When I think back
of my Grandma (Fanny), who lived with my family until she died when I was 15, I
think of an old lady, very vain, but nonetheless old; perhaps because I was her
14th grandchild. She was
the quintessential European grandma- with silvery white hair, which she would
pull back and pin in a bun every day; a heavy accent, intertwined with Yiddish
dialect- although her voice was merely a hoarse whisper because she had polyps
that destroyed her vocal chords. She
wore matronly print dresses and pearls around her neck, or other beads that
matched her outfit. Her ankle was
bad from a break she had right before my grandfather died; it never really
healed and as a result, she only wore orthopedic shoes that were very dowdy. Her
huge bosoms were as flat as pancakes and I recall one day walking in on her
dressing and lifting them into her brassiere. I was horrified and silently and stupidly wished that I would never have
big boobs like my grandmother. My
wish, when I realized I shouldn’t have
made it, came true.
Grandma Fanny expertly
crocheted beige doilies. There was
a convent right near the village she grew up in, in Austria, and when she was a
child, the nuns, who were fascinated by her beauty and distinctive auburn hair,
taught her how to weave flowers into wreaths and to crochet. Those nuns became so fond of her that
they wanted to adopt her and went to my great grandmother, explaining to her
that she has so many children, they would like to have Frieda (Fanny’s real
name). “I don’t give away my children!” was my great grandmother’s resolute
reply. It was a good thing,
because if she had said yes, there wouldn’t be a me, a Lindsay, a Kimmy or a Lexi now. I have one of Fanny’s many doilies on my bedroom dresser and
Lindsay has one on her dining room table, thanks to those nuns. If I were to pack a box of my most
treasured things, Grandma’s doily would certainly be in there.
Crocheting, cooking
and baking were the only ‘physical’ activities Grandma would do; otherwise she
watched TV in her chair- Bonanza was
her favorite show- or she sat on the front porch in the warmer weather and in
front of our picture window in the colder weather. She always told me how beautiful I was, even when I wrapped
my hair to get it straight, with a ridiculously beer-can sized pink roller on
the top and the rest of my hair wound around and put in place with silver hairpins. Her skin was soft, like velvet, and always
smelled of perfumed powder. I
remember right after she died, going into the cedar closet and burying my face
in her clothes to try to get the scent of her back and then ultimately
collapsing on the floor in tears.
Whenever we would
leave the house, Grandma used to say, in Yiddish, “Walk out with your right foot.”
And to this day, when I leave my house, I always try to abide by her
words; many times I’ve gone back into the house when I inadvertently step out
with my left foot and then step out with my right, instead.
And now I am a
grandma; it’s still hard to wrap my head around that fact. I focus on the rewards of this-- like
holding a sleeping Lexi close to my (much smaller) bosom and feeling the pulse
of her breathing against my own or watching her take in the world from those
enormous sapphire eyes as she begins to utter her first cooing sounds at the
same time smiling and kicking her feet.
Baby smiles are the most precious things on this earth; but your
grandchild’s first smiles are like seeing a vibrant butterfly flutter by…perfection. These are the priceless moments that
are so dear and make being older so
worth it.
I wonder what Lexi
sees when she looks at me, how she will one day remember me. I want her to remember someone not old, someone fit and fun. I want her to be able to see a glimmer
of the younger person I once was.
I vaguely remember my cousin Andrea telling me when she became a
grandmother that she had to learn how to get up from the floor all over again. I have a hard enough time standing up
after I lean over to change Lexi’s diapers.
Hence, I have decided
to make a concerted effort to try to get myself back in shape. This is not the first time I have done
this. This is about the 12th
time. Each time I do it, it takes
more time and lasts less time.
Last year, I lost 10 pounds and 27 inches and the 387 dollars it cost me
for a replacement diet plan. The
only thing I never got back was the 387 dollars; the pounds and inches returned
with extra to spare. I have a
plethora of exercise DVDs that I have used for a month and then abandon. I even joined Planet Fitness, and I diligently committed to the $10 per month,
but never committed to actually going there. My heart is in it; it’s just my body that isn’t.
I realized that I
had to make a real change when I was at my friend Eileen’s son’s wedding. It was during the smorgasbord, while I
was stuffing my face. Eileen’s
friend, Randi, was sitting across from me. Randi is in perfect shape; she was wearing a dress either of
my skinny daughter’s could fit into and she is only 5 years younger than I
am. I noticed the definition of
her arms, instead of flapping 'goodbye' as mine do, hers had definition and
muscle.
