The Quest for Perfection, (aka a size 6)

There are no women in their 30s. All the other women in the gym this morning were either 20 and firm, or pushing 40. 'Pushing 40" is not the same as being in one's 30s.
The 20-somethings were sweating in tiny boxer shorts and an alma mater tee shirt. They had curled their hair before coming to the gym.
The pushing 40 crowd was sweating in designer gym outfits, color coordinated to best advantage.
I wore mismatched sweats and an old tie-dyed muscle tee. I need to color my roots, and reduce my hips. Which, of course, shows half the reason I was there in the first place.
Now the men in the gym were a different matter. I don't know where the youngsters were, all the men were 50s, 60s, 70s. They were lifting weights and smiling at the 20s. It was very amusing to watch, and it helped to pass the time.
Jenine and I started on the treadmill. We had walked for about 10 minutes (on an incline), and I was feeling particularly righteous, when she smiled and said, "Should we start running now?" As if I had planned to run at all.
So, there we were jogging along. Sucking air. When Denise walks in. Now Denise is the body building Queen. And Jenine's sister. She became our personal trainer de jour.
So, basically I won't be able to move tomorrow.
We stayed on that treadmill for an hour. An HOUR. Who's righteous now, huh? And then we did arms...biceps and triceps....FOR ANOTHER HOUR. I'm not going to be physically able to lift a glass of wine to my lips all weekend.
But I am going to get this old body back into shape. So There!