Geriatric Gym Goals

I am not a people person. I struggle with social anxiety and I’m fairly judgmental, which means I don’t like a lot of people. It’s a vibe thing.

I particularly don’t like to be around people when I’m working out. That is, of course, challenging, given the fact I recently joined a gym.

When I’m working out, I keep to myself. I don’t talk to people and I don’t want people talking to me. I generally don’t even notice other people unless they’re using a piece of equipment I want or are doing something I find rude (a post about my gym pet peeves is coming soon, don’t you worry!).

However, there are a few people I’ve noticed at the Y these past few weeks, and each brings a smile to my face … Although possibly not for the right reasons.

First, there’s the tiny octogenarian who walks on the treadmill every morning at 5:30, dressed in a Richard Simmons-inspired ensemble: short shorts, tank top, knee-high socks, and a thick terry cloth headband. He’s probably only about 100 pounds and wears a heavy set of old-school over-the-ear headphones. In my mind, he’s listening to gangsta rap, but it’s probably swing music.

Then there’s the septuagenarian who plays hoops at 6AM with a bunch of younger guys (and by younger, I mean men in their 40s). Every morning, he’s decked out in his NBA finest: a Warriors jersey, Pacers shorts, and loose white knee-high socks. Totes adorbs.

But my favorites, by far, are the old naked swimming ladies.

They don’t really swim naked. At least I hope not; I can’t be sure because I don’t walk past the pool to check. But the Y is a family place, so I’m guessing they wear swimsuits.

Anyway, after their swim—or water aerobics class—they all just hang out in the locker room. Naked. Chatting. As if there’s nothing unusual about having a full-on conversation IN PUBLIC with someone whose boobs and bush (or lack thereof) are on full display. I love their body confidence and IDGAF attitude!

Science shows that daily movement helps keep you young—even if you move slower than you used to and your boobs hang down by your knees. (The science didn’t say that part; I did.)

While I won’t have to worry about hanging boobs (given my sub A-cup status) and I don’t have plans to join the naked ladies club anytime soon, I am inspired to be a SuperAger just like my geriatric gym counterparts.

They know what’s up.