Nick and I were back in Franklin and needed a new place to work out. The corporate chain gym in the strip mall nearby was subpar, even though the membership was only $10/month and we’re both cheap. So I asked our friend, Christine where she worked out and she highly recommended the local Rec Center. She liked the late afternoon classes like Cardio Sculpt and Iron Bodies. I could just imagine those classes, filled with young, fit professionals who’d been cooped up at desk jobs all day chomping at the bit to get a killer workout. Sounded exhausting. Plus, I like to get my workout done early in the day, because if I don’t work out by noon, I can usually talk myself out of it altogether. In California, I have dance class to hold me accountable. In Tennessee, I was on my own.
On Monday morning, I googled the rec center to find out the price of membership and what they offered. Christine was right, it was affordable and offered lots of fitness classes throughout the day. Classes would be a great way to get back into the swing of working out. Nick and I had not stepped foot in the gym in Burbank since the mask mandates had been reinstated in the fall. I could feel my muscles atrophying by the minute. It’s a scary feeling.
Power Plays, a class offered that very day at 12:00, sounded promising. The description read, “This class provides a fun and friendly atmosphere for active boomers to increase their overall strength and endurance. Components of this class include elements of cardio, balance training, and core strengthening.”
“Active Boomers?” I asked Nick, showing him the description on my computer screen. “Is that us?” When I thought of the word Boomer, I imagined people born in the fifties and sixties. I pictured a class filled with middle-aged people on their lunch breaks. I told Nick it sounded like a good class to jump-start our workout program, that it would probably feel too easy but that we’d no doubt be sore the day after.
We bundled up in our down coats to face the eighteen-degree temperature and drove ten minutes to the low brick building flanked by a playground on one side and a retirement community on the other. We tromped up the walk and through the front doors with our heads down. The nice lady at the desk greeted us, “Good Mornin’ Y’all! Git in here, it’s cold out there. What can I do for y’all this mornin’?”
“We’re interested in joining up,” Nick said in a manner I considered not-friendly-enough. I tell him that he needs to act more like a Tennessean – open, cheerful and forthcoming. “And you can’t speed like a Californian here. Slow down,” I say.
“Hi, Jill,” I said after reading her nametag. “We just bought a house here in Franklin and we’ve heard great things about your center. Can you tell us about our membership options?”
Nick was gleeful when we walked away from the counter towards the gym and fitness rooms.
“Forty-five dollars a month for both of us? That’s great.”
“But the Senior Couple rate? Seriously?” I asked.
“We’re Seniors. The Single Adult rate is $35 person!” Nick said. “I don’t mind being a Senior Couple if it saves us twenty-five dollars a month.”
“That is depressing,” I said. We passed the door to the “Wellness” room on the right and then saw the sign for “Group Fitness” on our left. I could see black rubber matting and mirrors through the open door.
“This is where you’ll be teaching before long,” Nick said.
“No it isn’t,” I said. “I’m retired.” I slowed down before reaching the door and peeked in. Students collected their workout equipment and carried them back to their chosen spots in class.
“Uh uh. No, no, no, I’m not going in there…” I said, backing up and flattening myself against the block wall beside the door.
“Why?” Nick asked.
“Look at those people. They’re seniors, like actual seniors,” I said.
“Those people are probably our age,” he said.
“No they’re not! They’re like the people in Grandmom’s exercise class in Kentucky, like the students in my Older Adult classes at Cardiac Rehab.”
“So what? We’ll be the youngest ones in there. They’ll love us.”
“Of course they will, and there will be a welcoming committee and they’ll be chit-chatting with us and before class is over, they’ll be inviting us to lunch!”
I felt a moment of panic. What was happening? I am young. And blonde (albeit with no small amount of help) and fit and hip and energetic. Vital. I am not a senior. Was I in denial? Did I have an unrealistic perspective on myself? Was it already Silver Sneakers time for Nick and me?
I knew this population intimately. I had taught exercise classes in gyms from New York City to North Carolina to California for thirty years. My last full-time job was “Exercise Specialist” in a Cardiac Rehabilitation program at a hospital in Burbank. I taught patients who’d had heart events and a class called Older Adults, consisting of a group of grey-haired people over the age of sixty-five. I loved the older folks. And they loved me back because they said I didn’t treat them like old people. I choreographed dance steps for their warmup and chuckled at their attempts. And my matter-of-fact nature was appreciated there. If they told me they couldn’t do something, I said, “Yeah, you can. Let’s give it a try.” I wouldn’t let them slack off. By the time I left that job, I felt like I had six sets of Grandparents. For many years, they would call me to inform me of bad weather.
