sunday 2/13: swim, splash, swim ... at Aquatic Center in Lawrence for grandson's 2nd birthday party... stairs at son's -- errands for mother...
Weights Sunday 2/13: bags, etc. ... and lifting grandsons ...
Cardio Monday 2/14: more walking, more stairs ... attended grandson's kindergarten Valentine party at school ... mom in wheelchair
Cardio Tuesday 2/15: playing with 2-yr.-old grandson whose daycare provider was ill ...
Weights 2/15: lifting, carrying, changing, etc. grandson
Cardio Wednesday 2/16: pushing mom in wheelchair (an hour +) around Allen Fieldhouse and Booth Family Hall of Athletics to view daughter-in-law's wonderful creations ...
Weights 2/16: first experience of lifting the wheelchair into the trunk by myself ... loading and unloading luggage for trip back home
Cardio Thursday 2/17: 45 minutes on the recumbant bike on the farm...
Tomorrow, it's back to basics...treadmill with the husband at the tiny town gym. But...memories...
Cardio Saturday 2/12: walk, walk, walk ... all over The Legends, KC, KS...stairs in Chateau Avalon, from bed to bathroom (2-story theme Castaway room) several times in the dark after celebrating (belatedly) 38th anniversary barhopping...
Cardio Sunday 2/13: swim, splash, swim ... at Aquatic Center in Lawrence for grandson's 2nd birthday party... stairs at son's -- errands for mother...
Weights Sunday 2/13: bags, etc. ... and lifting grandsons ...
Cardio Monday 2/14: more walking, more stairs ... attended grandson's kindergarten Valentine party at school ... mom in wheelchair
Cardio Tuesday 2/15: playing with 2-yr.-old grandson whose daycare provider was ill ...
Weights 2/15: lifting, carrying, changing, etc. grandson
Cardio Wednesday 2/16: pushing mom in wheelchair (an hour +) around Allen Fieldhouse and Booth Family Hall of Athletics to view daughter-in-law's wonderful creations ...
Weights 2/16: first experience of lifting the wheelchair into the trunk by myself ... loading and unloading luggage for trip back home
Cardio Thursday 2/17: 45 minutes on the recumbant bike on the farm...
Tomorrow, it's back to basics...treadmill with the husband at the tiny town gym. But...memories...
Friday, February 11, 2011
Where Is My Ibuprofen? ~~ Day Eight – Friday, Feb. 11, 2011
Ow. If my back could speak, the air would be “blue.” Fallout from the second weight aerobics class yesterday.
The Tweedles still do 45 minutes this morning . . . “treading” (plodding?) alongside Wonder Woman of the elliptical, the two muscle-men lugging huge barbells around, and a 90-lb. doctor’s bride, riding the bike like she is escaping dragons . . .
Husband chats up the muscle-men, discovering that one works in town for the sheriff’s department . . . which causes Farmer Tweedle, a little later, to buckle his seatbelt, in the truck, for the first time in his life. . . and then he barks at me to buckle up immediately, as the sheriff’s deputy may be watching. I always buckle up, but I make a grand show of it this morning.
We leave tomorrow for a trip to see the grandchildren. I’ll miss the next weight aerobics class. If my back could speak, it would sob for joy.
The Tweedles still do 45 minutes this morning . . . “treading” (plodding?) alongside Wonder Woman of the elliptical, the two muscle-men lugging huge barbells around, and a 90-lb. doctor’s bride, riding the bike like she is escaping dragons . . .
Husband chats up the muscle-men, discovering that one works in town for the sheriff’s department . . . which causes Farmer Tweedle, a little later, to buckle his seatbelt, in the truck, for the first time in his life. . . and then he barks at me to buckle up immediately, as the sheriff’s deputy may be watching. I always buckle up, but I make a grand show of it this morning.
We leave tomorrow for a trip to see the grandchildren. I’ll miss the next weight aerobics class. If my back could speak, it would sob for joy.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Dumbbells, Part Two ~~ Day Six – Thursday, Feb. 10, 2011
There is actually a lady in aerobics class today, using the 1-lb-weights, the ‘Tootsie-Roll’ ones. So I feel like an Amazon, flailing around my 3-lb.-ers.
