Minus Five, Plus Two
Inches and pounds respectively. We joined our local fitness club two weeks ago, and I’ve been working out faithfully at least three days a week for an hour each time. I don’t mind telling you that I was not keen to find myself in a room full of scantily-clad perfect bodies. As it turns out, my fears were completely unfounded - modesty reigns, friendliness abounds, and egos are not in evidence. We go in the morning hours (Cate and I) and we are greeted by a lively group of senior citizens with more energy in their little fingers than I have had in a very long time.
My only complaint - our elder exercise compatriots share my Need to Feed. It’s murder on someone trying to limit the comfort food. Is there anything more tortuous than working out with the smell of kielbasa casserole wafting past your nostrils? God bless their hearts.
