As I was getting dressed in the locker room today, the "water aerobic" ladies were in there too. Getting into their suits and little water shoes. Complaining about how tired they were. (It wasn't even 9:00 a.m. yet!) Complaining about how they didn't want to get into the cold water.(I assured them they would love the water today as it was a suffocating, nauseating 85*- BLAH!)
Complaining how they were only going to do two sessions this week as "the older I get the more rest time I need". Augghhhh! They remind me of a bunch of chickens. Everyone is sqawking and no one is listening.
(Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little, cheep, cheep, cheep, talk a lot, pick a little more!) That's from "The Music Man" for all you girls who grew up with that movie....but I digress.
I wanted to grab these women by the shoulders and shake some sense into them! No, No, No! The older we get the more we need to keep moving in my opinion!
Use it or lose it! Right?
I had already run five and a half miles this morning, and just completed a 2000 meter swim. I was feeling great!
Why was "exercise" to these ladies a mere chore for them and not something fun? A challenge? To feel fluid and "young" again? To feel privileged that they can get out the door and to a pool and actually MOVE?
Sure I am a few years younger than some of the women getting ready for their "exercise"- but not by much.
We are lucky- and especially the younger female generation, to have so much information about exercise and nutrition available to us. To be supported and have so many mentors in whatever sport they choose.
I don't think most women ten years my senior look at sport and exercise the same way I do, or we do. (if you are reading this, you are a female athlete, no doubt!)
And that's sad.
Some have caught on. Many haven't. Would I be the same woman if I was now 62 instead of 52 and had grown up in a different era? God, I hope so!
After our swim we went to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for my husband.
As I was sitting on a bench waiting for him, I watched a woman in her late sixties, or early seventies walk in the door and twenty yards to where I was sitting. She appeared to be in pain and sat down next to me when she got to the bench.
"Are you OK?" I asked.
"Yes, I just had to sit down. It happens to you when you get old."
And she patted me on the knee.
Old. Old? What is that? Just years being alive...it's the life you put into those years that really count.
I will consider myself "old" when I am dead.
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