Thursday, October 17, 2013

Running With the Old Dogs

The cardiac rehab I'm going to three times a week is something quite unique.  It's in a gym that's pretty much like any other gym with only a few differences.  The primary difference is that it has a crash cart available just in case somebody's ticker gives out while on the recumbent bike.  Of course, everybody is wired up to monitor their heartbeat and, every once in a while, you'll see the nurses run around to find somebody whose wire has slipped to make sure they didn't flatline.   But all in all, it is just a gym...with the exception that most of the people using this gym are, shall we say, seasoned citizens.

And that's really good for me because it means there is no intimation factor going on.  Nobody is showing off in the mirrors and nobody is trying to pick up a date or impress anybody else.  Everybody is working on their particular workout plan.  We are all there pretty much for the same reason....we want to get more fit so that we can live a few more years.

Though there is no real intimidation, there is still some things that irk me once in a while.  For example; every workout session usually starts with a brisk walk around the track for a few laps.  I usually begin at a pretty good pace and am counting how many times I'm going around the track and what machines I will be getting on afterwards.  Then.....out of nowhere....some really old dude all hunched over goes shuffling by me like I'm barely moving.  A couple of minutes later, he laps me again.  "Really?  Damn Grandpa, where are you getting your energy?"

Proof positive that age and fitness are not correlating values.  Also proof that I am way, way out of shape if I can get showed up in a gym by Methuselah.

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