As I age, I find my mind thinks I can do things my body can’t do.  And, my body tries to do things that it can’t do.  At times, the body says “hey boss, we’re not doing that today.”  At times, the body tries to keep up with the mind, and afterwards, complains “we are NOT doing that again, and I’ll be needing one aspirin, one ibuprofen, AND one naproxen sodium — NOW.”

We all live in our eternal youth, and about halfway through life on earth, we realize that some physical challenges are not easily surmountable.  The fifty-pound luggage we so cautiously lift into the trunk, the thirty-pound bag of dog food we carry to the car, and even the moving of a truck bed of mulch can bring us to our recliners with a groan.  I realized at 55 years old I needed to recover from two decades of sloth.

A friend who volunteers with me in the local police force asked me to consider a novel fitness program, one based on military team activity, yet including other elements of strengthening.  It’s called X-Team Fitness.  The program offered a six-week “boot camp” for a reasonable price, which included before and after measurements of health and fitness.  For some reason, perhaps the fear of my future demise, I decided to accept this challenge.

Six weeks?  I can do this.  How hard can it be?

The physical fitness assessment began one warm Sunday afternoon, with six others joining the “boot camp.”  There, blood pressure, pulse, height, weight, fat content, body mass index, and a 3D physical image were taken.  Along with the medical measures, I managed a couple of pull-ups in the gym.  The following day, I struggled to perform two minutes of sit-ups, two minutes of push-ups, and a 1.5 mile run on a local track.  Boy, am I out of shape!

So it began.  Six weeks of training.  The next day, I joined about two dozen others at an outdoor park where we engaged in light calisthenics before the leader charged off at a brisk pace.  Soon the two dozen were spread out from one end of a bridge to the other, all running at some pace, but some clearly running.  I was at the back of the pack, in my orange “candidate” tee shirt, with my name on the left chest.  “Back to last” came the call from the leader, and I saw the faster runners heading back my way, and turning around again as they reached the back of the pack before zooming away.   So that’s how the group stays together, I thought.  I don’t like being last.

“Bring it in” I heard over the cars passing by.  The group circled around our leader, and we were given a series of interesting exercises to attempt.  After a short session, we returned to running.  And exercising.  And running.  Many of the exercises were new to me, and all were challenging physically.  I could perform at most half the number of them, compared to the others.  I checked to see how the other candidates in orange tee shirts were doing.  Most of the time, we were all bent over after our attempts, heaving deep breaths, or plodding slowly at the back of the pack.

The next day, more of the same.  At another park.  With other challenges.  Some faced as a small team.  Some faced alone.  More running.  More crunches.  More mountain climbers.  More of just about any way to move my body into positions I hadn’t been in since sophomore year of college, as fast as I could move, as many times as I could do it.  At the end of the week, an indoor day at the gym.  Weights.  But not just weights.  Weights in a circuit of training that included all major muscle groups.  Which were all hurting.

Six weeks?  Six weeks of leaving work late, dressed in workout gear? Six weeks of meeting at 6 pm, at places around town I had never been?  Six weeks of daily one hour workouts?  Why is the leader making it so hard?

Each day, I returned home at about 7:30 pm.  Each day, I faced fourteen more steps to climb, to slowly make it to the shower upstairs.  Each step my legs cried out to take it easy.  Your legs would cry out too, if you had to carry a 170 pound man on your back up and down a 10 yard hill.  Yes, that was one of the many exercises we did from time to time.  Dinners were late, and I didn’t have much appetite.  The washer and dryer ran on overtime, cleansing the sweat from that orange candidate shirt every day.  I found myself in bed early.  I had to buy two bottles of pain killers.  Good thing they were on sale.

Six weeks of this.  What am I getting at the end of six weeks?  A black tee shirt?  The one that says “Member?”  That shirt became very important to me.  I saw others in the group wearing theirs.  I saw the name of the group stylishly imprinted on each.  I wasn’t allowed to wear black.  I wasn’t part of the team.  Yet.

During the six weeks, I faced physical challenges that were daunting.  In time, though, I realized my biggest challenge remained within me.  Did I want to go through with this?  How could anyone do this stuff?  Are you kidding?  It hurts!  Don’t you realize it hurts?  You want me to run up how many steps on this hill?  152? Twice?  At least?

I’m doing alright here.  I just need a little time to get going.  I’m old.  I’m not supposed to be able to do this, like those young kids running with me.  And this weight lifting?  I am totally confused.  How am I supposed to do a “hack squat?”  This seems risky to me!  Many times during the first few minutes of a workout I thought “I’m just not doing this.  I’m leaving.  I cannot lift 50,000 pounds in 45 minutes.  This is insane!”

