Let's Get Physical

Ladies glow, men perspire and horses sweat. Leastwise, that is what Momma always said.

Okay. I get that. It's supposed to remind us of the sweet gentility of a time gone by.

But this is more like the reality I face on a daily basis: I stagger breathlessly into the house after managing to get through the morning mile with the pitiful hound who has 'miraculously' recovered from her Saturday limp long enough to turn our leisurely stroll into a mini marathon with virtually no effort. . . on her part.

Naturally, she is now sound asleep in 'her chair'. DOG!

Then, I proceed on to the gym. And no, for the record, I didn't bother to shower, change or freshen up just to get sweaty again (or continue to be sweaty - you pick) in front of women who don't have the decency to break out in a glow or even to perspire!! Grrrr!

I continued my tiresome and futile efforts to regain the body of my long lost youth. . .or at least an unreasonable facsimile of the same. Pumping iron, stretching and toning and doing yoga moves that are simply not possible but I do them anyway, OTHER people tell me they can see a difference. From their lips to God's ears!

Grabbing a towel, I sop up the dribbly mess of my face and continue to the next round of machinery and wonder 'how can you lose weight without sweating'? Pondering over the activities that surround me, I think to myself how much I'd like to sign up for a dip in the end of the gene pool where the beautiful people swim, if you please. Maybe that genetic stuff will rub off onto my saggy, baggy elephantine physique and I can be shower to shower fresh, too.

I, on the other hand, appear to have signed up for the W.W.S.D. (What Would Secretariat Do?) workout philosophy which not only encourages sweat, but demands racehorse-like coverage that leaves the other women not only at a distance (yep - smelly old me!) but also wondering what horrible malady afflicts me so as to produce such a prodigious amount of what can only be termed flop sweat.

Not to be outclassed, the other women have arrived at the gym in beautiful color coordinated workout clothing, and unbelievably their hair and makeup is done! As they prance about from one activity to another, they dab at what can only be described as TOTALLY INVISIBLE droplets of moisture in an effort to keep from looking...well...like me.

Thank you all very much, but I am doing well to arrive in anything but faded flannel pajamas and leave at the end of my workout with any shred of dignity at all!

Here, it simply must be said that I would LIKE to be able to have a fulfilling workout and come out of the experience fresh as a daisy with only the least hint of dampness on my forehead to indicate the excruciating amount of work I had performed. Sadly, what occurs is more along the lines of bringing the Derby winners and losers into the paddock for a cool down walk and hopefully a bath in the nice little horsey spa.

It makes me wonder if they can all see the tiny jockey whipping this old mare into action that is simply invisible to me.

In the early 80's, Olivia Newton-John encouraged us all to "Get Physical" with her workout themed video that showed on MTV night and day for a while. Any moron knew that the 'workout' she was extolling had nothing to do with going to your local gymnasium, but we all gamely pretended, signed up for the aerobics classes and slapped on the spandex like there was no tomorrow.

Of course, in the early 80's I had no kids and had barely gotten married so losing weight was a simple matter of missing a meal or laying off the buffet until I was reacquainted with those ever so tight blue jeans that made my hubby's heart skip a few beats. Nowadays, if I want his heart to skip a beat, all I need to do is show him our latest credit card bill.

I suppose that the current regimine of effort and sweat is the price that must be paid for a life that has never graced the airbrushed cover of a magazine and more than likely never will. There are seldom any people interested in the lifestyle of the middle aged, flabby, wrinkled and lined.
Which, upon reflection, is pretty sad because the people in this demographic are the ones who pay the bills, keep the kids in line and hope to see their toes again before the dawning of the next millenium. Now that would be fascinating reading.

If you happen to be up at 5:30 and out on the road getting in your torture, uh...I mean EXERCISE, look for me. I'm the drippy, sweat-soaked lady with the iPod and a maniac dog who believes each morning heralds a fresh start for the Iditarod of the South and that she is the lead dog on the sled.

I'll smile and wave and I promise to keep my sweat to myself.