Friday, August 17, 2012

There's a Guy at the Gym Who's Trying to Kill Me!

by Pa Rock

Part of the deal when I rejoined my old gym last week was that I would get a couple of free sessions with a professional trainer who would teach me a few useful exercise routines and introduce me to some of the equipment.  My trainer's name is Dustin, a recent Army veteran who knows how to inflict pain and suffering!

Actually, I exaggerate.  Today Dustin taught me three routines to work on my "core."   The exercises were so simple that anyone could do them - even me.  But the three left me wheezing like an asthmatic in a summer hay field, and now, two hours later, I am really feeling the physical effects on my worn out old body.

The first exercise had me sitting on one of those big rubber balls that should be rolling around on a beach somewhere.    The object was to extend one leg out until just the heel was on the floor, keep the other leg perpendicular to the floor, and then rise and sit using just the perpendicular leg.  It sounds easy, and probably would be if I was a teenager, but twelve reps on each leg was exhausting and very difficult.  After two sets of twelve, he gave me a heavy pole, sort of like a big ski pole, and had me do them again using the pole as a guide for my leg as I stood and sat.

The next exercise involved a weighted ball that I held between my spread legs as I did squats - while keeping my back straight and butt out.  I think I had to do three sets of fifteen each.  Not difficult, but again very strenuous for an old coot.

The final activity involved leaning into a bar that was about three to four feet off of the ground and doing push-ups - all the while keeping my back straight.  I did a few sets of those, but had lost the ability to count by time Dustin said I was finished!

My grandsons would have loved all of the exercises and thought of them as being great fun!  All Pa Rock could think about, however, was going AWOL!


molly. said...

ha!! Good for you!

Don said...

Thanks for the warning.

Just moving past 65 was quite enough exercise for me. I was 50 or so when I began to realize that sweat was actually my body crying for mercy. I gave in and called myself a humanitarian.