For years I treated the gym like a place to hide excess weight. Not because I was fat—never a problem until menopause hit. I’d just jog on the treadmill. Thirty minutes. Three times a week. It worked. The weight came off. But that’s all I cared about. Strength? Muscle? Whatever.
Then came my mom.
She was heavy, struggling with health issues. I watched health aides struggle to lift her. That image stuck in my brain. Please let me not be that woman. I kept myself light, mobile, functional. But passive.
“My body’s health isn’t all about number on scale—composition of weight is more important.”
The wake-up call arrived at 71. The pandemic did what it did—added twenty pounds to my frame. I felt sluggish. Isolated, too, after moving far from my friend group. So I joined Orangettheory. It’s intense. Heart-rate zone stuff. And it forced me into an InBody scan.
The numbers were brutal.
Most of my mass was fat. Barely any muscle. I stared at the screen, annoyed. The scale said one thing but the scan told a different story. I realized then that being thin wasn’t the goal anymore. Being dense was.
I set a target. Crazy one. Turn fifty percent of my body weight into muscle. Give me twelve months.
I showed up to Orangetheory three days a week. I attacked the treadmill intervals, hitting a seven-minute mile once, just to prove I could. By the anniversary? Goal met. Half muscle.
That was then. Now I’m seventy-five.
I don’t do plans. Plans feel like cages. I’m a gym rat who wanders. If a machine calls to me I’ll sit in it. If not I’ll move on. I hit Life Time athletic club five to seven days a week usually. Barre twice. Strength classes twice.
Dancing three or four times.
Not for the calorie burn, really. For the joy. Ballroom keeps me social. After classes I drift into free weight circuits. Chest back arms legs. Three sets. Twelve reps. No rush. I don’t do rest days. Not really. Just active movement every single day to stay strong.
Two things keep me grounded though.
- Pullups remain a work in progress. I can’t do them unassisted yet. But at seventy-one I was stuck at 70% assistance. Now? Five or six reps at 30% help. Close enough.
- My plank PR sits around four minutes fifteen seconds. Aiming for five. It feels good to hold still when the world won’t stop shaking.
People ask what the secret is. Usually three things.
Find movement that doesn’t feel like work
You don’t need to deadlift cars to look good or feel solid. It was trial and error for me. Some workouts felt like punishment. Others—like barre—felt like flow. Dancing definitely felt like living. You have to like moving otherwise you quit. I liked it. So I stuck around.
Ignore the crowd’s speed
Instructors go fast. Really fast. I used to try and keep up until I realized I was just flailing weights. Mind-muscle connection went out the window. So now? I slow down. I own the rep. I know my limits better than the trainer in front of the class ever could. Safety first always.
“Slow and steady is my motto.”
Remember who’s watching
I’m the oldest soul in nearly every class I join. Kids half my age stare. Some say they want to look like me in their seventies. That feeds something deeper than ego. It fuels the soul.
If I show them it’s possible to remain strong late in the game maybe they’ll believe it too. Maybe I’ll keep coming back just for that reason alone.
Who knows.
