The ill fated return to the gym

It had been a while since I had darkened the doors of the gym.  My husband and I pay a family membership fee every month, automatically through a bank draft.  He uses their equipment faithfully, but me…uh, not so much.

Somewhere, somehow, I found some renewed enthusiasm to exercise.  Maybe it was the brand new gym clothes I had just purchased at Target.  They seemed to hold things together quite nicely and smoothed out my look.  In the midst of trying on everything when I got home,  the hubby calls for a lunch date at our usual place (when we can coordinate our lunch breaks), Roly-Poly’s.  I agreed to meet him there shortly, and since I looked pretty good in my new gym outfit, wore it for our date. I noticed that lots of gals wear their gym clothes about town, especially when they are out eating healthy or visiting Starbucks for a low-fat mocha latte -hold the whip cream.

He was so pleased to see me and my new found exercise enthusiasm.  He even complimented me on my outfit, though he didn’t have to.  I already knew I was rockin’ it.  A gal just knows intrinsically when she’s rockin’ it. 

After our light and nutritious lunch at Roly-Poly’s, I went to the gym to begin my new life of muscle tone, energy, and optimism.  Since it was the middle of the day, just after lunch, the gym crowd was rather small.  There were a couple of guys there, though. They seemed to be a young father and his young teenage son. 

I began my exercise routine with the leg press.  Felt pretty good .  Confidence soaring, I visited all the stations to work out my various muscle groups.  Then I noticed my two fellow gym-sters were eyeing my ass and smiling.  Wow, at my age, if anybody eyes anything on me and smiles a pleasant, un-mocking smile,   I get hepped up.  I smiled, coyly, back – not at the young teenage son…that would just be a little creepy…but at his father.  I supposed he thought I was rockin’ my new gym clothes too.

I completed my routine and left the gym with a pep in my step, probably due more to the smiling glances at my ass than any actual endorphins generated by the exercises.

With my confidence at its peak, I went on to Walmart to complete my daily list of errands that we all create for our “days off” of work.   I got my basket and was half finished with my list when I heard a young twenty-something man behind me calling out, “Excuse me ma’am, excuse me ma’am.” 

Was he calling out to me?  I turned around as he approached.  Perhaps, he was going to ask where I got my cute and ass-flattering gym outfit so he could get one for his girlfriend. 

I stopped, he stopped and we spoke for a moment.

“Yes ma’am, I just wanted to let you know that you have some tags hanging out of the back of your shorts.  I didn’t want security to think you were shoplifting them.”

That ass confidence that I was rockin’ suddenly took a bit of a dive, as you would expect. That new found spring in my step became a little less springy.  I thanked him for telling me, ripped them off immediately, and finished my shopping. 

 I guess the smiles I had gotten were mocking after all.  What a come-uppance I got that day…yet another reminder that vanity will ultimately bite you in the butt.

My son adopted a puppy from the animal shelter in August of 2007.  He named him Francis, and his nickname was Frankie.   Frankie was black and gold with the floppie ears and face of a beagle.  A few days after he was adopted, he became ill.  My son called me for help, and we brought him to the vet’s office.   The doctor thought it was the parvo virus, which Frankie was probably exposed to before his vaccinations took effect.  The doctor didn’t try to sugarcoat the prognosis.  She said that even if he did survive the infection. the damage the virus causes to the neurological system and the heart could ultimately cause death.  We decided to give him a chance to survive.

And survive he did but, unfortunately, not unscathed. His front legs were very weak and uncontrollable, and he had frequent movements of his mouth I later found were commonly called chewing gum seizures. He sat with us in bed every night as we watched television. I would place him on my chest and massage his weak front legs hoping to bring some feeling back to them, or to relieve any muscle cramps he may have been experiencing from the nerve damage. Frankie didn’t seem to be in any pain or suffering except fot his basically useless front legs. He would scoot everywhere to get to his destination. I put a doggie wrap around his mid section to prevent irratation from the floor or carpet agaist his skin.

I researched doggie wheelchairs on the internet. Most were very expensive. I decided to make one instead with pvc pipe. It came out very well, but he was afraid of it.

The most progress came when we bought him his very own life jacket and started swimming together. His front legs became stronger and more coordinated. Eventually, he was able to stand, then walk. His first jerky, sideways steps were thrilling for him and us. We played together frequently. There was nothing like his enthusiatic smile to get me off my tired ole butt.

