You Can't Fight Mother Nature

A few weeks ago, in a motivated moment, I decided I needed to exercise more and do some resistance training—so my muscles will burn more calories while I’m at rest or as I prefer to say, "getting in touch with my horizontal axis." Muscle mass, I’ve heard, is the key to beating middle-age weight gain.

Traveling the four sets of stairs spanning my house from basement to attic and my brisk walks to bus stops, Metro stations, and the parks near my home was not enough. I was getting only half the job done. You see, from the waist down I‘m Denise Austin (add a bit of cellulite, lose the tan), and from the waist up, I’m Olive Oyl. It was time for a change. My caboose was overtaking my train.

This is a conversation I’ve been having with myself all my adult life—because my long arms and bony shoulders have NEVER kept pace with my legs. As a distance runner in high school, my legs did all the work while my arms major task was to help my hands wipe sweat off my brow and push my hair out of my eyes. In my 20s, I joined a fitness class and never graduated past the five-pound hand weights. In my 30s, my back and shoulders bulked up a bit as I hauled babies, car seats, and toddlers, but as the kids grew up and I grew older, my upper body atrophied again and I started to look like E.T.

So in an effort improve my life, wear tank tops with confidence, and be able to haul even heavier groceries home from the bus stop (a GALLON of milk!), I embarked on a home exercise plan. I rolled my weights out from under the futon—everything from the puny 2 pounders I’m embarrassed to own to the 10 pounders I bought years ago in a rush of confidence (and never used). I warmed up a bit with yoga, stretched out, and then decided to do some pushups.

Not military pushups, mind you, GIRLY pushups, the ones designed for those whose weight and strength is centered in the rear, not the shoulders (C’est moi!). I carefully got down on my hands and knees, straightened my back, sucked in my stomach, snuck a peek down my shirt to see if I had great cleavage in this position (sadly, NOT), and then carefully bent my elbows to lower my chin to the floor. THUD! That’s the sound of my perfect form collapsing onto the rug, crushing my ego in the process. (OMG, is that a carpet burn on my chin! My humiliation is complete!)

I scrape myself off the floor, drag myself over to my computer and exercise my very strong mouse-pushing hand and double-clicking finger to see if there have been any studies on gravitational pull in Belgium . I’m convinced it’s stronger here, closer to the North Pole. This explains why my face is sagging, my rear end settles so snugly in the chair and my arms can’t do pushups anymore…..It would also explain the powerful, invisible forces pulling me into a horizontal position. We all know, you can’t fight Mother Nature—especially if you can’t do even one pushup.

September 10, 2005