“Come on, it will be fun,” Nick said as he stepped through the doorway. “You can write a blog about it. I’ll save you a spot.”
“Ughghgh…” I whined. I stayed there with my back pressed against the block wall, watching the members of Power Plays class stories about their weekends as they gathered tiny kettle balls, exercise bands and Pilates rings. Each person made a little nest of toys beside their mats, water bottles on the standby. The whole scenario reminded me of the class that I wrangled my Grandmom into taking many years ago at the Health Park in our hometown. Heart Moves. Grandmom, who was almost eighty then, was a regular exerciser, walking two miles in the mall every day. But she had recently lost her walking buddy, her best friend and sister, to dementia. I was sure this class would be great for her, not only fitness-wise but also socially. I knew first-hand the strong community that developed in these programs. But nothing I said convinced her to try it.
I knew that my friend, Ted had somehow talked his mom into attending the class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And I knew that he must have dragged or bribed her. I called to get some advice.
“How did you get your mom to go to Heart Moves?” I asked.
“Well, she agreed to try it once, so after the first class I called to see how it went,” Ted said. “She said (and here he does an impression of her thick, elegant Alabama drawl), ‘Why it was wonderful!’ I was shocked and said, ‘Really?’”
“Your mom hates the gym.”
“Well, she said they exercised for a few minutes and then ate brownies.”
I laughed. Ted’s mom explained that her first class happened to be on the first Monday of the month, the very day that monthly birthdays were celebrated. Dessert once a month? Sign her up. So I’m sure she mentioned the class birthday party when she called Grandmom for me. (Okay, it might have been a slightly controlling move, but I knew it was for her own good.)
“Dorothy,” Mrs. Bowne said to Grandmom, “I want you to come to my Heart Moves class at Health Park with me.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Ann. I’ll come with you one of these days,” said Grandmom.
“No, I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at 9:00 sharp. Leslie will get mad at me if I don’t.”
The mention of brownies must have worked, because Grandmom ended up being a devotee of Heart Moves, attending religiously. Every time I visited, I bought a week membership at the Health Park and we’d go together. I’d do my hardcore workout in the gym while she took her class. I’d peek in now and then to see if I approved. Once, I went in to say hi to everybody as they were gathering their equipment. The class began with students seated and I stood beside Grandmom’s chair as she picked up pink two-pound hand weights.
“Two pounds?” I said. “I think you can do better a little bit better than that, Grandmom.”
Mrs. Bowne, sitting in the chair beside her, swatted at me and said, “Leave your Grandmother alone. She’s doin’ fahn.”
At least the Power Plays people weren’t sitting in chairs. Nick had claimed a spot in the back of the room by the time I tiptoed in. The minute I stopped at my mat, the ring leader of the class came charging over.
“Hey Y’all! You’re new to class right? I’m Carol, nice to meet you.”
“Hi, Carol,” I said. “I knew there’d be a welcome committee. And you’re the president!”
“Yeah I guess I am. Y’all are gonna do great. That’s Joann up there and you’ll love the teacher, Jean. She’s a hoot. You just get you some weights and a band and one of those rings over there. Welcome!”
It wasn’t so bad. The nice man in the front row came back to tell Nick he was glad to have another man in the room for once. The music began, Eighties remakes of dance hits, and we launched into thirty minutes of good old-fashioned aerobics. Jean whooped, older ladies bounced and smiled, making jokes. The man in front focused on the grapevine steps like his life depended on it. I tried to just have fun and avoid the temptation to pick the class apart, to analyze everyone’s posture and technique. Our neighbors helped us through each step of the strengthening that followed, letting us know which tool to use for each section and encouraging us not to worry, it would get easier after a few classes.
Were we coming back?
“Well…I got a little workout,” I told Nick on the way out. “But I don’t think I’ll come back at noon three days a week for it.”
“If we come at noon and don’t take the class, we can’t let them see us . It will hurt their feelings,” Nick said. We’d have to hide.
I walked out of the building feeling wistful. Power Plays was a friendly, healthy, supportive group of people, very much like my Older Adult class and Grandmom’s Heart Moves. I could always imagine myself teaching a class like that, but I never imagined taking one. But I bet I could get used to it. I guarantee you that, in twenty years when I’m an actual senior, I’ll be the welcoming committee. Wonder if I could add birthday celebrations the first Monday of the month?