Frankie lived for about two years. I found him lifeless in the yard after I had forgotten to put him back in the house before leaving to run a short errand. I beat myself up for a long time about that. The guilt was almost unbearable. It was very hot that day, and he had just taken a long drink from the hose that I was using to water a plant. A call from my husband came on my cell phone asking to be picked up after leaving his vehicle at the dealership for a minor problem. I just put the hose down and left, forgetting to put Frankie back in the house. He may have fallen on a slight incline and been unable to get up. My theory was that all that water he drank partially regurgitated and was aspirated into his lungs during his struggle to get back up. I will probably always carry the memories of that guilt trip with me. Guilt trips are are always hard to return from, espcially when you can’t revisit the destination or find the bridge that will take you back to the road to correct the thoughtless act that created the guilt.

The veterinarian’s office staff sent me a sympathy card with a wonderful poem that describes a beautiful place where we will meet our beloved pets in the afterlife when we arrive. It is called “The Rainbow Bridge”. It meant so much to me to know that, perhaps, there truly is a bridge that gets you back to your beloved pets and people too. You can return to the place where your guilt trip began and erase those memories and know that you are truly loved and forgiven.

God and dog are appropriate palindromes.  Both words represent the highest standard of unconditional love.  On June 14th, I lost my sweet little dog to old age.  I guess I knew it was coming, but you never think it will be that day.  I came home from work around 5:45 and didn’t find him in his usual spot in my bedroom.  My daughter had let our two other dogs outside, and they had come in with me, but where was my little old man?  I went to look for him outside and found him near the fence, unconcious.  I picked him up and brought him in.  He was breathing rapidly, and I thought that he had become overcome by the heat.  My efforts to revive him were in vain, though, for he stopped breathing a few minutes later.   We had to estimate his age because he and his sister just showed up on our carport on a cold evening in October 1997.  The estimate of his age at that time was three to six months.  His sister was adopted by a young girl who had recently lost her dog to illness.  Our veterinarian recommmended them to us.  We kept the male for a few days and decided to welcome him into our home.  Like most decisions from the heart,  it turned out to be a good one.  He gave us many years of love and laughter.  I cannot say that I rescued him, for it was he that rescued me.

Children can teach you more than you can teach them.  I have gradually changed many of my attitudes and preconceived notions over my years of motherhood.  Granted, If I had known that my offspring would be so challenging, I may have reconsidered bringing them into the world.  I have had days like that.  Haven’t all parents?

There is a school of thought out there (and I mean “out there”) that claims that our souls choose our lives and what other souls from our soul group we will have as family members and friends.  According to this theory, for lack of a better word, we generally choose a life and soul mates that can teach us things we wish we had learned while incarnated in a different life and time.  If this is true, then I must have been a really intolerant and judgemental soul in my last incarnation.  Apparently, between incarnations, I realized that unconditional love and acceptance were traits I needed to learn.  This I have been taught by my soul mates in this life.

My first child was diagnosed with ADD.  As in most cases of children with the disorder, we didn’t really realize there was a significant problem until she started school.  While the attention deficit was noticed in her school work, I have to say that her social interaction and behavior worried me more.  She didn’t seem to connect well with other kids her age and could be disrepectful and sometimes beligerant to adults.  I tried to tell myself that it was because she had different interests, some of which were far beyond others her age.  While some children seem to delight in forming cliques and excluding others, she was okay with walking around lost in her thoughts and even smiling to herself and occasionally skipping (or, to this day, what passes for skipping).  I substitued for a couple of hours once at her school and observed her funny little ways.  I suppose it was her way of escaping the rigors of the classroom.  Every year I prayed, to no avail, for an understanding teacher and administration. Sometimes though, prayers go unanswered for a reason.  She was not quiet finished with the fifth grade when her father and I decided to home school.  I sensed that the school was greatly relieved by our decision.  The course work was not difficult for us since both my husband and I have college degrees, but the logistics of it were sometimes daunting.  I worked long days two days a week and had to bring her to grandparents on the days I worked.  They lived in a town twenty miles away.  I had to prepare her work assignments the night before and drop her off at 6:30 AM to 7:00 AM so that I would have time to get back to go to work.  It was difficult, but worth it.  I saw the pent up anger begin to melt away in a week.  The ourbursts became fewer and farther between.  We all gained a bit of peace. We had our evenings back.  I don’t wish ADD or ADHD on anyone, and I do wish her life would have been easier, especially the social part.  But she is more than okay now,  She is a wonderful, mainly self-trained, artist who has just put a great children’s book into print as well as an ebook/audio book for young adults.  So, though our lives together have been challenging, I believe we have all learned to be more nonjudgemental.

