Young at Heart, Old in Body - The Thin Edge of Dignity

 

It’s a fitness center for geriatrics of all decades.

The cut off is 50 years of age. But only a few members are that young. Most are “Boomers,” old enough to have grown their hair shoulder length and delved into LSD. Others, like me, just missed the free living and stoned sixties. We wear tie-die, but we’re in our 80s. In our community, even nonagenarians pump iron.

Where can you find this assemblage of energetic old bodies? In Fitness over Fifty, or as it’s proudly shouted by members: “FOF!” (It’s a warm-up chant.). FOF is where the old disrupt aging.

Like 90 year olds, Leo and Beulah. Every Monday/Wednesday/Friday morning the ever young nonagenarian husband and wife stride across the gym floor, using ski poles instead of walkers, as they head for the treadmill, where Beulah spots Leo as he walks backwards in the rhythm of the tread. Then each of them walks forward on the treadmill, balance on the moving pad, and lift dumb bells.

Another nonagenarian, Martin, also a Monday/Wednesday/Friday morning gym rat warms up doing sit-ups holding a ten pound dumb-bell behind his head. To celebrate his ninth decade, Martin walked from his home to the fitness center enough times to walk ninety miles in one week.

Twenty years younger than the nonagenarians, Brad, the gregarious and garrulous NY Yankee fan, squeezes his biceps with a fifty pound bar bell. Another 70 something, the ex-hippie, Harvey, stretches arm, deltoids, and shoulders on a pull up.

These guys and gals are just a few of the old who don’t think they are.

As I work out with my fellow athletes I nostalgically think back to the younger days of my 60s when I stood squarely and heaved the same barbell as Brad. Now, at 83, I’m in a wheelchair, with one listless arm, but with my usable arm, I sit and strain its bicep by lifting a twelve pound dumb-bell. With my disabled legs I press two hundred fifteen pounds, ride a stationary bike.

Why do I do this? Why do I go to FOF every day to stress my body? To regain my youth? No. I go instead of staring out the window of my assisted living facility, or lying in bed. I go to bring the mentality of youth to aging.

I’ve always worked out: I’ve been a marathon runner and triathlete. I lifted weights. I rode a biked instead of driving a car. So why stop now, when I’m an old man, and disabled.

Yes, my body is stressed and strained; it hurts. But as a geriatric guru Bette Davis said: old age isn’t for sissies.