‘Sporture’ (rhymes with ‘torture’)

Exercise Clipart Cartoon

I used to be a ballet dancer. I used to be a karateka. I used to swim for my school (okay so I once swam breaststroke at Newlands Swimming Pool in an inter-schools competition. I needed help getting out of the pool because I was so tired, but still…) I captained the first netball team and once won a trophy for athletics (most promising junior athlete – not that much came of that promise mind you, despite my built-for-speed thighs!). I used to belong to a gym.

But that was all back in the eighties! I last did any proper exercise in 1992 in my antenatal classes when I was preparing to ‘blow the baby out’ (Thank God I never had to do that – mercifully I had five caesareans, but that is another story entirely, fraught with big-headed, lazy babies)

Aunty Acid Dead on a Jogging Trail Wrapped Canvas | Zulily

Until today.

Today I did a 30 minute workout with Caitlin led by a high pitched perky budgie I wanted to throw things at, but couldn’t because she was on Caitlin’s work computer.

And what did I discover from this madness? Well firstly my left knee is very old.

Secondly, you know those crunches-and-wiggle-wiggle-while-holding-your-abs-tight-and-your-legs-out sit-up type thingies? Well I can’t do those. I think my gynaecologist cut my abs out and forgot to replace them after Liam was born. Caitlin kept saying, ‘Not just your shoulders, Mom’ but damn, that’s all that was coming off the floor so I looked like a demented automatic lycra mop, or a dying, upside-down flabby cockroach, twisting away on my back. It used to be I could do crunches for hours on end; now the closest I can get is the oat crunchies I polished off yesterday.

I also can’t do the ‘the plank.’

‘You’re doing great!’ trilled Video Fitness Girl. Bitch.

So I thought, ‘Cool, I can easily touch my toes and yeah I can walk my hands out… whaaat? I have to hold it there?…More like walk the plank and die!…and now I must balance on one elbow and then on the other? You have GOT to be kidding!’ And then I fell over. There was a time when I could do 100 press ups, now sadly I could only log for a few seconds.

And every time she said, ‘If you’re not very fit, take this (easy) option, I took it.

I also discovered that I whine. A lot.

And then we were told to ‘shake it out.’ She should have know better than to say that to my 55 year old bod. The only reason the blubber didn’t go into perpetual motion was because it was encased in leggings. But shake I did, mainly from the trembling legs which were over-exerted.

High Intensity Interval Training it’s called: Yeah – ‘HIT’ only they can’t spell. Certainly wasn’t a hit with me. Caitlin says it’s a dance class tomorrow night. Caitlin is a bully.

And now my back hurts which tells me I did it all wrong anyway.

I think I should try chess rather. That’s a sport.

Of Trolls and Rolls

Image result for old age cartoon

My husband is a clever man. I mean really clever. He has a Master’s degree in Musicology and half a PhD. But for fun he has been known to sit in his Man Cave, playing GTA and cackling to the Red Neck humour of The Cable Guy, having the cheek to tell me he looks like my game ranger cousin. Of course he also loves more edifying humour like QI and laughs at The Trump and Clinton Comedy Show, despite the chilling consequences of the election of either to the presidency of the USA. He relishes the debates of Mehdi Hasan and delights in provoking conservatives. Bigots who don’t enjoy his stirring the pot call him a troll.

Andrew’s Music pupils adore him because he is cool. In fact he has a ‘Cool/Uncool’ Wall in his office. He is on Snapchat and rocks it. He is in with the gamers in the house and up to date on urban slang.

But he has a thing about his age, which is really funny, because besides …um… having an ‘extended crown’… he doesn’t look old. But he keeps on pretending to be younger than he is. And people believe it. If you present the evidence of his passport or ID document, he will tell you there were administrative errors when they were issued. If you plead with his mother to indicate when he was born, she confirms his actual age, but he blandly says you can’t ask her because she has Alzheimer’s (which is true, God bless her). So that is his secret: denial; denial; denial.

In a world where women complain that men don’t have issues about ballooning beer boeps, grey hair or sagging ‘stuff,’ it’s quite refreshing to see that actually they do care/ have insecurities/ feelings/ issues.

As a woman, for example, I have never had to worry that I might go bald (well – until I realised I might – if I keep pulling out the silver strands from my fringe); we can skip over the articles on prostate cancer and console ourselves that in general we outlive our spouses. (Hence my devilishly clever move to cougardom (only just though, hey.) We don’t need knee surgery from our days on the rugby field or feel the need to pretend we’re not aging and make a down payment on a fancy car and keep pulling in our stomachs when the new secretary sashays in (hell, we have girdles and full body stockings to slow down our undulating Sunday lunch excesses. And even Kim wears one – I read it on the internet so it must be true.)

In fact, if anything, women are opting for less hair – some even go all the way to Brazil to ensure that they are smooth (not me of course, but I do know someone who does); our surgeries include popping out the uterus and goodbye monthly worries. And we: Just. Do. Not. Care. We can laugh until our mascara runs; we no longer worry about embarrassing ourselves and in fact have perfected the art of mortifying image-conscious teenagers. We laugh loudly and heartily in restaurants without worrying that our double chins are showing. We have learnt to stand up for ourselves and not buy into society’s nonsense.

Sure I wear make-up to fill in the odd crinkle or cover the sunspots. It is depressing that I’m not thin after starving myself of chocolate for three days, but I am really not too phased.

However we have survived tight skinny jeans before there was stretch denim (and still managed to go on and have babies!); we were raised on Queen and Journey (with Freddie and Steve Perry); we had to actually break up in person, not on Whatsapp or Skype. We grieved with Demi in Ghost and watched American shows dubbed into Afrikaans. We have earned the accolades of the youth.

Besides which, I have an ageless man and we all know what they say about how old you are…

He is not the only clever one.