Aspiring Rockettes with 40-Pound Weights

by Rockie Lyons

Photo by NEXA BLACK on Unsplash

Last June, I signed up for an early morning gym class because a friend told me Medicare would pay the gym fees. I had never been to a gym before, so my expectations were low. Most of my life I sat at a computer and mainly exercised my fingers. I tried to take daily walks but never imagined a rigorous exercise program as part of my lifestyle.

My vision of exercise was that a lot of sweat and tears would be part of the regiment. I went online and enrolled for a Monday morning class. I arrived at 6:50 a.m., just in time for the 7:00-7:30 circuit class, followed by 7:30-8:00 stretch (yoga) class. There were about ten people lined up in a u-shaped room with ten weight-bearing circuit machines situated next to the wall, bright yellow and shiny. Aligned in front of the machines were 12 floor exercise bars you could use for floor balance training.

The trainer stood in the middle with a stopwatch and demonstrated floor exercises while explaining which muscles were going to be stretched.

“Rockie, lower your bottom into a plank so your bottom is at an angle with your legs,” the trainer said to me.

I strained to hear the trainer’s commands while trying to imagine what my body must look like in that pose.

After attending for a couple of months, I gradually learned the names of about a dozen folks, mostly women, who arrived shortly before 7:00 a.m. A lot of us were retired so we had more flexibility with our time, but not always flexible with our bodies in responding to the trainer directives.

One day I was standing next to my gym partner who turned her head towards me.

“I just moved my mother-in-law into assisted living.”

A few in the class nodded, their heads indicating they knew how challenging it was to attend to our aging parents and in-laws.

One person asked, “Where is your mother-in-law going?”

“Break,” the trainer shouted as we moved on to the next circuit training machine. The large green/red light centered high on a wall started flashing when we transitioned to new stations.

“Oh, how old is she?” I asked.

“Go!” the trainer shouted to begin the next 60-second exercise.

You could hear moans and groans when our bodies contorted and stretched muscles.

“She will be 103 years old next week when we move her into assisted living,” my partner picked up the conversation as if there was no 60-second interruption.

“Break,” the trainer yelled, and we moved on to the next exercise.

After hearing my partner share her mother-in-law story, I moved to the next weight-bearing machine. I had flashbacks of putting my 97-year-old father into hospice. Later, I realized he had no idea what hospice meant because he kept calling the ambulance whenever he had a urinary infection. I lived 1,800 miles away from him in Portland, Oregon, and struggled in supporting his medical challenges. I was not alone in managing aging parents and in-law concerns.

During my first month I listened and watched as my new gym partners shared their life stories in five and ten second intervals between the gym exercises. I was intrigued how rich the community dynamics were among my gym mates. We were meeting daily intending to exercise, yet the friendships grew deeper as micro bits of life started to spill out during our gym regimen. There were jokes about our inability to do the exercises. Lots of levity emerged while we all struggled to master exercises that highlighted muscles I never knew existed. We joked about aspiring to be New York Rockette dancers.

Photo by NIR HIMI on Unsplash

“Wow, your mother-in-law is impressive,” I told my gym partner.

“Go,” the trainer shouted, and we all moved into position.

I looked across from my station at a woman whose knee bore a six-inch scar right over her left kneecap. During one of the knee-driven exercises, I heard her tell the trainer about her knee replacement. And yet here she was in gym class, bending and stretching that knee.

A gym mate announced a brunch birthday party for August birthdays. Wow, I was so impressed with how much community this group was expressing through invitations to meet outside of class. In December five of us together attended the Nutcracker Ballet. During a Friday morning gym class, we were invited to an iconic restaurant the next Saturday night where a gym mate’s husband was playing with his band. I loved all these engagements outside of class.

“Go!” the trainer yelled when the flashing light centered high on the wall turned from red to green.

I moved to a weight-bearing machine where the 40-pound weight was much more than I could lift. I looked to see who had set the weights level prior to my arrival on the machine and commented.

“Boy, Sandy, you are so strong. I’m impressed.”

She laughed and kind of shrugged and said, “I’ve been doing this for a while.”

It made me realize how much progress we were all making. When I started, I could barely lift five pounds, yet slowly my weight-bearing competence grew. It was incremental but noticeable.

I have been attending this gym class for six months and learned a lot about my gym partners who have now joined me in this stage of life where the stress of finding a career or raising a family has shifted. Many of us have transitioned to a lifestyle that fights off the aches and pains of aging.

A month or so ago, we learned that a new company was buying the training exercise program, with a hint that our trainer and daily instruction could change or be eliminated. We were overwhelmingly disappointed at the possibility. For weeks, we discussed how we could submit feedback to management about the value of the existing program.

In the end, new management stayed the program, and we returned to class with a grateful heart that our community would continue to strive for connection and wellness.

“Go,” the trainer shouted, the light turning from red to green.

Throughout her various careers, Rockie Lyons worked in high tech and taught writing at various institutions of higher learning. You may learn more about her upcoming book, Behind the Counter, at rockielyons.com.