A reluctant athlete

I joined a new gym this week, and worked out there for the first time today. It passed my test: fairly clean, uncrowded and five minutes from home. There’s no juice bar, personal trainers or pulsating music and that’s fine with me. Most important, TV hookups on each machine enable me to plug in my earphones for a session of cardio and cable news.

I’m not what you’d call a gym rat and certainly am no athlete. In school I was the kid with glasses who was the last to be picked for the team. But I concluded years ago that exercise is my last defense against age and gravity, and enables me to enjoy great food without feeling guilty.

So hitting the gym and the bicycle trail several times a week is part of my lifestyle. I enjoy bicycling, but working out at the gym is something I feel obligated to do because it’s good for me, like flossing. Some people claim vigorous exercise makes them feel euphoric. I have never experienced this and feel good when I stop exercising.

I credit the Navy with getting me into the fitness habit. Every year I was required to pass a physical fitness test that included pushups, sit-ups and running. That forced me to visit the gym regularly to stay in shape.

After I retired from the reserves I was not about to do pushups, sit-ups and running voluntarily. So I signed up for aerobics classes at the local YMCA. That worked for me because classes do not require motivation or discipline beyond showing up.

Most of the aerobics instructors were terminally perky young women who would shout inane encouragements like: “How do you feel?” I would shout back: “Old!” Another favorite was: “Listen to your body!” My body kept telling me to stop jumping around and have a beer. I developed a tolerance for bad music, learned to wear earplugs when they cranked up the volume and would pop a Mozart tape into the player when I got back to my car.

The gym is a great place to people-watch, especially if you frequent low-budget clubs as I do. In Chicago I went to a chain health club on the edge of the city that attracted a multicultural crowd. English was the third most popular language and there were a lot of tough-looking characters with exotic tattoos. The men, too.

The fitness chain always had a big Christmas sale to attract new members and I learned to avoid the place right after New Year’s. The parking lot was full, the locker room was nastier than usual and the first few aerobics classes were a sweaty demolition derby of random flailing limbs. Happily, the New Year’s resolution crowd thinned out after a couple of weeks.

That health club was close to Sam’s Club, and it was convenient to stop there on my way home. Grocery shopping after a workout is a bad idea, especially at Sam’s Club. 20 pounds of ribs! A cubic yard of Cheetos!

I no longer attend classes because the step aerobics I used to do has fallen out of fashion, but the habit of regular exercise has become ingrained. My retired-military status enables me to use the fitness center at an Air Force base in Albuquerque. It’s a 20-minute drive, but I can shop at the exchange, pick up prescriptions, etc. while I’m there. The facility is well equipped, scrupulously clean, free of charge and includes such perks as a senior officers’ locker room. I wear a Navy t-shirt to maintain my identity.

The Air Force fitness center remains my workout of choice, but the neighborhood gym will keep me active on those days when it’s too cold to bicycle and I don’t feel like driving across town. I can’t say I’m looking forward to going there, but it will feel good to get my workout over with close to home.