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.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Add your own sadly comic work-out stories here, or just cheer us on: