Semi-Retired, Almost 65… and Apparently I’m Supposed to Be Fit

So here’s my jam… and yes, the jam is sugar-free.

Apparently one of the most important things for “ladies of a certain age” is strength training. Who decided that? Probably someone under 40.

Three times a week, I travel with my besties, Bev and Elyse, to Wilmington O2 Fitness for a Les Mills Body Pump class. It’s basically torture—sorry, “good for strength building.”

We lift weights and barbells to loud, cool music while questioning our life choices.

I’ve been doing it for almost two years now, and I’ll admit… it makes a difference. Not just physically, but mentally. Going with girlfriends helps with gas money, but more importantly, we keep each other accountable—and we can roll our eyes and suffer together.

Now, I do pretty well overall… except for overhead lifts. My arms simply refuse to go above my head without trying to take out my neck and upper back in the process.

However… my push-ups? Golden.
Real push-ups. On my toes.
No “girl push-ups” here.

Most of the class is made up of people like us—seasoned, slightly creaky, but determined. A few men, very few young people (smart ones, probably).

And now I’m just going to complain.

First of all—overhead lifts are evil.
Second—someone is ALWAYS in your spot.

I know, I know… no one owns a spot. But let me tell you—when someone takes your place, the side-eye is real. Long, slow, judgmental side-eye.

Then there’s the drive. It should take 15 minutes. It takes 35–45.

Why?
Traffic. In North Carolina. Who knew?
Bridges opening for boats.
School buses.
More traffic.

So, summary of weight training:
I go. That’s the win.

• Some days I crush it.
• Some days I complain.
• Most days… I show up.