For a few weeks, I suffered along.  Workouts became easier, in time. The camaraderie of the group brought life to the effort.  The shared physical challenges brought us closer together.  I don’t know if you’ve ever performed a set of sit-ups as a line of Radio City Music Hall dancers might, arms interlocked and moving in unison.  I have.  It’s hard!  But, working together like that brought me to a greater effort level, not wanting to let the group down.  Many small team exercises like this made the hours go by with more meaning.

Week 1 over.  Week 2 over.  Week 3 over — hey, I am doing this!  Week 4 — the sun is nearly down and we’re still doing it.  But what a great opportunity to exercise along the James River…

Week 5 — the sun is down, it’s cold, it’s raining, and we are still doing this.  Only sixteen of us, but we are out here.  I realized that I was reaching the point of decision.  Would I continue?  Would I be part of this team?  In Week 5, the experience felt like dating a very beautiful girl, but a girl you wouldn’t take home to mother.  There was something about the girl that just wasn’t right for me.  In that week, I was convinced that I’d have to tell our leader that I was grateful for the six weeks, the improvements I’d made, but I would have to do this on my own now.  I rehearsed the speech many times.  It would be hard telling someone you don’t want to continue.

Week 6 came.  I had to make every workout, to meet attendance requirements.  Monday was an indoor day.  Tuesday back outdoors.  Wednesday was yoga at 6 am.  Thursday, back outdoors, at 6 am.  Thursday was hard.  A lap of the 400 meter track, an exercise, another lap, another exercise, and so on for ten exercises.  I was whipped.  I was last, but I finished.  In the finest military tradition, the team rallied around me, even our leader, and helped me run to the finish line in a near sprint. Friday indoors, 6 pm, with two seven-exercise circuits.  Small teams, working together.  I got to call the exercise counts for the entire cohort.  It felt good.  I left, knowing I had made the six weeks.  I would have cried, except the sweat had taken all my tears.

The next day, I had to carry my wife downtown to a medical training course.  I realized that I would be near one of our workout places, and I wanted to do a little workout to ensure that I would perform well at the fitness evaluation on Sunday and Monday.  I parked near Belle Isle and walked down there with my dog Sandy.  We crossed the bridge to the Isle, took a few pictures, then began jogging.

It felt good.  After making it around the Isle, and back across the bridge, we jogged up the very steep road called Brown’s Island Way that was part of at least two workouts before.  It was hard. Still.  But it was not the same.  I was alone.  I was on my own.  My pace was slow, and the energy within was low.  The team would have made a difference.

And then, the evaluation on Sunday.  Weight, body mass index, and pull-ups.  I prayed for pull-ups.  Four pull-ups.  I wanted to show some improvement on this, my biggest strength challenge.  The measurements of body fat lost, muscle and size gained, were energizing.  I made four pull-ups and hung on the bar for 58 seconds.  Progress!  Monday at 6 am, the test.  Another “team orange” member partnered with me, and we went through the push-ups and sit-ups.  The run followed, and I could tell I was faster.  The group dashed to the gym, where graduation ceremonies were scheduled at 7 am.

There, my improvements were lauded.  I doubled my pull-ups.  Doubled my push-ups.  Doubled my sit-ups.  Cut two minutes from my run time.  And, there, in our leader’s hand, was my black tee shirt.  The shirt I’d wanted for six weeks.  Folded neatly.  Logo visible.  With a custom certificate of completion, recognizing “I pushed, I adapted, I overcame.”  I smiled broadly as the group applauded.

Over the next few days, I realized the journey I’m on isn’t over.  It began with a mantra of “I can’t!”  For weeks I made that statement.  Quietly.  Silently.  But I said it.  About halfway through the pain, “I can’t!” became “I want!”  I wanted to make it through the entire six weeks.  I wanted to make it through the pain in my knees, my shoulder, my arms.  I wanted the black shirt.  That want drove me to a measure of success.  But, in Week 6, I realized I had changed inside. No longer “I can’t” with fear of failure looming over me.  No longer “I want” as I was certain I could make the six weeks.  It was “I will!”  I will do this!  I will push myself.  I will continue.  I will attack the challenge.  It’s a real difference, for me.  It’s a change in how I look at my abilities.  And, in time, I think I’ll smile as I face them with a new recognition — “I can!”  In time, I can see myself smiling as I scramble up a near vertical rock face at Byrd Park down at the Pump House.  I can see myself truly dashing up 152 stairs at Libby Hill, enjoying the view from the top, and heading down to do it again.  “I can!”

Today, there is only one “I can’t” left in me…but it’s different.  I’m heading to a place of personal growth and extreme fitness.  I’m heading to a life with health and wellness.  It’s not “I can’t.”  It’s “I can’t WAIT.“