My other child was a delight to her teachers and the administration.  She was raised in the same household and by the same parents, but was the polar opposite of her sister.  She was normally well behaved and obedient.  What a relief. Her school work was impeccable and she got along well with others.  Her homework was usually done before she even got home, unlike her sister’s, which usually involved pushing and prodding from 5 PM to 9 PM.  But, when puberty hit, she seemed to develop issues with self-esteem.  My once happy, vibrant, and active child grew more sullen and introverted. I chalked up the change to hormones and hoped it would pass.  No parent wants to see their child struggle with anything, especially unhappiness.  Her high school years were filled with a few close friends and she seemed happier, yet I knew in my heart something was missing.  She was very successful in academics and won many scholarships.  Her father and I were thrilled and looked forward to her college years.  Those years, however, were not to be what we had hoped for her.  She was dealing with too many deep personal issues that clouded her academic success and interpersonal relationships. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what was wrong.  As she drifted from one romantic entanglement to another (with other girls), we realized and accepted that she was gay.  Later, after much soul searching on her part, she came to the realization that she was transgendered.  I kind of suspected that since she was five or six years old but thought that it was a passing phase.  As it turns out, it wasn’t.  Again, we had  a lesson from one of our children about unconditional love.

If this theory of picking your soul mates in you next incarnation is correct, then we picked wisely.  When I hear the derogatory comments from others about gay or transgendered  people or people with ADD or ADHD, I thank God for my children.  If not for them, perhaps I would be one of those people.  You would think that I would judge others for their comments, but judging, too, I have given up.  I just think to myself that they are disadvantaged to have not had the priviledge of having their eyes opened to unconditional love. They are speaking out or fear of those who are different.  If their comments stem simply from curiousity, I try to educate them from my experiences.  If their comments belittle or poke fun at these souls, I simply say that it is not my place to judge, but, that I believe that God’s love for his children is unconditional.  After all, I have to work with them and don’t want to erode the comfort zone in our workplace.  Hopefully, someday, their eyes will be opened, and they too shall see.  One can only dream.

Fifty was the only birthday that bothered me.  Thirty and forty had passed seemingly unnoticed, but fifty was officially “getting up there”.  A person should probably be putting a bucket list together by this age.  I have a few things on mine, most of which I have been able to move to the done list.  That is one of the great things about getting “older”.  What other people think doesn’t seem to matter so much, and  the absurdity of some of your bucket list items doesn’t stop you from trying to accomplish them. The leaps of faith become easier each time you jump.  Somehow you just learn to trust that the money will be there for that trip of a lifetime.  You learn to trust that your ship won’t sink or your plane will stay in the air.  By this age, your children, if you have any, are more or less on their own, so the scenarios of not being there for them aren’t so scary anymore.

After all is said and done, fifty plus isn’t so bad.  Gray hair, wrinkles, and a slower metabolism can be fought with constant vigilance, if indeed those things bother you.  But not taking yourself or the world so seriously is a nice trade-off for the loss of the outward appearance of youth.  You can be younger at heart when the inhibitions go.  Laugh at yourself and your foibles.  I do wish I could learn to like exercise though, but hey, tomorrow is another day and chocolate is a gift from God.  One of the things you should do every day is to be thankful and enjoy the gifts that God and Mother Nature provide, right?

Today, I will be ferocious.  Maybe I will practice roller skating and burn off some of those brownie calories I had for supper last night (and breakfast this morning).   Maybe, when I get good enough again, I will start my own roller derby team for women over fifty.  We will call it Osteoferocious.  We will be a force to be reckoned with (although, I would request a sea of balls in the center of the rink and padded guard rails).  I hear that there is a young local roller derby gal that sports a mohawk.  I’ll have to draw the line there though.  I just don’t have the ears to pull off a mohawk.