I went to the class this morning. I could not have been any more warmly received by any bunch of people in my life. Let me tell you, they were amazing. They did some difficult exercises using those big stability balls and medicine balls, weights, mats and chairs. I could not keep up with them on some of those exercises. I joked with some about how I was Lucy and Ethel combined today. I laughed at myself a lot.
It was a good way to start the morning. Then I decided I would officially sign up with the lady up front. The female trainer took me to the office to fill out the paperwork. All was going well, I thought. The lady up front is really in an office behind a desk. Every business has to have one. They are generally the rule keepers in life. Actually, I could probably be “the lady behind the desk up front”. I am very black and white when it comes to keeping the rules. These women are the reason why programs run smoothly. They have a place for everything and yes, everything is in its place. They can be firm, but loving. Some can be firm without the love. I encountered someone in the middle.
Put on the brakes. Hear the tires squeal. Ert!
In order to register for the class, I was informed, I must be at least 55 years old or a cardiac patient. There was no love, only professionalism and the back-up clause of, “we have a consultant who says we must enforce this rule. I have turned two others away this week because they were too young!” Well, somebody started a nasty rumor that we young whippersnappers are welcome. I guess not…that’s what I wanted to say. I didn’t. I had tears in my eyes from embarrassment.
I could qualify if I were a 45-year-old male with a heart condition. That’s not ever going to happen. So, I have to wait ten years or have a heart attack in the meantime. You’re kidding, right? I mean, did you see me out there? I couldn’t keep up with these people. I almost had a heart attack trying to lay flat and come to an upright position with a medicine ball in my hands. (I’m going to be really sore…hello, Aleve!) I NEED to be here! If I promise to leave when I catch up with them, is that okay? I’ll bring my own mat, medicine ball, dumbbells, and exercise mat. I’ll throw in my own chair and towel, too. Please, let me stay. I might even just hang out outside the building and station myself at a window and follow along with no verbal instructions. How sad. Can you picture it?
Another option is to get my doctor to write a prescription for me to take the class. I can choose my family doctor or my ob/gyn. Whoopee! Either one knows me well enough to know all my issues and either way I think I could qualify. Some of the gyn issues keep me from being able to do a sit up. I kid you not. Is that TMI? Sorry. The calf muscle connected to the foot fascia is another issue. Then mentally, I need this! Finally, if I don’t do something, I really may end up in the class way before my time.
The moral dilemna is this though; the class is pretty large and what if someone who has had a heart attack needs it? I could bow out until they get back in the groove. I really need the knowledge the instructor possesses to teach me how to do some stretches and stability exercises. Could I just do it for the next month? Pretty please? I won’t tell anybody (except those who are reading the blog and my 52 BFF’s).
The trainer who walked me back felt for me. I caught some compassion in her. She let me leave with the folder of pre-screening questionnaires as well as the advice to get the doctor’s prescription and make an appointment (with the lady up front) to meet with her (the trainer) and the man who led the class this morning. She was optimistic.
Now, I have an appointment with my doctor, although the nurse can’t figure out for the life of her why I want to participate in an exercise class for senior citizens.
Now I’m just wondering if it’s really worth jumping through all these hoops. All that jumping may damage the fascia further, right?
So, as I look back at the high-heeled contortion of a tennis shoe…I may have to buy that after all.