Sierra's Corner

Sierra’s Corner

Exercise, the bane of my existence, and to me, the dirtiest word in the entire English language! I hated gym and swimming, so I skipped them. I learned about exotic diseases that most of the girls had never heard of. Those kept me out of swimming, which I really disliked. My distaste for exercise began around this time. I have no idea how I managed to pass swimming and gym, the only conclusion I have thought of is that the gym and swimming instructors did not want to have me another year! Time went on, and I became a writer and a fantastic sitter. Sitting and no exercise was more than enough, and my terrible eating habits. I had a heart attack at the age of sixty-seven, which the doctor termed a widow-maker. The cardiologist told me that I needed to go to the gym and exercise. This sounded like a challenge to me. Determination, I had some, participation not so much. This was more like the mind saying you have to go to the gym; the mind saying; no oh hell no!

I purchased a second-hand treadmill and began to work out. It helps when it is used every day. A fitness gym opened in the mall, and one warm spring afternoon, I summoned the courage to walk into the place and register for classes. I glanced around there were all sorts of devices. The young girl behind the desk asked if I would like to register for classes. I signed up, and my husband knew I disliked anything that had to do with exercise; he smirked. I glanced once more at what I thought reminded me of torture devices from the Middle Ages, such as the rack! I was not committed to the idea of going to the gym several times a week; yet I went home, thought about what I was doing. I firmly decided that if I wanted to survive a while longer, exercise was what I required.

Several days later, after considerable thought, I finally went back to the gym. I checked in and found myself in Sierra’s corner. Sierra introduced herself. She was supple. I was envious; I wondered if my body would ever be that supple again. I was already wishing that I had not decided to give the workouts a try. I informed Sierra that I was sixty-nine and a heart patient. She explained the various workouts and classes. The thirty-minute workout, the 360, stretch classes. I thought to myself: ‘these are for young, supple bodies, not overweight old ladies!’ That afternoon, I registered for all three classes. I must have been crazed with hunger; I could not have been in my right mind. Sierra and I talked for several more minutes, then she told me that the thirty-minute walk would start in three minutes. Sierra explained that it would be just her and me; good thing, I really embarrassed myself to the point where I wanted to creep out of the gym, get in my car, and go home. That plan did not work out very well.

The area where most of the torture devices were was exactly where she took me. That particular area is set aside for the older generation, with steps and stairs and all types of machines. Those muscles that I had not used in years began to protest. Sierra began slowly, after all, I was sixty-nine, pushing seventy, and there was enough of me to push around, believe me.

For the first exercise of the day, I had to hold onto the railing, climb up the step, and bring my left knee up. That was easier said than done. I was nervous; I could not tell my left from my right, so I did both. Sierra smiled as we walked over to the first big, bright yellow machine. This, she informed me, was for my biceps. The weight had not been adjusted for a forty-pound weakling; this one must have been adjusted for King Kong! I could not get it to budge. Sierra came over and adjusted it. That was dandy. The next exercise is for the weak of heart. It required me to step on, then over, a railing. Easy? Not hardly; left to right was just not my strong suit that day. I did try, not as hard as I could have, and much to my chagrin, I found myself holding onto the railing for dear life. This was more than either of us was ready for. Sierra began to laugh, not at me but with me. The read light, hot dog, that meant a machine was next on the agenda, and I could sit my butt down for at least a minute. That is not the purpose of the machine. In this machine, you sit in the seat, and the weight has not yet been adjusted. I put my heels at angles, as per instruction, and pushed with all my might. It did not go anywhere. Once again, Sierra appeared and adjusted the weight. I was now beginning to see a pattern; adjust the weight to zero or a whopping five pounds. I was good after that.

I have now learned about this easy exercise, a “wall” push-up. That is for those of us who can’t seem to get our rumps up in the air to do a regular push-up. I managed without any problems. Whoopie, that was one out of how many? The next machine required several adjustments before I could perform the minute ordeal. The red light was on, then it began to blink, and finally, the green light came on to begin. Terrific, I grabbed the bar, my feet were weighted down, and I had to push up. If you are young and strong, that works well; if you are ancient like I am, it becomes trial and tribulation. I think I managed two that first day, before that beady red light came on again.

I watched as Sierra did the next exercise, which looked simple enough: step up, squat down, step over, and step down. I asked Sierra if she was insane, that was no way I was going to accomplish that, or so I thought at the time. However, since then, I have gotten better with that particular exercise. Then it was back to the torture machine for the biceps. We were completing a circuit. There was an end to this torture, or so I thought. I was ready to crawl out the door; every bone and muscle cried out in protest. The final exercise for the day was on the step, which was a step up with the right foot, lift the left leg, then step down. I swore to myself I was coming in with a pair of old sneakers marked left and right. By this time, I am sure Sierra wanted to put me in a corner, but instead she gave me a high five.

The adventure the next day was this thing called the “360”. I am sure some sadist devised it. That was definitely not for me, out of shape. We started with warm-ups. One where I have to fit my arms and twist. I don’t understand why that is called a warm-up, especially since I don’t have a large chest either. I got through that. Then there was this rope, I had to pull on it, and that I did, for a change with no difficulty. I thought, ‘gee, this is easy.’ Then I got the double ropes, which almost did Sierra in. She showed me how to slap the ropes and make them move, almost like waves upon the water. I tried it, I am a forty-pound weakling, I could get those ropes to budge. I am not sure how long I was at that, although at the time it seemed like an eternity. It must have been at least two minutes.

Next, Sierra announced regular push-ups. I groaned. I had not done a push-up since the end of my senior year in high school. With my nose on the floor, my arms sticking out like bird wings, and my toes pointed down on the floor. I gave it a try. Nothing moved; this could not be good. Sierra laughed, although I am sure her corner was tempting to hide in. Coordination for the last part of the “360” was simply not my forte, and I showed it in spades. The final exercise I had to go back at an acute angle, then pull myself up. That was not happening! I tried, but nothing happened. My time for this was up. Since that time, I have become more proficient at some exercises, and others are still laughable. Sierra still has her corner.