“Randi,” I remarked, “you look
fantastic. You must exercise,
right?”
“Yes. I do,” she responded.
“Tell me your routine, what do you do, how
often do you exercise?”
“Well, I go to the gym 3 times a week for 2
hours a day. I work with a trainer
for an hour and then I do cardio for another hour.”
“That’s it? Only 3 times a week?”
I asked her, thinking to myself, ‘that’s not so hard’.
“That’s it. I find that once I make the appointment, it gives me the
incentive to go. But Jeannie, you
look great, too,” Randi
replied. “You must work
out.” (Either she was being
nice or she needed her eyes checked.)
“Oh Yeah!” I answered facetiously, “Do you want to know my routine? I pull the Spanx over my thighs, one at
a time, then over my butt, then over my belly flab. It takes about 5 minutes, but I work up a good sweat and it
works the muscles in my arms too.
I call it ‘Spanxercise’.”
Everyone
laughed. “You’re so funny, Jeannie.” Randi said.
Funny is nice, I thought to myself, but it’s not going to get me into that dress you’re wearing, even with
the Spanx.
I went away from
that wedding, which was almost a month ago, thinking about Randi and her
exercise routine and vowing that at some point in the near future, I would
begin one like that too. I had a
formula; I just had to make it work for my schedule and my lifestyle. (Of course, Randi doesn’t work, bless
her heart.) I kicked myself for
not borrowing a book from a principal I used to work with that was always
prominently displayed next to her desk—Meditations
for Women Who Do Too Much. Surely
there was some chant in there to get me on track.
Finally, Kim, my
younger daughter, decided that she wanted to join a gym. We joined a more upscale gym than Planet Fitness together and we even made
an appointment for a free consultation with a trainer. Appointment! That was the one ingredient that Randi had mentioned that
would give me the incentive to go.
I even put the appointment on my iPhone. Just looking at the event in my calendar made me feel more
in shape.
My appointment with
the trainer was a week ago today, with Kim. First there was an interview, then they give you a workout
and then they go over prices.
During the interview they weigh you and measure your body fat. That was the depressing part. That was the part that made me feel
old. For the workout part, I thought they were going to show me which
machines to use. Nope. A gym full of equipment. They didn’t show us how to use one
machine. This trainer, Louie, took
Kim and me to a back corner room in the gym. He had us do a plank position for 2 minutes. (I only did one
minute and a half, Kim did the full 2 minutes.) Then he had us do squats with the big exercise ball, then
lift weights, then squat and lift weights with the big exercise ball. We also did push ups, which I majorly
suck at and sit ups, which I minor-ly suck at. That was the hard part. That was the part that made me feel older, even though the
trainer (who was 12) kept calling
both of us, ‘sweetheart’. Finally
after our 25-minute workout, we went over prices. That was also depressing and hard. Personal training is very
expensive, added on to the monthly fee for the upscale gym.
Both Kim and I
decided that we would try looking at another gym. We went to look at the other gym twice, which was a lot less
money for monthly membership and a lot smaller. We also met with the trainer, who was a lot more pompous than
Louie, except he didn’t call either of us ‘sweetheart’. That was a plus in my book. I liked
this gym too. So I joined it and I
signed up for four sessions of personal training at a bargain price.
Now I belong to two
gyms.
The only thing is,
that I actually spent more time talking to the people of the gym about the gym, instead of actually using they gym. I’m getting closer, but not quite there
yet. The good thing is I have a
personal trainer now. His name is
Tom. The next step is making the
appointment.
And don’t ask how
much money I have wasted for initiation fees, because that would also depress
me. I decided to cancel the first
gym, although I paid for the first and last month, so I could actually still go
to that gym all the way through the month of August. I could go to both gyms. I think that’s kind of cool. Except, I haven’t gone to either gym, but I had good reasons.
On Monday, my
reason for not going to the gym was because every single inch of my body hurt
from the workout the trainer who called me ‘sweetheart’ gave me. I could barely stand up without some
part of my body hurting me. Louie,
the trainer, had also told me that you need 3-5 days to rest to let the muscle
rebuild itself. I like the rest
days.
