My love affair with working out has been off and on at best, but one thing that has remained consistent is my why– it’s how I control the only thing I can control, which is me. It also allows me to erupt in anger, sadness, and frustration in a way that’s socially acceptable; I.E.- no one gets physically assaulted. Notably, any attempts to work out in a congenial mood will always necessitate loud/angry music to get me in the zone. However, these days I feel like a bit of a unicorn. The females at the gym seem to be either half my age or elderly. I turn 49 this year. It could be that many women my age have opted for less detrimental fitness methods such as cycling, yoga, and pilates; which makes sense- unfortunately, the only thing that scratches the itch for me is lifting weights. That said, there really isn’t a right or wrong way to remain physical as we age- it’s a very personal journey. However, that journey becomes much steeper as the years roll on and is (to me) a big reason for the saying “Getting older ain’t for pussies.”
When I was in my twenties I had a very physical job, which was often followed by a trip to the gym. I remember older women telling me to “Enjoy it while it lasts, honey.” This always annoyed me because though admittedly, my metabolism was at peak performance, I was still working my ass off! Oftentimes, these women (it was always women) were clearly not taking measures to be healthy- they were smoking, drinking, and eating poorly. My mom happened to be one of these people, and thus, I vowed to live a life opposite of that and was sure it was the key to health and happiness.
Up until about ten years ago when I was thirty nine, I still believed that the perils of aging mostly came down to choice. If you take good care of yourself you’ll age well; if you don’t take care of yourself you won’t- pretty straightforward. I was on the cusp of turning forty and still very much on my high horse, but humility found me in the form of plantar fasciitis and a shoulder impingement. I acquired both injuries simultaneously and each took about nine months to heal. Most forms of exercise were painful (hell, even walking was excruciating) and no amount of expensive health foods or supplements could save me. I truly felt like I was falling apart. So much for forty and fabulous!
Maybe there was some truth to what mother and those other ladies had told me after all.
A lot of my time off from the gym in the last decade has come down to me avoiding the inevitable pain that comes with it, but the slogan “If you really want something you’ll find a way, and if you don’t you’ll find an excuse” really says it all.
The fact is, working out looks much different now than it did in my twenties and thirties. Since then I’ve developed arthritis in my lower back, my scoliosis has gotten more severe, and I’ve had two surgeries. Not to mention that I’m premenopausal, which for me causes joint pain and contributes to insomnia. I can (and have) let these things stop me, but I’m realizing how to modify exercises that give me trouble and I’m learning to let go of ego and stop doing certain movements altogether. Additionally, I’m not above taking a couple ibuprofen if necessary and ice/heat packs are my trusty sidekicks.
I won’t say much about diet because although it’s VERY important to the process, what consists of a healthy diet varies greatly from person to person; though I will share that for me dairy causes a great deal of inflammation in my body and manifests as pain, so I consume it sparingly.
All this to say, I hope you don’t let age get in the way of moving your body however possible because it’s all relevant- walking is one of the best forms of exercise there is!
I strongly feel that if you are still fighting the good fight as you approach middle-age and beyond, you not only belong in the gym, on the track, on the mat, etc., you are a goddamn warrior who has earned the right to be there!