I wonder, occasionally, what kind of brain damage to a classmate would occur if I lose my tenuous grip . . . while swinging them back and forth, over my head . . . out to the side . . . around to the back . . .
I have taken off my tennies, which is a mistake, as my socks slip all over the plastic surface of the huge exercise ball. If I had a nice pedicure, I’d lose the socks, too.
My muscles and tendons are being restrung . . . like the haywire strings of a battered guitar . . .
And on the tape player: Phantom of the Opera!
I wonder, occasionally, what kind of brain damage to a classmate would occur if I lose my tenuous grip . . . while swinging them back and forth, over my head . . . out to the side . . . around to the back . . .
I have taken off my tennies, which is a mistake, as my socks slip all over the plastic surface of the huge exercise ball. If I had a nice pedicure, I’d lose the socks, too.
My muscles and tendons are being restrung . . . like the haywire strings of a battered guitar . . .
And on the tape player: Phantom of the Opera!
Neither Rain…Nor Snow ~~ Day Five – Feb. 9, 2011
Weather hasn't stopped the faithful Tweedles from going to the gym for the last six days in a row. . . but it has tried.
My cousin sent me the picture and poem below, adding, “Is this you?”
I would die of uremic poisoning before braving an outhouse in weather like this... choosing, instead, to freeze my fanny to a chamber pot...in the house.
Kansas----February 2011
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It's winter in my Kansas home.
The gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour, and
The wind chill's two below.
Oh, how I love my Kansas home---
The snow's up to my butt;
I take a breath of winter air---
My nose gets frozen shut.
The weather here is wonderful!
(You think I'm quite a fool.)
Could I leave my Kansas home?
Nope. I'm frozen to the stool.
----Author unknown
My cousin sent me the picture and poem below, adding, “Is this you?”
I would die of uremic poisoning before braving an outhouse in weather like this... choosing, instead, to freeze my fanny to a chamber pot...in the house.
Kansas----February 2011
It's winter in my Kansas home.
The gentle breezes blow
Seventy miles an hour, and
The wind chill's two below.
Oh, how I love my Kansas home---
The snow's up to my butt;
I take a breath of winter air---
My nose gets frozen shut.
The weather here is wonderful!
(You think I'm quite a fool.)
Could I leave my Kansas home?
Nope. I'm frozen to the stool.
----Author unknown
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Dumbbells ~~ Day Four - Tuesday , Feb. 8, 2011
Mother opens one sleepy eye as I grab my coat: “Are you going to Therapy”?
Grinning at her, I forget that this is the first day for the ladies’ “strength and flexibility” training upstairs, that I promised I'd join.
Today, Husband Tweedle declines the invitation to join us, explaining, “I have two bellies; you ladies only have one.” He stays downstairs on the treadmill and bike, …and tries some free weights on his own, he tells me later, …before reconsidering...
Huge wall-to-wall mirrors span the far wall of the upstairs room. . . (like a nightmare image of my childhood ballet studio, …but who can that Tweedle be, and what have you done with my 12-yr-old body?) I choose the back corner behind as many other ladies as possible.
We are greeted warmly by the spritely trainer who first enrolled us in the gym, the one who looked us over and still dared to hope... Turning on the 60’s rock ‘n’ roll tape, she urges us to choose a giant inflated beach ball (which, on catching a glimpse of myself in the cruel mirrors, I somewhat resemble)...
...also a little blue mat...and hand weights from a variety of sizes laid out at the front of the room, in a string of boxes according to size ...from 1 lb . to 10 lbs. or more? ...don’t have the nerve to look that direction...
One lovely, trim athlete, 82, lugs 8-lb. dumbbells to her mat, in triumph. It looks like triumph, compared to my retreat to the wimpy boxes. I am sorely tempted to grab the 1 lb. weights, which resemble Tootsie Rolls, but to avoid total humiliation on this, my first day, grab the 3-lb.-ers, which I could lift, ...at least at the beginning of the session.
