Oh, to be 19 again...

I went this week to the "new gym" for a free BodyAge evaluation. Heath was supposed to accompany me and get poked and prodded, too, but he kindly stood me up to face the perky little trainer alone. I was dreading every minute of it. I can feel every square inch of the fat, flab, and otherwise unstrapped portions of my body bouncing violently when I use the treadmill (at least until it goes numb), so I was pretty clear on what he was going to tell me. I was fairly confident that any surprise wouldn't be pleasant. So I put on my big girl pants and my "I can face anything" attitude, loaded up the kids with the promise to take them swimming after my impending torture, and set off to face the buff little man who, at first glance, apparently lives at the gym.

The first unnecessary trauma ensued immediately, as I stood on the scale. I don't own a scale. The number he reported was appalling, at best. No. Seriously. I was shocked. And while I could see the number myself, I was sure that the calibration was off. I had seen those numbers in that order only three times in my life, and each of those moments, I had people living inside of me. Then I let the man fondle my fat from various appropriate places on my body with his giant metal tongs. I know I then pulled and pushed and who knows what else. The remainder of the evaluation was a blur...I know he talked to me about oxygen molecules, aerobic vs. anaerobic exercise, and zone training, etc., but I was being forced to perform on the treadmill during his conversation, so there wasn't a lot of oxygen getting to my brain.

The result? After reviewing, categorizing, and blatantly pointing out all of my shortcomings broken down by category, he revealed my calculated body age. My BodyAge is 31, he said, to which I apparently appeared surprised. But not to worry, he added. With a little work (his words - not mine), I could be 19 again.

You couldn't pay me to be 19 again, I told him. I'm not sure he thought I was funny. He asked, then, what I thought about his determination. I told him, honestly, that I feel older than 31 (only two months older than my actual age). "Really," I said, "I feel more like 48 or so." In all his wisdom, Mr. Fit looked straight into my eyes - with a look of true pity and sadness - and responded "Dude, that must really suck."

By the way, his "little work" that would take the 12 years off my BodyAge...Yeah, right. I prodded, wondering if realistically, I could take the years off like his little calculations showed. Sure, he said, if I work out an hour or more 4-5 times a week for a year or two, I could do it.

So I'll learn to live with 31. 19 will apparently never happen again. Thankfully. But maybe with a little work, I could be 30 for a few more years...