All beginning is hard. So is picking up exercise. I’ve done it often and I’ve done it again. After a hour-long class full of squatting, weights and jumping I felt my poor legs had trouble walking down the stairs. Mind you, I hadn’t done anything like this in the past two years. I’ve been travelling and that contains the occasionally hike or skiing trip, but nothing like a regular exercise program.
So the day after I felt like my muscles had turned into stone and today, two days after, they haven’t recovered yet. My mind wanted to join another class, but my legs disobeyed and didn’t want to bend when I wanted to get out of bed. Instead of a class, I went for a swim.
When I entered the pool, there were a few old people in it. One man was sitting on a floating, rubber spaghetti and did nothing else. Another man was standing in the corner and moved to a different corner every now and then. A woman was basically doing the same. Another man swam a lap or two and then joined the conversation in the corner.
To them the pool was more of a community hall instead of an exercise room. I tried to swim laps, but the talkative seniors kept asking me questions and including me in their conversation. Eventually I got half an hour of swimming in and then brought my stone legs home. In The Netherlands they complain about ‘hangjongeren’, kids that just hang around on squares or in the streets. In the gym I encountered the senior equivalent of this. There’s a generation gap for you.