A new voice emerges

This was the first morning of my 63rd year. Just to avoid confusion, I turned 62. I had decided it would also be my first day back in the gym.

During the endless skein of holiday season parties, I contracted a cold of a magnitude to rival the Black Plague. Then, it morphed into bronchitis and lingered throughout the month. I could barely lift my head, let alone a barbell.

My lungs had cleared enough for me to vocalize, so I decided it was time to get back in the ring. I stared at the ceiling of my bedroom, thinking maybe I should defer this for a week. A voice told me, “Get your butt out of bed, brush your teeth and hustle to the gym. Quitters never win and winners never quit.”

It’s a familiar voice. I’ve heard it for six decades whenever I was tempted to coast in some way.

But the, a new voice piped up. “Get real. You’re 62, in reasonable shape and what do you need this crap for at this stage of life? Roll over, get some more sleep and then get up and eat a donut.”

Where did that come from? I shook my head and jumped out of bed before it could speak again. Who was this stranger preaching the gospel according to slackers?

I drove to the gym, planning moderation so I didn’t wind up with another month of declining condition. That is, I’d do two thirds of the time in each routine.

First stop was ten minutes on the stationary bike. It felt easy, which isn’t unusual for the first time back. Fresh legs. But, I expected to be sweating and panting by the halfway mark. Not so. Could something be amiss? I grabbed the contact plates for the heart monitor to check my pulse rate. Not only did I not get a reading, it didn’t even light up. Okay, so that’s the problem. I’m dead. Cacked out on the first stroke and I’m just dreaming this part. I finished the exercise, just in case there was some other explanation.

Next up, the track. First lap, I feel the lungs and heart starting to labor. Worse yet, the pain of bone-on-bone in the knees and ankles. This seems to cue my new voice. “Back it off, you’re doing permanent damage and suffering needlessly. And, for what?” Where’s my normal voice when I need it? I press on, anyway.

Lap four. The pain is intense and has been joined by my lungs dredging up the vestiges of the bronchial problem. I’m trying to breathe a substance that has the consistency of tar. “You see?” asks the new voice. “You’re killing yourself for no good reason.” Hard to argue with that.

At last, my original conscience comes alive. “Superior results only come from superior efforts.” That’s it? That’s the best you’ve got? I feel my pace slacken. “And remember, good conditioning maintains the blood and oxygen flow to your fun parts.” Okay, now you have my attention. I finish the workout at all ahead, full.

That takes its toll. The climb up the steps to the exercise floor is a test. I do the elliptical machine and the weight room without any further input from the voices.

I shower and am out to the car. As it approaches an ice cream emporium, the new voice kicks in. “Double chocolate chip. Go ahead. After all, it’s your birthday.” True, it is my birthday. I ease off on the accelerator.

“Hey! You used that excuse all weekend. Time to suck it up.” I press down on the gas.

But, I will have to work on fending off the new voice.