Joan, Judy, Kathy, Beverly, Jeanette, Jackie, Deb, Cindy, June, Ruth, Dorothy … these are some of the ladies I’ve recently been meeting up with. There isn’t a new fangled name in the lot. No sir, you won’t find a Madison, Taylor, or Katelyn in this group. They are of a certain age, and they are doing just fine. These are the “Exercise Ladies” who attend classes either sponsored or offered by the greater Tri-Town area councils on aging. Finding these classes has been a bonanza for me. It gives me a chance to spread my wings, or should I say, Mambo Cha Cha across the floor.

            What I’m learning is that these town agencies are a resource rich in services for older people of all ages and needs. From shopping trips to a daily hot meal, from health screenings to social activities – local towns are providing invaluable opportunities to the senior citizens in their area.

For me, the chance to exercise in a low-impact high-intensity manner is allowing me to build strength and muscle tone in a comfortable environment. I couldn’t imagine going to a fitness center populated by hard bodies displaying six-pack abs and strutting around in thongs that expose tanning bed skin tones. Talk about intimidating. I’m right where I belong at the COA.

In spite of not being particularly shy, I’m actually not overly gregarious either, falling somewhere in the, “Hi how are you” space versus “Hi what’s your name – my name is…” During the first few classes, this reticence of character allowed me to fade into the back of the class without too much trouble. The instructor spotted me and asked the ladies in the class to say hello to the newcomer. They all turned and nodded. Some said, “Hello Mar-i-lou, goodbye heart.” Others smiled. It was like a warm blanket falling softly over my shoulders.

            The women range in age from, oh, I’d guess mid-eighties down to somewhere around my freshly-retired age (you can fill in that blank). Some are old school in keeping with their upbringing that dictates not leaving the house unless every hair is in place and the lipstick has been correctly applied. Others follow the latest fashion trends wearing yoga pants and tank tops, while a few seem to follow my policy of tossing on whatever is clean and comfortable.

On most days, I don’t have sufficient time before the morning class to fix my hair, so I simply toss on a ball cap and earrings. This has become my standard uniform now that I don’t have to dress for success Monday through Friday. And oh, by the way, elastic waistbands are a magnificent invention.

            Our instructor, Ellie, is the best. She enthusiastically brings the class together with warm-ups and then launches us into a set of routines that blend Zumba, aerobatics, ballroom and ethnic dance moves, yoga, deep breathing, and brain exercises. Each week, she also incorporates weights or stretch bands for muscle building and toning. I think we look great all moving in unison, for the most part, as Frank Sinatra belts out how he did it his way to a disparate group of women whose single-minded goal is to stay as fit as possible inside and out. We all know that Mr. Grim Reaper is waiting, but we push him away with every leg lift and toe tap.

I’m energized and uplifted being around these ladies who are so full of positive energy. Whatever else might be going on in their lives, they leave all that at the facility door and spend the ensuing hour in joyful movement.

As a kid, exercise was not part of my life. I didn’t participate in organized sports, and once I hit 15, I stopped riding my bike. In high school, I was marginally involved in gym class. Those were the days when we were all thrown in together and you either were able to run laps, do chin- ups, sink a basketball, or you were laughed at.

My lack of physical competence made me feel awkward. In my teenage brain, this translated into anger at those who could hit the softball and run the bases. Being a teenager was a difficult time for me compounded by problems on the home front. Or, maybe it was the other way around.

Without plumbing the depths of what was a rather difficult and emotionally messy environment home at that time, suffice it to say it didn’t provide the type of nurturing young children need in order to blossom. We floundered. We struggled. We staggered over each other’s increasing difficulties. It was not a cozy place to be.

Yet, our story is not unique. It was my extreme good fortune to learn that my family was simply a variation on the theme of dysfunction. I was relieved to learn that I could feel better, do better, be a better person if I wanted to and tried.

Call it serendipity if you will, but some years after high school I worked as the medical records director of a mental health clinic. The social workers and psychologists became my dear friends and supporters. Their guidance in steering me towards professional treatment and a journey of emotional growth changed my life. I’m happy to report it worked, and that work continues to this day, every day, and that’s okay by me. Learning and growing is a lifetime process and I intend to be a good student until the end.

As my mother and I aged, we came to a point where she understood my need to constantly excel in all areas of my life while seeking and learning how to maintain a healthy emotional balance. She told me she had been jealous of me for years because I had “gone out there” and done what I wanted to do, which she never had done.

She would never know and never be able to understand the effort it took. But I appreciated her rare candor, countering it with my own response, “I did it for you, Ma.” Today, when I prance around performing the moves that Ellie calls out, I think of my mother. “I’m doing this for you, Ma.”

In their final years, both my father and mother said they would die free from worry where I was concerned. Knowing this gives me great peace and a sense of freedom, a release from the years of turmoil and misunderstandings we lived through together.

My parents were and always will be very important to me. I credit them with allowing me to pursue employment opportunities years ago by providing free childcare and sometimes a roof over our heads, too. They never let me down when I needed them the most. And in the final analysis, I choose to accept the thin layer of love they were able to supply, knowing it was the best they could do, while forgiving them of everything else. It is the least I can do for them and the most I can do for myself, the woman I’ve striven to become.

The music beats out a rhythm as our instructor says, “Now let’s willow tree, willow tree, sway your hands above your heads, now grapevine, right foot in front of left, now hustle to the right corner, left corner, two-step right, two-step left…” I am transported to a place where my body is floating and moving smoothly while my mind rests on a pink cloud of joy. Here with these ladies, these women, I am now myself – the self I want to be, the self I can be, the self that continues to grow and will one day be returned to dust. But for now, I am in the company of women, and it feels so good.

By Marilou Newell