Why People Give Me The Eye At The Gym

The answer should shame us all! No, I’m not talking about pervs.

I’m happy to report that people are nice to me at the gym.

It’s not just because Americans are a friendly bunch. In most other places, I can be pretty invisible. Whole Foods, the line at the ATM, a crowded bus. You’d think some demon cast a spell and made me disappear into the ethers the way the average citizen looks anywhere but at my presence to give me a smile. Or a seat. I get it. Nothing interesting about a little old lady.

Not so at the gym. I get lots of attention when I show up to pound the weights or cycle my bloody bohonkus off several times a week. Trust me; it’s not because I turn heads in my tight AF workout clothes, either. This rear-end hasn’t made anybody salivate since Methuselah took his crush to the prom.

I get a lot of attention when I show up because, well, just because I showed up.

I’m sure many of my fellow gym rats took one look at me the first time they saw me and thought I’d wandered in from the nearest senior daycare center. They didn’t know whether to call the paramedics or stick me in a corner where I wouldn’t trip over the hand weights.

My gym membership goes back decades, but there were many years I never used it. So I haven’t always been one of the regulars. Folks I see there are a pretty diverse bunch, much to my liking. But I never see anybody over the age of sixty.

I’m a bit of an anomaly. Not only can I work the machines on my own with anybody worrying about my blood pressure getting out of whack. But when I need a break, I can also tell them what life was like before the Internet.

However, I’m not here today to relate cute stories about the little old lady who doddles around the gym. I’m complaining about the lack of companionship my age. I’m on the verge of declaring it a national emergency, and it’s you, dear youthful reader, that has me working my worry beads.

I’ll backtrack just a bit to give a bit of history. I had open-heart surgery, as I mention at every opportunity, seven-plus years ago. The surgeon who performed the operation warned me before the procedure that he could repair my heart and get me ship-shape. Then his eyes turned serious, and his voice dropped an octve like a teacher warning me to behave. I had to do my part, he said.

“I don’t want to hear of you falling and breaking your hip in ten years.”

Where did that come from, I thought?

“The major cause of death in old people is frailty. They let themselves get weak and fall easily. Then they break a hip, and it’s curtains. I want you exercising every day of your life.”

My daughter, who was with me that day, has never let me forget it. Which is why I’m a beast when it comes to walking.

But it’s not enough, and without going into a long explanation, it’s also the reason why I’m back at the gym. To get strong and to stay as healthy as I can.

But where are my peeps? Why don’t I see more people my age working out and following my doctor’s advice?

Because I don’t. And that’s why I get the looks. The raised eyebrows. The WTF are you doing here expressions on the faces of people seeing me set my water bottle down next to them and start lifting weights.

We have to start educating more people my age to do more serious lifting, cycling, ab work. But you have to do your part, too. Of course, it goes without saying that you have to commit to continuing your exercise program throughout your life. What my surgeon told me about staying strong into my 80s and 90s? It goes for you, too. Without the trouble of getting an operation on your heart to get the lecture from your doctor.

But what are you doing to get the oldsters in your life working out? Instead of taking them out for coffee and a bagel, how about making a date for a session at the gym?

I’ll bet your grandmother has all the knickknacks she needs. Get her something really useful for her next birthday. Like a gym memership. Or help her get set up with Silver Sneakers if there’s a participating gym nearby.

Or, how about a piece of equipment for the home? Instead of an ugly recliner in front of the TV, buy your father a stationary bike. He can still watch his favorite shows while he’s turning the pedals. And it’s much better for his arteries and muscles.

Don’t just nag the old folks in your life about exercising more. Get hands-on and participate with them. My doctor made sure I got “the talk” in front of my daughter so I couldn’t conveniently forget his advice. If I fall off the wagon, I have her to nag me back on. Do the same for the people you love who are entering their aging, physically vulnerable years.

When I get to the gym, I don’t have any peeps. All the jocks talk, and joke, and spot each other. They smile at me, but otherwise, avoid me like the plague. I think they’re afraid I’ll break if they exhale heavily in my direction. But I’d like someone my age to spot me as I begin to deadlift. When I take a break, I’d like a pal to talk about routines and stats. Help me out, people. Get your old folks into the gym.

I have many reasons for my renewed interest in getting fit again. Staying strong so I’m not a burden on my daughter is only one of them. Wouldn’t you like to visit your folks for a long walk in the park instead of the TV room at the nursing home? I thought so.

The family that sweats together, stays alive together. Or, at least they have a fighting chance.

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