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Weightlifting like Dad

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I love everything about my membership at the Chinatown Y: the noodle factory after the swim, the never-crowded pool, naked women yelling Cantonese in the sauna and smacking themselves with paper towels, the seeing-eye dog who waits patiently outside the shower-stall. I find the Y friendlier than the spa complex I checked out while shopping for a membership, with its Botox clinic and police outside who gave me a jaywalking ticket. Very proud of myself, I told my mother I was using the rowing machine. I was swimming. I was doing these things at a friendly, leisurely pace.

“That doesn’t count,” she said. They would do nothing for my bones or my muscles. I could do them all I wanted and still become a frail old lady. I had a lovely talk with a friend lately who said the same thing. You have to go to the weight room.
I knew that somewhere in the small print my Y membership had a phrase floating around in it about a personal trainer. Personal trainers seem to me like vitamins and once-a-week housekeepers and umbrellas: a decent idea used by so many people you almost feel you’re using it too, except you aren’t.  So today, day 14 in my year of daily doing something I’ve never done before, I called the Y and asked them if I could make an appointment. The receptionist told me a membership lets me make three appointments each year. So next week, I am to appear in my work-out clothes downstairs, and Mike is going to show me how to use the weight room.
Just so you know I come from a line of people who are serious about weight training, here’s a pair of photos of my dad using boulders, logs, harnesses and pulleys he made himself so that when he is at his log cabin, away from the gym, he can still do his weight training. Those numbers written on the boulders denote the weight of each rock.

A follow-up to yesterday: I called the notary recommended by my contact, and am making my will next week with him. He said it's a good thing I didn't use the will I downloaded online, though it was advertised as correct for my province, because such wills cost $2,000 by the time all's said and done, whereas writing a will with a notary in Quebec won't amount to more than $230. 
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On January 15th, 2011 02:20 pm (UTC), alicezorn commented:
How long ago were these photos of your dad taken? (He's a hottie.)

A great description of the Y--makes me want to join right now. Don't know if I'm ready for weights though. Do you know about taking calcium supplements for your bones?

I'll want the name and number of this notary please.

Your posts inspire me to step outside some of my well-trodden routines.
[User Picture]
On January 15th, 2011 04:37 pm (UTC), kathleenwinter replied:
well-trodden routines
Alice, I'll email you the notary contact info. Yes, well-trodden routines - I know all about them. I often think if I were to see a sped-up clip of my days, I'd pretty much be looking at a trail from my apartment to Cafe El Mundo and back! So This new resolution is changing that and I'm excited about it. Blogging it keeps me motivated to continue.
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