Aging: My New Exercise Motivator
Were you the cartwheel queen back in the day? Or perhaps you were the one to beat when it came to double Dutch or racing? After my first daughter was born I could still cut a cartwheel and maybe even a round off. But to be honest, it’s not the same. For instance, since I can remember I have always begun my cartwheels with a running start. But in the last few years when I start running I can swear my shoes have magically switched to rain boots, each shoe hoarding a pint of water in the bottom of the soles. Things bounce in places they haven’t before. And my cartwheels, talk about completing them with a winded struggle. ‘What’s that all about?’ I asked myself the first couple of times it happened. Battle scars from having babies I initially thought. Well, I am no longer deluding myself I can clearly hear the little head in my voice saying, ‘That’s age honey.’ Earlier this year I made a New Year’s Resolution to exercise. I was about three, okay more like five, months behind on my resolution. When I made my New Year’s Resolution I did it mostly because it was the right thing to do. Like when you opt for broil instead of fried and not because of your focused dedication to lower your cholesterol. I knew that exercising three times a week for thirty minutes or more is what I needed. Yet, there was no deep seated motivation in me. But, there is nothing like life to help you change your mind. In my case I got two helpful experiences. The first came when I fell with the same grace as a tree in the forest while trying to race my son. The second reminder came about a month ago when I attempted a yoga move I haven’t done in years. My right hamstring let out a pop that not only my children standing nearby could hear, but my husband also heard two rooms away. Now, my resolution is motivated partly by health – but mostly by warding off experiencing old age stiff and rickety. The kids will leave the house one day. Grow up and have their own families. When they move out I don’t want to be energy-less and looking like my grandma (no offense grandma). I am not trying to find the fountain of youth. Nor am I one to be frightful of wrinkles or scoff at someone who asks me my age. To me I’d rather tell someone how old I am, than not progress in age at all (if you get my drift). As I get older I know I won’t be able to do everything that I used to do, but staying in shape will help. At least this way when I hear ‘That’s age honey’ in my head hopefully it’ll be for enacted wisdom and not for any stubborn muscles or joint that refuse to move.