Sierra's Corner

Sierra’s Corner

Suzanne Marsh

Exercise is the dirtiest word in the English language, at least to me it was. I hated gym classes, and swimming classes were the pits in high school. In my senior year, I discovered I was allergic to chlorine; I was given a doctor’s excuse. My road to a heart attack was underway, my twenties and thirties, and even into my forties, there were no issues. I became a Professional Seat Cover in my forties when my husband began driving a truck. I was on the truck with him for twenty-two years, and I saw many miles go by. We walked, but not enough to do any real good. I had a major heart attack when I was sixty-seven; it was termed a ‘widow maker’. I recovered and found myself in Cardio Rehab, exercise machines galore. I mostly used a stationary bicycle and treadmill. The Cardio doctor recommended I go to the gym, and I gave him one of those glaring looks. He had planted a thought in my head, I knew he was correct, that if I wanted to survive, I was going to have to do that dirty seven-letter word.

Sunday, on the way home from church, we stopped, went into the gym that was in the mall, which was close to home, so I thought that would be good. I signed up for classes, then promptly went home and wondered what had possessed me to sign up for classes. I was not committed to being an exercise nut; I walked a great deal, which cleared my head. I decided I would give the gym a try; that was when I was introduced to my coach, whose name was Sierra. I informed her I was a heart patient and my doctor recommended I go to the gym. She smiled as she began to devise my exercise plan. My first day at the gym was on a beautiful sunny Monday morning at eight. I am not a morning person; I was half asleep when I arrived, but that did not last long.

This particular area of the gym is set aside with steps and railings for the older generation; all types of exercise equipment are used for calf muscles, abs, and biceps. Those things that, over the years, I had not used very often. Sierra began slowly, after all, I am a heart patient and pushing seventy, and there is enough to push, believe me. The first exercise of the day, I had to hold onto the railing, climb up the step, and bring my left knee up, put it down, and repeat with my right. I am not the most coordinated person; left and right have not always worked out well for me. I managed somehow to do the entire exercise, using the wrong feet. Sierra stood watching and trying not to laugh too hard! Once I moved off those stairs, a huge (to me it was at any rate) yellow machine. I found myself seated. This monster was for the biceps. I did not even know I had those. The machines adjust at five-pound intervals, Sierra demonstrated. She had made this look so easy, for yes, my face in the interim was turning bright red, I was pulling, but nothing was happening. Sierra came over, assured me everything was fine, and adjusted the machine for a twenty-pound weakling. It apparently had been set for King Kong. That was dandy. The next exercise is for the faint of heart, not for Chicken Little. Sierra said this was a simple exercise, sure. It required me to step up, step on, then over. Easy, not hardly, once again left from right entered the conversation, much to my chagrin; I found myself holding onto the railing for dear life. It was too much for both of us; we stood there laughing. The red light came, meaning I was finished with that crazy exercise, or so I thought. The machine I was to use next, I had no idea what its purpose was, but I was soon going to find out. I sat down in the seat, and the weight had not yet been adjusted. I put my heels at angles, as per instruction, and pushed with all my might. Nothing happened, I pushed again, how this was going to strengthen my heart, I had no idea; I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that this machine was a middle-aged torture device! Toward the end of the first session, I began to understand adjusting the weights. Finally, the last red buzzer, I was done for the day. The thirty minutes seemed more like an eternity! I walked out of the gym wondering if my body would ever be the same.

I returned the following day, Sierra was ready for me: “We are going to do the three sixty

today, ready?” How anyone can be that cheerful at eight in the morning is beyond me! I

mumbled something about yeah, okay. We walked into a room with ropes, balls, and pulleys. This did not look promising. We began with “wall” push-ups; for those of us who can’t do regular

push-ups, those came later. The three sixty I am convinced was devised by a sadist, no sane person could possibly devise this and be considered sane. The three sixty is just what the name implies, a circle with torture devices for the unsuspecting. We started with the ropes, the single one was fairly easy; two hands, spread feet. While doing this, the rope is supposed to be like a wave. My waves must have gone awry; I was getting nowhere in a hurry with this. Sierra, after a short giggle, showed me how to do it properly. Then she handed me the double ropes, which were a sight to behold if ever there was one. I almost knocked her out with the second rope!

My next feat was a regular push-up. I knew this was going to be a horror story right from the start. I told Sierra I could not get down on the floor and push myself up and down, I did not have that kind of strength. She smiled, then told me she had seen a lot of people who were like that, but they managed. Right, she had never seen me attempting push-ups in high school. I got down on the floor, on my belly, my nose on the rug, my arms were like bird wings. I just could not seem to get my butt up, no matter how I tried. Sierra, in the meantime, was watching me flap around like a fish out of water, trying her best not to laugh!

The last exercise was the one that was more like an “ I Love Lucy” episode. Sierra handed me a huge ball: “You sit on the ball thus and use your legs to balance, bouncing.” I politely asked her if she was insane! I sat on the ball and promptly fell off. I tried again with the same result; this was not working. Sierra showed me once again, I fell off again. I truly think if Sierra could have, she would have hidden in her corner, hoping this whole scene would just disappear.

We both survived that three-sixty ordeal, and Sierra left her job at the gym. I stopped going, but will return one of these days and try again. The gym was not what I signed up for in terms of coordination, but it did give me better balance. Wherever Sierra is, I hope she is well and happy.