The New Me Part I

I have never been described as "buff." But having been given a free membership at New York Sports Club(NYSC,) I decided to forego by life of indolence and sloth and pump iron. I scanned the schedule and decided to to ease into my new exercise regimen with a "silversneakers" total body conditioning class. "Silversneakers" is the euphemistically named exercise program for those on medicare. It's not for the fleet of foot. Rather, it's for the infirm and not firm. Perfect. I looked around the room and determined that I was the youngest by a a decade and a half. Despite it being my first exercise class since basketball gym in college, I was clearly the star. I excelled at the side to side stepping for 2 minutes to a rousing, "Those Were The Days, My Friend," but where I really shone was in wiggling my fingers, which the teacher explained was "good for arthritis." As I don't have arthritis, I was the best wiggler and very proud of myself. I found myself comparing this class to my prior gym class experiences. This class was eerily reminiscent of my college class called "recreational games." Three semesters of gym were required at my school. The first semester I took tennis. I couldn't serve and rarely returned the ball, but I was never absent and received a gentlewoman's "C." The second semester I signed up for basketball. This was not voluntary. My name began with "A," and the "A's" were last to register. Basketball was the most unpopular gym for any Jewish girl in Brooklyn, because the tallest among us was 5'3". I needed gym, and basketball gym was the only open class. Less than 5', I was an unlikely guard, and having poor eye hand coordination, I couldn't dribble at all. I was apparently better than the some of the other girls, because I eked out a "B." It was a "B" similar to the one I received in calculus. In calculus, I understood zilch, thought I was in the wrong room when I looked at the final exam, but was apparently somewhat less dense than some of my classmates. "Recreational Games," my third semester of gym was the one with any potential utility. Even at age 17, I intuited that it wasn't useful then, but it could come in handy later. We played, "sit volleyball," a unique game in which the teams sat on opposite sides of the net and were not permitted to stand up to hit the ball. This rule made for not much action, since unless the ball came directly to you, you couldn't hit it. At the time, we were all able bodied, more or less, but even then, I understood, that 60 years hence we might be confined to wheelchairs and this might be a delightful game in the nursing home. We also indulged in shuffleboard, which I knew could come in handy on my future cruises on the the QEII. Teaching us horseshoes was also prescient because at least some of us were sure to end up on a cattleranch. Although I enjoyed being the nymphette of the silversneakers class, I moved up and on to "Shred." I should have known from the name and my classmates that this would not be an class for a wuss. My classmates had bare midriffs and flat stomachs. I'm sure they also had great quads, biceps, triceps and lats, except I have no idea what those are, although I'm sure I don't have them. Suffice it to say, I had a vigorous workout during which I spent almost every moment praying there was a CPR machine on the premises and the remaining moments fervently vowing that in the unlikely event I survived, I would give thanks by adopting a village in Nigeria. Tomorrow, after the Yoruba chieftain concludes my crash course in Igbo, I intend to return to NYSC to challenge myself with "ufx burn." I have no idea what it entails, but I know it can't be worse than Vinyasa yoga. I left that class after 5 minutes of excruciating pain, wanting to deport the downward dog to a "kill" shelter.