Training at the Gym and Feeling Lucky

Today I went to the gym where I work out with a trainer. I really am so happy about committing to this work. It’s really hard work, and I am a weakling. I started a year ago, when my grandson Noah was born, because I I wanted to be strong and capable, as I age. I worked out a lot last May and June before my younger daughter’s wedding so I could be a trim and healthy mother of the bride. 

My trainer is 26 years old and previously attended the community college I adjunct at. We are clearly at very different stages of life, and it’s been interesting to chat with him. We talk about the weather and the mounds of snow and ice that have befallen New York this winter. We talk about weekend plans and NYC versus Long Island living. We talk between sets of activities. 

It feels like it’s getting harder, (and perhaps a little less fun) as he ups the ante and gives me more weight to handle. But it seems to be working, and he seems to understand how to tackle various body issues, like my knee that can turn wonky, or the fact that I had a total hip replacement. 

Just showing up and doing the workouts makes me feel strong and positive. I feel lucky every time I enter and exit the gym.