Throughout the series of bends, lifts, stretches, ...I find I still have a couple of usable body parts...but the rest, clearly on the blink, began to rebel. I keep my eyes off the most energetic elder athlete in the room, the 82-yr.-old, who makes me feel 802.
Later, the cheerful trainer reminds me to stretch again tonight because I might feel sore. Seriously?
Grinning at her, I forget that this is the first day for the ladies’ “strength and flexibility” training upstairs, that I promised I'd join.
Today, Husband Tweedle declines the invitation to join us, explaining, “I have two bellies; you ladies only have one.” He stays downstairs on the treadmill and bike, …and tries some free weights on his own, he tells me later, …before reconsidering...
Huge wall-to-wall mirrors span the far wall of the upstairs room. . . (like a nightmare image of my childhood ballet studio, …but who can that Tweedle be, and what have you done with my 12-yr-old body?) I choose the back corner behind as many other ladies as possible.
We are greeted warmly by the spritely trainer who first enrolled us in the gym, the one who looked us over and still dared to hope... Turning on the 60’s rock ‘n’ roll tape, she urges us to choose a giant inflated beach ball (which, on catching a glimpse of myself in the cruel mirrors, I somewhat resemble)...
...also a little blue mat...and hand weights from a variety of sizes laid out at the front of the room, in a string of boxes according to size ...from 1 lb . to 10 lbs. or more? ...don’t have the nerve to look that direction...
One lovely, trim athlete, 82, lugs 8-lb. dumbbells to her mat, in triumph. It looks like triumph, compared to my retreat to the wimpy boxes. I am sorely tempted to grab the 1 lb. weights, which resemble Tootsie Rolls, but to avoid total humiliation on this, my first day, grab the 3-lb.-ers, which I could lift, ...at least at the beginning of the session.
Throughout the series of bends, lifts, stretches, ...I find I still have a couple of usable body parts...but the rest, clearly on the blink, began to rebel. I keep my eyes off the most energetic elder athlete in the room, the 82-yr.-old, who makes me feel 802.
Later, the cheerful trainer reminds me to stretch again tonight because I might feel sore. Seriously?
We Break a Sweat ~~ Day Three – Monday, Feb. 7, 2011
Back in town, wake at 7, jump into sweats and tennies, then curl up on Mom’s couch to snooze until husband’s call,…ready whenever… won’t disappoint the big guy…but intent on preserving the hypnosis of just waking…the drugged effect…
A newspaper profile a week ago, following the death at 96 of Jack LaLanne, the exercise wild man on black and white TV during my childhood, quoted him saying, “I never enjoyed working out; in fact, I hated it, but I liked the results.” Good. No need to be yippy-skippy. (yawn)
Finally the cell phone rattles, the farm truck idles at the end of the sidewalk, and I stumble out into the cold, slipping dangerously on black ice, which little drama husband misses, gazing at the snow plow clearing the school parking lot a block away. So much for grogginess…
Looks like we share the gym with others today: a woman working the elliptical like it’s a tricycle, and two muscle men, heavily tattooed, pumping iron on a series of weight machines. All three smile, … pitying the Tweedles, as we struggle to keep up with the lowest speed on the treadmills. I try to show off by walking hands-free … and nearly fly off one side.
The gasping Tweedles manage to stretch out our “treading” at least until the others have cleared the premises, but the second the door closes, I turn off my treadmill, knowing husband will need to prove he lasted longer than I did, and I’ve noticed him clearly struggling.
We clock out after 30 minutes, that feels like 30 weeks.
A newspaper profile a week ago, following the death at 96 of Jack LaLanne, the exercise wild man on black and white TV during my childhood, quoted him saying, “I never enjoyed working out; in fact, I hated it, but I liked the results.” Good. No need to be yippy-skippy. (yawn)
Finally the cell phone rattles, the farm truck idles at the end of the sidewalk, and I stumble out into the cold, slipping dangerously on black ice, which little drama husband misses, gazing at the snow plow clearing the school parking lot a block away. So much for grogginess…
Looks like we share the gym with others today: a woman working the elliptical like it’s a tricycle, and two muscle men, heavily tattooed, pumping iron on a series of weight machines. All three smile, … pitying the Tweedles, as we struggle to keep up with the lowest speed on the treadmills. I try to show off by walking hands-free … and nearly fly off one side.
