Right after the start of 2023, I decided I’d lied to my doctor long enough. I see him to renew my blood pressure meds as needed, and he hounds me about my failure to exercise, my perennial retention of pounds I probably should lose, and the fact that as one ages, “if you don’t use it you lose it.” Time after time, I keep telling him I’ll watch my diet, I’ll exercise more, and I’ll get my weight back to a more reasonable level. I’ve been lying.

As a result of my guilt over lying, I decided in late December of ’22 that I’d give fitness a shot. My wife, referred to herein as Meg (because that’s her name), has had a gym membership for several years. At first she worked out a few times a week. But at that time, she was working a couple hundred yards from the place. Now, I doubt that anyone there would’ve recognized her in a line-up. It turns out she has been there only once or twice a year for the past few years. Those times were probably out of guilt as well, since we’ve been paying the gym every month whether she used it or not.

My decision to start working out has been great for Meg. She truly enjoys working out and with me keeping her company, she’s going at it like a real gym rat.

My first visit to the gym was my first visit to a gym. Period. The sights, sounds, and odors were eye-openers. Reminded me of a high school locker room, a place I haven’t experienced in decades. After the culture shock, I strolled up and down the aisles of a seemingly endless array of physical fitness equipment. Holy crap! Could they ever need all that equipment at once? It turned out that the number of machines wasn’t the real issue. It was what the hell do they all do, and how the hell do they all work?

I soon learned that my membership didn’t come with instructions. Meg knew how to work the ones she uses in her exercise regimen, but the rest were a mystery to her too. I love adventure, so I chose an apparatus and through my unfit body on top of it. The truth is, it was enough like the repose exercise bicycle that I have in my home office, which serves as a hat rack, that I was not intimidated.

Okay. Fifteen minutes on the bike-like machine, with all of its dials, switches, and huge screen (which I’m certain was watching me and chuckling), wore me out. On a positive note, it proved that I was in the right place. Emboldened, I strolled around some more and found another piece of equipment that didn’t terminally confuse or scare the hell out of me.

The machine has a hand crank and a friction wheel. It seems designed to exercise arms and shoulders. That’s what I used it for, and in fifteen minutes my arms felt like they fell off one of those blow-up dummies that flop around in used car lots to draw attention. Another flashing sign telling me I was probably in the right place.

That was the first week in January ’23. We just completed our eighth week of gym times two, and although it’s a bit early to see any substantial results, at least it hasn’t killed me. A genuine concern after the first day. I’ve actually lost nearly eight pounds, have extended my workout time, and learned to use more of the apparatuses. I’m not looking to bulk up my pecs, and firmly believe a six-pack is something to be picked up at the store. I just want to feel better, have more energy, and maybe fit into the 34-inch waist pants I’ve refused to donate. Always said I’d wear them again. Wish me luck.