"Skiing," one seventy year old-ish man said to me as he looked at my crutch and brace. It wasn't a question ("Skiing?"). He stated it as a fact, as if he were Sherlock Holmes who deduced by my age and clothing that I was an affluent middle age woman, and the best way for affluent middle age women to get injured is by skiing. He then told me how physical therapy helped arthritis in his shoulder.
Today, there was only one early class, All Level Cycling, which I am assuming is a spinning class where the goal is to spin as fast as you can with minimum resistance and lots of momentum. My guess is they get up to 120 rotations per minute. My target is rpm is 80. Eighty isn't that slow--according to the bike computer, that is about 12 miles per hour.
When I am at the YMCA, I often see people on the stationary cycles on what Jack would call a "bike walk." This is when you cycle fast enough to move around, but slow enough to comment on the landscaping of various houses you are passing as you bike. There are people at the Y who are reading very thick and heavy books going about 20 rpm, barely moving their legs. I am guessing these folks aren't disabled, but rather are engrossed in their books and forgetting they are supposed to be exercising. As Pope Francis says, "Who am I to judge?"
Today was a different story. I was pedaling along when a group of eight women my age or younger all wearing black tank tops with bright colored bra straps peaking out come into the cardio room where I am doing my physical therapy. No problem, until I figure out these woman all likely came from the spinning class and are now doing their post-work out run on the treadmills. Some women are mildly jogging, but some are pounding it.
After three weeks of being surrounded by the book reading and geriatric crowd, I realized I am in the slow lane. Not only am I not in the spinning class, I am not doing a second round of exercise. Back in the day, I would go to the crazy hard core aerobics class at the YMCA in St. Louis after a morning bike ride. The gym was huge and almost a hundred women were in the class. This aerobics instructor has a cult following: this guy will make you skinny and you will have fun in the process. I lost 20 pounds after Clare Adele was born through this class. It was a miracle.
Now I feel like I am being left behind, even though I am making progress compared to where I was a month ago. While it stings, I can handle getting left behind at the YMCA. What is really hard is getting left behind by my family. They are going skiing this weekend, and I will be home alone. It isn't just the skiing, it is the adrenaline junkie husband of mine who keeps our vacations packed with white water rafting, zip lining, mountain biking or crazy hikes, like the Grouse Grind or Mt. Eleanor. How will I fit in? Will they adjust, or will I get left behind? Adrenaline junkies need their junk. I am afraid it will be me being left behind, and they go on grand adventures. It is not that they are willfully mean or cruel. I was part of the duo that raised my kids to like being outside and active. Now, it is like the old Sesame Street song, "One of these things is not like the others. One of these things just doesn't belong."
My previously flaccid thighs are firming up, though they are not as firm as they would have been if I had been skiing, walking the dog every day, going to yoga, biking on a moving bike, etc. It is nice to see them returning, albeit slowly, to their former shape and glory, even though they have a ways to go.
What I am doing in the meantime between straight leg raises, being hooked to a TENS machine and stretching? The opposite of adrenaline junkie stuff: reading, quilting and writing.
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