The gasping Tweedles manage to stretch out our “treading” at least until the others have cleared the premises, but the second the door closes, I turn off my treadmill, knowing husband will need to prove he lasted longer than I did, and I’ve noticed him clearly struggling.
We clock out after 30 minutes, that feels like 30 weeks.
Far from the Gym Is No Excuse - Day Two ~~ Sunday, Feb. 6, 2011
The geriatric Tweedles spend 24 hours on the farm, ten miles from the workout equipment they’ve come to love (?). Will they skip a day, fink out, start with the excuses? Son, daughter, daughter-in-law, all say, “Keep moving, or your muscles will turn to stone.”
Further motivators not really needed, but I remember a letter Mother read yesterday from her 93-yr-old former teacher friend in KC, who goes to the “Y” every day, swims, and lifts weights. She wants to be the oldest weight-lifter in the “Y,” but there's a guy a few months older than she is, "...so, I guess I'll have to do away with him." ;-)
The competition factor. Ah, yes, important to exercise before husband comes in from chores and asks “Aren’t you going to...”
Walk? Probably unwise, as the country road looks fearsome, the path all choked with snow and strafed with wind, far into oblivion. Push-ups? Sit-ups? Jumping jacks? (groan)
So I opt for the old exercise bike, which, first, I must locate under cobwebs and dust, remember(?), hidden behind the huge pouchy recliner.
After introductions, I attempt to reposition the Iron Maiden (--This should count toward homemade weight-lifting-) so I can see the Law and Order reruns: it’s early morning, too early to think straight. Almost anything on the tube (...except “Hoarders” or “Fox News”...) will easily distract me from my burning thighs.
Ice water handy. Pillow on the hard plastic seat. Pedals still turn: miracle! And I take off on my personal “road to nowhere.”
Further motivators not really needed, but I remember a letter Mother read yesterday from her 93-yr-old former teacher friend in KC, who goes to the “Y” every day, swims, and lifts weights. She wants to be the oldest weight-lifter in the “Y,” but there's a guy a few months older than she is, "...so, I guess I'll have to do away with him." ;-)
The competition factor. Ah, yes, important to exercise before husband comes in from chores and asks “Aren’t you going to...”
Walk? Probably unwise, as the country road looks fearsome, the path all choked with snow and strafed with wind, far into oblivion. Push-ups? Sit-ups? Jumping jacks? (groan)
So I opt for the old exercise bike, which, first, I must locate under cobwebs and dust, remember(?), hidden behind the huge pouchy recliner.
After introductions, I attempt to reposition the Iron Maiden (--This should count toward homemade weight-lifting-) so I can see the Law and Order reruns: it’s early morning, too early to think straight. Almost anything on the tube (...except “Hoarders” or “Fox News”...) will easily distract me from my burning thighs.
Ice water handy. Pillow on the hard plastic seat. Pedals still turn: miracle! And I take off on my personal “road to nowhere.”
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Piddly Start – Day One ~~ Sat., Feb. 6, 2011
Husband brings wife’s tennies to town (where I care for my mother during the week), but has to drag me awake ---after two (okay, three) lovely Jameson-rocks at the club last night.
While I can’t quite bring myself to fink out on Day One, I feel obligated (happily so) to pull my lazy body out of bed when the restless farmer waits at the curb, after coffee with the “boys,” already worrying about ice on the tank and thirsty livestock--- After all, I promised we’d do this together.
Funny, this may be the first goal-oriented, teamwork project we've done together in our whole marriage (except the children, family gatherings, movies with friends, weddings, funerals, painting rooms, and an occasional all-night jigwaw puzzle mania). Not that we haven’t supported and cheered each other on in our many separate endeavors, and brought home tales to share, …but this is a late-in-the-day bonding event for us in the 39th year of our marriage. Suddenly, we both have this very same important work to do.
So we stand before the door of the local fitness center.
No, I won't take pictures.
We’ll both weigh in...trauma enough.
