I went to the gym today, starting two classes for mature persons. One of the classes is on pelvic flexibility, and the other focuses on balance and stability. I showed up in a pair of exercise pants I have had for a long time and a regular top. I felt like a bum, compared to the other ladies, some older than me.
I thought that going to the gym was the ultimate event for dressing down, including old sweats, but I was wrong! The women have on such beautiful outfits, with matching tops and bottoms, and even sneakers that coordinate with the outfits. They have their own colorful mats and gym bags that I would be proud to take to the symphony!
I thought afterwards of going to Target and upgrading my look, but I had so many parts of me hurting that I did not know that I had that I just came home and found the nearest chair. As I sat, I decided not to lumber the ottoman in my bedroom with a lot of figure-hugging gym pants and tops that might end up not being put to continued use, particularly as I had some troubles today.
My metamorphosis from slumping in my seat to standing straight and not falling over will take some time, especially considering that as the instructor demonstrated different body parts to move, I just stood there wondering if I were missing some things, like hip and butt bones. I looked in the mirror and wondered who that person was dressed like me who seemed completely ignorant of her own body.
When everyone else sat “Indian” style, I could not even get my legs near my body, much less try to grab hold of my ankle and stretch my whatchamacallits. Doing squats seemed like something invented to learn secrets from the most resistant of people. Then the instructor brought out straps to wrap around our feet to stretch other muscles, and I struggled to copy the little lady next to me. This is the only time I have “cheated” in class.
We have homework, but I think I will wait and see if on Wednesday I can get a one-on-one session, to help me better understand the moves that I am supposed to be doing between classes. It seems a little immature to just quit after one day, but I am concerned about throwing my back out from performing the exercises incorrectly.
So, I will keep my old pants, which are too big and long, so no one can see that I am not actually moving anything, rather than buy some cute little numbers that give away my ignorance. I know that the thigh bone is connected to the hip bone, and that the hip bone is connected to the backbone, I think.
I will admit that as I watched the very limber instructor, I had new respect for Psalm 139:14, “I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” Now if I can just make my body parts work together like the instructor did, I will be on my way to greater flexibility and balance, which, believe me, I need more than color-coordinated exercise clothes.