Holy moly, Batman, I can’t walk.

I tried my first exercise class at a local gym. I have been searching for a group class of some sort as walking five miles a day is not staying ahead of my butt or my arthritis pain.

You’ll lose weight in Spain they said, you will walk everywhere they said, you’ll eat healthier and be less stressed they said.

How’s that working for me? I weighed myself at the local pharmacy for 20 cents. I’m now 75 Kilograms.  Which calculates as close to 13 pounds more than when I got here. I’ve turned the mirror around that’s how well it’s working.

I mean when I got here my stress was high. Real high. That horrendous apartment, knowing nothing about teaching kids and having to go to not one, but five padron appointments drove me to drink. A lot. I admit it. Plus, every chance I got, my trigger finger booked a flight or train somewhere so I could “get away” and act more like a tourist than ever to squelch my anxiety, lack of sleep, and stress. Being a tourist is great for a week but for months not so good…. we all know when on vacation its permission to eat and drink anything, stop exercising and chill out. Don’t do this for more than a month, be warned, especially for 8 months.

Unfortunately, with stress comes a need for comfort. So, every day I not only ate what the Spaniards eat like the crispy baguettes with virgin Spanish olive oil, olives, pates, Jamon, cheese and of course vino….and the afternoon of “la Puente” of coffee and a fresh melt-in-your-mouth pastry every day, I had those darn three-course “menu del dia” for $10 at least once or twice a week. Get the picture?

Five miles of walking a day can’t keep up with my mouth.

So long story short, I looked in the local recreation centers here. They have classes, lots of them yippy! But they all close the entire months of July and August. WTf? It’s too hot they said, everyone is off those months. Local businesses big and small. Even many restaurants.

Um, that sucks. How does anyone make money here? Oh, I forgot they don’t. They’re not American. But they do live longer…hmm

Well, I looked into a couple gyms and found one called “B-Fit” literally a 5-minute walk from my apartment. And only $25 a month with 6-8 classes a day. They don’t close over the summer unless they are lying.  And they also have classes earlier than 7:30 pm thank God. I’m off all day from 2 pm on and every class I found so far is either at 8 am when I’m working or after 7 pm. This is not a country of early birds; the Spanish go slow and start late. so don’t be in a rush.

So, the front desk guy, a smiling young sandy-haired man with a little English was so happy and cheerful to have me try the place he literally opened the door and said go fit and be fruitful. Just kidding he didn’t know that much English.

So, the next day I went to a GAP class; it stands for glutes abs, and legs. Ok, I’ve been stair climbing a little here in the park so I was hoping my legs could manage it.

I show up and there were maybe five women and one man. One older woman near the back smiles at me. Ok, I’m starting to look like older people now, I knew it.  She thinks I’m like her. Oh, wait I’m nearly 60. I am her.

I watch as everyone gets a mat, dumbbells, a bar, and a piece of paper from the paper towel roll. Um-hm for sweat? Whatever I follow.

In walks a thin muscular Spaniard in tight black workout shorts and a yellow T-shirt who will instruct. He glances at me but says nothing. Off we go. Warm-up, then here comes the legwork…. squats I can do, lunges, kicks, side lunges… I’m sweating. The older lady holds her bar to balance as she squats and lunges. Damn, I should have thought of that as each lunge my legs are becoming irritated with me. I quickly learned the words for up, down, right and left… derecha, iziquirda arriba, abajo….ok I got it.

Then everyone steps onto the paper. Oh ok… now I know, sliders. That’s economical, in the US I would have had to buy them at Walmart. So, we all put one foot on and slide forward, backward, and side to side. Ok it’s getting rough. The guy next to me is huffing and puffing and he looks younger than me, ok I’m not that bad I’m thinking.

Then he had us hold dumbbells over our heads and lunge to work the arms too. Ouch. My arms are in bad shape too, but then I nearly dropped it. I’m ashamed of myself. I was a runner and a kettlebell instructor for many years before I got here. Now I’m like a stuffed olive… fat, salty, and about to be eaten alive by this workout.

Finally, onto abs… scissors, bicycles, crunches, butt lifts…hurry up I’m thinking before the elder outdoes me.

Finished.

I made it.

I get up and walk downstairs and decided I’m ok enough to jump on the bike for 40 minutes. I last 20. Satisfied. I get up and my legs are rubber… I fear falling.

There was only maybe three people in the room working out on the treadmills around me. I hold the bike and pretend I’m checking my phone. Shit don’t fall I say to myself. Get a grip woman.  I walk 5 miles a day so wtf? I’m this weak?

The lady’s locker room is 10 feet from me. You know it’s bad when you need to estimate your ability to get to a bench 10 feet away.

I gain composure, force myself, and “wall-walk” to the bathroom. Wall walking is a term usually reserved for older people that can’t walk without holding onto something. I made it, but I feel like I’m now one of my geriatric patients. Shoot me.

20 minutes later I feel better… I think.

I get up and my legs are rubbery as hell. Then I remembered I’m on the 2nd floor. I have to walk down. Standing at the top of the stairs I’m counting the steps. Please God don’t let me break my neck I’ll never get to come back and they all say you know those fat Americans…

Thankfully, the gym was near empty as it was only 6 pm so no one would see me. I grabbed the railings on both sides and painstakingly lifted myself down each step hoping no one would try and get by as I needed both arms for the descent. If one arm goes, the rest is history.

These were the longest steps I’ve ever taken in my stair walking career. And I have climbed thousands of steps and was the captain of a big team of climbers taking them to victory in building after building in races for years in the US.

I was devastated at myself for letting my body turn into this. Damn all those olives and bread I’ve eaten!

I made it to the bottom, waved at the front desk guy, and went outside trying not to act like I’m about to fall on my face. My 5-minute walk home took 20 minutes.

Well, that was a Tuesday.

Wednesday I was sore but not as bad as I figured.

Thursday, the world stopped. It was day two of the workout. I couldn’t hardly move my legs. I couldn’t hardly even shuffle to walk. I have wood floors so in socks, I could slide each foot forward to move. I got to the bathroom Thursday morning and had to use the grab bars across from my toilet to get down. Then I couldn’t get off. The soreness was so intense it was the worst I’ve ever had in my 59 years. I had to hold onto the bathroom sink and bidet next to me, roll sideways off the toilet onto the ground onto all fours wincing every second.

I pulled the towel off the towel holder and used it to slide myself toward my bed as I couldn’t get up.

I was like the person on that TV ad that says “help I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up! but no one to help me. Although I wouldn’t have accepted it anyway. Besides, I was going to get off that damn floor one way or another and my cell phone was in the bedroom.

Using the towel I slid to my bed and heaved my torso on it which is very low thank goodness. I have been cursing the furniture here a lot. The beds and couches and chairs are so low everywhere maybe for the Spanish as they are shorter? I don’t know. But it worked in my favor that day. Not so much the next 2 days.

It took almost 4 days before I could walk halfway normally. Then what did I do? A glutton for punishment as always, I went with Jorge to run a 6K night run here in Elche. We had already paid, and I wanted my beer at the end damn it. So, I went. 9:30 pm, we took off and I walked most of it, but I did it. Then found out the beer at the end was nonalcoholic. Just my luck.

Am I going back to the gym? hell yes, I’m not giving up.

Until next time..

Somewhere in Spain.

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