Well now I have gone and done it. After years of rejecting the boring idea of exercise, as well as refuting the fact that I would be healthier and more energized if I partake in this ho hum activity, I have joined a Power Pump class at my local gym. I have been telling myself that I do not need a work out regimen since my weight has remained under 120 pounds the past ten years. I have every excuse imaginable not to break out into a sweat. I have rationalized, denied, and fought with my significant other about this issue in ways that I am too embarrassed to admit. Even to myself. These excuses range from: It is too expensive to join. I am too busy to disrupt my work schedule. I can ‘Just Do It’ at home; I go up and down my basement steps to reach my home office umpteen times a day. I do not eat that much. It is too windy outside to ride bikes, or too cold or too hot outside. My parents are thin. My metabolism is high. I drink red wine to help the heart. I have even used the rationalization that walking to and fro at our warehouse shopping club as actual exercise.

I admit, I had sold two pairs of jeans on eBay (they were outdated anyway), um, okay, along with 6 belts, a dozen shirts and tossing several pairs of what used to be my favorite sexy Victoria’s Secret panties (somehow my butt had taken a trip down South), but I was still in somewhat of a denial mode. Until summer. Ah, the glory days of the smoldering summertime. Laying languorously poolside with a tall, cold tropical beverage in one hand, while simpering with confident sexuality. Actually, it is a cold, hard day, when one stands in front of the mirror, after putting on last years bathing suit, and realizes the hard fact that ones peri-menopausal body has started the inevitable battle with gravity, and that it is redistributing an army of cellulite in territories that were never even considered an enemy before. And, what the Hell happened to my upper arms and biceps?

Even though the digits on the scale had not increased, my cholesterol levels had. As much as I despise the drudgery of setting time aside in my busy schedule, I realized it was time to get out of my sedentary slump and get serious about getting fit. Together with my daughter, who is a new mom of two boys under 3 years, we became the newbies at the local Power Pump (a.k.a. Energy Extract) class. Together we were going to get in shape! Along with the other delusional women in the class who hope that attending an hour-long class twice a week will actually help curtail the carrying out of a natural course.

These women include the self-absorbed who strut their firm bodies in the front of the class, wearing next to nothing. These egotistic ladies stand next to the instructor, almost in a competitive way, with their noses 3 feet from the mirror. They take pride in their form, fit, sculptured and barbell-knowledgeable bodies, and it appears that they just can’t take their eyes off themselves as they breeze through the routine.

There are also those women who are merely going through the motions, using 3 lb weights with no enthusiasm. These women take pride in just making it to class; they take the corners of the room and try not to make eye contact with others, nor with themselves, in the mirror.

There are others who are there merely for their daily dose of social fitness. These social butterflies arrive early and stay past class time, discussing so and so and current events. Exercise is purely secondary to them, with their primary focus being their joy of meeting new friends and enjoying the day.

We also have several older women in the class, God love em! One of who could use an extra can of Ensure in her diet, much too thin to be burning any precious calories. She was undoubtedly one of the fortunate few who had never had to worry about dieting. Can’t she see the mirror? Can’t she see that she does not need to be lifting 30 lb weights to keep slim?

Then, there is the elderly lifelong athlete. Tan, tone, but seemingly out of balance and lacking feminine grace or symmetry in her stance. Perhaps even a bit on the masculine side, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and short hair. But my goodness! She looks great... firm, tall and statuesque.

The instructor herself, the perky, petite Little Miss Sunshine, encouraging us to keep on going, just one more set. Early in the class she asks us all, “How ya doing?” And she is full of useful advice, such as “Use lower weights if you have carpal tunnel.” Actually that cheerful persona is just hiding her masochistic mask. As she gets warmed up and the class progresses, she begins to belt out instructions on her high tech microphone. “Stay focused.” “Remain in your zone.”

I may sound brusque and off hand about all this but let me tell you, I am humbled and honored to be among these women. We all have differing goals for exercising. Some dream to drop a couple dress sizes for an upcoming wedding, some to stay youthful and strong, others battling the “baby fat” of recent pregnancies, others to maintain bone density and keep their numbers in check. Whether we are attempting to improve our bodies, or merely have a desire to keep our figures forever at this moment in time, we are all there for essentially the same reason. I applaud all of these women, my comrades in the crusade against gravity, my allies against aging, my sisters in the skirmish with sluggish muscles.

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