I couldn’t go the
gym on Tuesday because first of all, it was day 2 of my 3-5 rest days, and
second, I had to work in the morning and go to the city with Lindsay in the
afternoon. With the baby. Yes. We took the baby to Manhattan. During the hottest week of the summer. Why? Lindsay had an appointment for Lexi with a modeling agency. Driving to Manhattan is one of my least
favorite things to do. As a matter
of fact, I would rather do a mammogram than drive to Manhattan and if you’re a woman,
you know how uncomfortable a mammogram is. They flatten your boobs (as flat as Grandma Fanny’s) one at
a time in an apparatus and tell you to hold your breath while they x-ray each
breast a number of times. I
believe some sadistic bastard, who hates woman invented this machine.
The last time I
drove to Manhattan, I took my mother and her walker, Tooby. (She named her walker Tooby.) We had to park in one of those lots that was underground and
had a steep sloped driveway.
Naturally, we would never make it up the driveway with my mother and
Tooby. So, we had to take the
elevator, which led to a maze of doors, which led to a freight entrance to the
back of a building, which led to a hand-operated loading dock to bring you to
street level. We were going to the
Lighthouse Guild for the Blind. Just the parking was exhausting.
After the series of
events from the parking garage, I had to walk with my mom and Tooby through
midtown Manhattan. There were
ramps and steps and finally the entrance to the building, which had revolving
doors. I hate revolving
doors. I am convinced the person
who invented revolving doors is another sadistic bastard who hates all people. How do you get an 89 year-old woman
with a walker through a revolving door?
We had to get the building security man to open the regular door that
has a sign that says “Use revolving doors only.” That sadistic bastard
probably created the sign too.
Going back we had to get them to open the regular door again, then go
back on the ramps, then find the hand-operated loading dock to bring us back to
the elevator of the parking lot.
While I was on the
elevator with my mom and Tooby, I realized I forgot the $327 bag of stuff we
bought at the Lighthouse store in the bathroom. So, I had to leave my mother (and Tooby) with the parking
attendant (who took very good care of her) and run back through midtown
Manhattan back to the building through the revolving doors, which I hate, to
retrieve the bag from the bathroom, which, thankfully was still there probably
because most of the people who used that bathroom were blind anyway. Then I had to run back to the parking
garage to get my mother. This is
why I hate Manhattan. It is way
worse than a mammogram.
As one would
expect, I was not looking forward to driving into Manhattan again with a baby
and a stroller and all the other paraphernalia that comes with infants and
naturally, it was midtown, again, which is the busiest place. On the way, Lindsay realized she forgot
the white blanket that the modeling agency requested on the kitchen table, so
we had to find a Buy Buy Baby in
Manhattan to purchase another white blanket. The block before making the turn to the store was so
congested, I decided to get out of the car and walk to Buy Buy Baby and have Lindsay meet me there. The walk in over 90-degree heat
confirmed again how out of shape I really am or that it was a really dumb day
to go to midtown Manhattan.
After I bought the
blanket, we had to make it to the modeling agency with a ten-minute window; in
other words, we could get there no sooner than 5 minutes before and no later
than 5 minutes after the scheduled appointment. We also had to find a parking lot in Manhattan that had the
Icon symbol, so Lindsay could use her coupon for $20. This took us down more streets that took us 15 minutes to
get through. The first parking lot
did not have an Icon symbol and was $37.
I told Lindsay to park there but she didn’t listen. We found another parking garage that
had an Icon symbol but it was full.
Then we were running out of time and just made it to the parking garage
around the corner from the agency.
That was $39. I didn’t
hesitate to tell Lindsay that she should’ve listened to me in the first place.
We had to put the
sleeping Lexi in the stroller to walk through midtown Manhattan to find the
building on Madison Avenue. I was
praying that it wouldn’t have revolving doors. We walked past the building twice because the door was so
narrow we missed it. On the way
in, Lindsay ran over my foot with the stroller. Everything in the building was narrow- the halls, the
elevator and when we got to the modeling agency, it was the size of my kitchen
with two young girls at desks.
We had to wake up
poor sleeping Lexi for the lady at the agency to snap pictures of her on the
white blanket that they placed on a rug on the floor. She was not smiling.
Would you smile for a complete
stranger after your mother and grandma woke you up from your afternoon nap and
laid you on a strange rug in a narrow room you never saw before? Lexi started to cry, so I changed
her on the rug and had to get up from the rug to further prove to myself that I
was out of shape. Lexi started
crying again, so Lindsay had to nurse her and I burped her and then we laid her
back down on the blanket on the rug for more pictures. She did not smile, she only looked at
the girl with her big blue eyes as if to say, ‘This was NOT MY idea’. They
did like her blue eyes, though.
After an hour, they told us we had to leave because they had another
appointment. They told Lindsay,
they would contact her for any jobs.
