Exercise a.k.a. Torture to the masses

A couple of posts ago I wrote about my foray into the hallowed halls of the YMCA. This has nothing against the Y, let me get that disclaimer out there right at the start.  No, this is more about the real life things that happen to an old broad who decides to enter those hallowed halls to become more flexible and flowing (that's a laugh).

I've been at the Y for several months now, and I will admit, I am able to maneuver better than before I joined.  Since that first day I've learned a lot about the "protocols" of today's "Exercise Routines".  In every room at the Y there is some sort of assistant/teacher/facilitator/guru/ whatever.  They have the very best of intentions for all the participants in said class.  However, being a place filled with humans you get these little splinter groups within the classes.  In high school we used to call them, "cliques", but we're all pretty old so I don't think that's the correct terminology...I might be wrong.

Because I'm an observer I've taken to watch some of the actions of these folks. It's pretty interesting.  We're all out of shape. Some are too fat. Some are too skinny. Some have no teeth (no lie). Some bring their assistants with them. Some bring their service dogs with them (I like the service dogs the best).  All of these woman (and I have to talk about the women because it seems to me they are the worst offenders of this, for want of a better word, "clique-ness") can get their "nickers in a twist" in less than a second.  If one of them thinks they're in any way being slighted you can actually see claws forming on the ends of the fingers...I've learned to keep my mouth shut and step away. It's incredible.  These are grown Mothers, Grandmothers and Great-Grandmothers and they still act as though they were in high school...I don't get it.

The locker rooms are a riot.  You see everything there, as you should, it's a locker room. It's also the place where you hear the most outlandish tales and stories.  There's enough things discussed there on a daily basis to write a short book everyday.  The information I've garnered in the last few months has been amazing.  I think I could probably heal all ailments sent my way.  Everyone of the women in that locker room knows some kind of healing for something or other.  That's no joke and I'm thinking about bringing a notebook starting tomorrow to keep some of these little tidbits of information for future reference.

Although, I have to tell you, the women I'm taking about are all of a "certain" age.  They've lived their lives and can do whatever the Hell they want, they've earned the right.  Some of the other women haven't earned their stripes yet but they think they have.  I see the older bunch looking, listening and nodding their heads with a tiny smile hovering on their lips. They know, they know, the younger ones have to go through the Hell fires a bit longer until they've earned their stripes in the army of the "Women of a Certain Age".  If the young ones are lucky they'll get there.

It's a very interesting place "The YMCA"...

to be continued...