After punching in the door code, we log in at 9:25 am and have the place to ourselves. After turning lights on and shedding coats, husband invites wife into the empty men's locker room to see the motivational posters on the wall...bodacious babes, scantily dressed, quite sweaty - but making sweat look sleek and silky---luckily not a scratch 'n' sniff poster....
No posters in the ladies' locker room...but in the lobby, there's a poster of the hind ends of twelve livestock animals, no, eleven, and the last picture shows a slim-bottomed runner - human and fit – gigantic title of the poster: BUTTS ARE GROSS!
Guess that's the unisex motivational poster.
Husband does half a mile on the treadmill. Wife spurts from treadmill to elliptical, to the chair-ab thing. A tiny start. But a start.
…and out the door again at 9:45 am. Impressive.
While I can’t quite bring myself to fink out on Day One, I feel obligated (happily so) to pull my lazy body out of bed when the restless farmer waits at the curb, after coffee with the “boys,” already worrying about ice on the tank and thirsty livestock--- After all, I promised we’d do this together.
Funny, this may be the first goal-oriented, teamwork project we've done together in our whole marriage (except the children, family gatherings, movies with friends, weddings, funerals, painting rooms, and an occasional all-night jigwaw puzzle mania). Not that we haven’t supported and cheered each other on in our many separate endeavors, and brought home tales to share, …but this is a late-in-the-day bonding event for us in the 39th year of our marriage. Suddenly, we both have this very same important work to do.
So we stand before the door of the local fitness center.
No, I won't take pictures.
We’ll both weigh in...trauma enough.
After punching in the door code, we log in at 9:25 am and have the place to ourselves. After turning lights on and shedding coats, husband invites wife into the empty men's locker room to see the motivational posters on the wall...bodacious babes, scantily dressed, quite sweaty - but making sweat look sleek and silky---luckily not a scratch 'n' sniff poster....
No posters in the ladies' locker room...but in the lobby, there's a poster of the hind ends of twelve livestock animals, no, eleven, and the last picture shows a slim-bottomed runner - human and fit – gigantic title of the poster: BUTTS ARE GROSS!
Guess that's the unisex motivational poster.
Husband does half a mile on the treadmill. Wife spurts from treadmill to elliptical, to the chair-ab thing. A tiny start. But a start.
…and out the door again at 9:45 am. Impressive.
Labs Don't Lie ~~~ Friday, Feb 4, 2011 4:30 pm
Tweedle Dee, 62, and my husband, Tweedle Dum, 63, have just signed up as a couple, at the local fitness center, as "seniors" at an embarrassingly reduced fee, by a bouncy, trim young woman with a winning smile...and a valiant effort, gazing at the two of us, at hope.
She knows we have just received our latest lab results from our family physician, and bring our overweight, cholesterol-laden, sugar-soaked, blood-pressure-y, pill-ridden, muscle-less selves to face the music, at last. We need exercise...among other things.
We do own a recumbant exercise bicycle, which, over the years, has become more like a menacing iron sculpture, brooding just behind the easy chair in the TV room at home, while we, ourselves, have begun to resemble the bulky, lumpy easy chair in shape and range of motion. The Tweedles.
It's cold when we tour the gym facilities. And empty. We don't even take off our coats. We leave together, holding hands, somewhat cowed by what we're starting here. We vow to be back tomorrow morning, after tonight's final square meal and a measure (or three) of liquid sustenance at the local country club.
She knows we have just received our latest lab results from our family physician, and bring our overweight, cholesterol-laden, sugar-soaked, blood-pressure-y, pill-ridden, muscle-less selves to face the music, at last. We need exercise...among other things.
We do own a recumbant exercise bicycle, which, over the years, has become more like a menacing iron sculpture, brooding just behind the easy chair in the TV room at home, while we, ourselves, have begun to resemble the bulky, lumpy easy chair in shape and range of motion. The Tweedles.
It's cold when we tour the gym facilities. And empty. We don't even take off our coats. We leave together, holding hands, somewhat cowed by what we're starting here. We vow to be back tomorrow morning, after tonight's final square meal and a measure (or three) of liquid sustenance at the local country club.
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