I secretly prayed the jobs would be NOT in midtown Manhattan.
We went back to the
parking garage, put Lexi back in the car seat and put the stroller back in the
trunk and went to Union Square to pick up Aunt Kim at work and drove home in
the height of traffic, with a crying, annoyed infant. I told Lindsay that I would not be accompanying her to
midtown Manhattan anymore. (Not,
at least until I learn a chant from the book, Meditations for Woman Who Do Too Much, to prepare me for the
ordeal.)
On Wednesday I did
not go to the gym either. First of
all, it was day 3 of my 3-5 days of rest.
Secondly, I was still recovering from the trip to the modeling agency. Third, I had work to do.
On Thursday, I had
plans with my friends, Barbara, Michelle, Jodi and Barbara’s daughter, Jennifer
to go to Fire Island. I was really
looking forward to a day off and decided that I was going to lean towards 4
days of rest after my first workout.
I had only been to
Fire Island once; it was in the evening and it was just out to dinner with our
friends, Roselee and Joey. I loved
it. Although you do have to drive
a distance to the Ferry, and then the ferry is about 20 minutes to the Island
beaches. We had dinner on the
water. It was lovely.
Thursday was one of
the hottest days of the year. We
drove out to the ferry, parked in the lot and unpacked the trunk with our
chairs and beach bags. My chair
was on the heavy side. Everyone
else’s was a lighter one. Jodi
brought a lighter chair, but also a rolling suitcase and a beach umbrella. We told her she over-packed. We climbed up to the top deck of the
ferry. Even though we were on the
water, it was really hot. I
couldn’t cool off.
After the ferry
ride, we ate a delicious lunch at a restaurant sitting right on the water, with
a gorgeous view, but I still could not get cool. Then we headed down to the beach. I thought that it might be a walk, but I never anticipated a
hike. It felt like we were in the
wilderness; there were even deer walking down the path alongside of us, I kid
you not. You could see the beach
about a mile and a half away as we walked down the path towards it. My chair was getting heavier. Jodi was alternating hands rolling her
suitcase and banged each of us in the head at least once with her beach
umbrella. As we got closer to the
beach, I noticed that there was a very big staircase to get onto it. I decided that even though I wasn’t
going to the gym that day that this trek would count as a workout with weights
and aerobics. I certainly was
sweating enough for it to be a workout.
I also decided that the person who designed Fire Island was another
sadistic bastard, as well. At one
point, between the heat and humidity and the endless road, I thought Fire
Island was my personal hell.
However, we got to
the beach and after we walked on the hot sand and set up our chairs and waded a
little in the ocean waves, it was really beautiful and I had a great time with my friends. Barbara and Jennifer kept on telling me that I looked
miserable, although I was really just very hot and sticky and
uncomfortable. After all it was
over 95 degrees. I thought I might sit under Jodi’s umbrella, but it turned out
to be mesh and didn’t block the sun.
I informed them that I was donating my chair to the beach, because there
was no way I was walking back that road carrying it. Jennifer saved my life and ended up carrying it for me. On the walk back, one or ten mosquitoes
bit me up as if I needed that on top
of everything else.
In the little town,
I bought a stuffed mermaid doll for Lexi and a fan in the shape of an ice cream
cone. I wish I bought that fan
sooner.
We ended the day
with dinner at an air-conditioned restaurant not overlooking the water, which
suited me fine, even though the seats at the table were so low the table was
level with my chin. We treated
ourselves to a lobster dinner and laughed about our day trip. Barbara asked me, “Why do you think it
wasn’t so hard for me to do that walk and carry my stuff. Do you think it’s because I work out?” Barbara runs about three times a week
and takes Zumba classes once a week, amongst other things. She’s totally fit. “No Barbara,” I answered. “I know it’s because you work out.”
Still, on Friday, I
didn’t go to the gym. I was
recovering from Thursday.
On Saturday, I
couldn’t go to the gym because I had my first meeting at the Long Island
Romance Writers Association and got to meet my writing friend, Stephanie. No time for the gym. Stephanie told me she joined Planet Fitness. I wonder if she’ll go.
Today I spent the
whole day writing this blog entry.
Maybe I’ll go to the gym tonight.
Or maybe I won’t. But I
promise, I am going to get back in shape.
I am going to make an appointment with that trainer and walk out my
front door, with my right foot, of
course, and get back in shape.
PS- And I will definitely go back to Fire Island, only on an 80 degree day, with a lighter chair, my ice cream cone fan and when I'm back in shape.
