Here’s the thing about striving to get fit or lose weight after 60: As you run around spending wheelbarrows full of money on ab devices and diet plans that end up in the garage under an inch-thick pile of dust, you usually end up right back where you started.
I started working out at age 21, otherwise known as the Dawn of Time. I was present for the birth of aerobics classes and the cult-like following of Atkins.
It starts simply enough: You graciously help a friend move, go on a ‘short’ hike that becomes an all-day event, or simply wake up and – surprise! – something new hurts.
Here’s the thing about fitness information: It changes constantly. New research, trends and fads steer us in directions we believe will be The Answer to whatever fitness problem ails us.
It strikes without warning. One day you’re strolling along, thinking you’re finally getting the hang of this thing called ‘life,’ when – BAM! – it hits you as you try to zip up your pants. It’s a reminder that you are not yet done with every challenge.
Can you guess what ‘it’ is? Yup: belly fat.
As a child, I wanted nothing more than to sit with the grown-ups at the holiday table. But as the oldest of my four cousins and one brother, that was not possible. I was the designated President of the Little Table; the gatekeeper, if you will, between the two worlds.
After 37+ years of regular workouts, my body has decided to defend itself by developing osteoarthritis. Every workout is now a rousing game of Will It Hurt If I Do This? Oh, what fun.
Exercising at home sounds like the perfect way to get in shape. No driving to a sweaty workout facility filled with Spandex-clad people taking selfies in front of mirrors, gossiping about the new hot Zumba instructor.
Or maybe that’s just my gym. Regardless, home workouts can be ideal. Or not good.