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| "AMERICA'S FUNNIEST HUMOR"TM
SHOWCASE
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February
/ March 2006 Contest Results |
Exercise For
Seniors
By
Richard H., Florida
I just enrolled
in an athletic club determined to try it for a couple of months to see
if I have the discipline and time to stick to it. I also bought a copy
of the SOUTH BEACH DIET and intend to carry it when I use the treadmill
at the club, understanding that a little extra weight helps burn
calories.
Positive results are already becoming apparent. Without counting carbs
and practically no effort, my wallet has lost weight.
It's been hard to avoid the signals that something has to be done. When
I go through checkout at the supermarket, the baggers ask if I want them
to push my cart to the car.
The unkindest cut of all came when I went to pick up a 40-pound bag of
fertilizer at a local garden store, and the middle-aged sales lady asked
if I was sure I could make it to the car. "Are you suggesting it's time
to try a little GRECIAN FORMULA to get rid of the gray?" said I. Slowly
looking me up and down she responded: "It wouldn't help."
To a “seventy something” first time visitor to an athletic club the
initial impression can be a little intimidating despite management’s
obvious effort to make the place as attractive and user friendly as
possible. At first glance the only piece of equipment I’m sure I’ll know
how to use is the overstuffed couch in the snack bar. Beyond that are
row upon row of solidly built apparatus, some of which look vaguely like
the rack used by the Inquisition to convert heretics to believers.
There are hundreds of ways to rupture one's self scientifically while
watching TV or waiting for your digital heart rate monitor to "flat
line." The combined weight of all the exercise machines, barbells and
dumbbells has to exceed the total poundage of the asteroid which hit the
earth a few million years ago and wiped out all the dinosaurs.
I did sit down on one of the machines despite a suggestion by the pretty
trainer who sold me on improving my physique that I first purchase a
"gel pack" (a comfort aid designed to come between an aging butt and a
new stationary bike seat).
A couple of rows in front of me an absolutely gorgeous, flawlessly fit
and tanned, blonde, fellow club member was using a bike just like the
one I was on, effortlessly pedaling in a symphony of perfectly
articulated grace, if you get my picture. I studied her technique
diligently determined to observe and apply all I was seeing to my own
efforts.
Sure enough, in no time at all my heart rate had increased dramatically
and I had broken a light sweat on my forehead.
Then, with a
final appreciative, head-to-toe appraisal I decided, "Well, old man,
it's about time to stop staring and start pedaling."
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