The Way We Live Now

The Times reports that baby-boomers are changing the complexion of health clubs. An aging demographic means that exercise facilities are now gearing their offerings toward people who don't want to break hips when they step off the curb, rather than people who take steroids to get disturbingly plump pectorals. Meta Cranky went to the Y after reading this report and what she saw there was chilling. What she did not see in the mid-morning slot were the boring wage-earners who are dutifully socking away money for MC's Social Security account. What she did see in the Y coffee room were geezers sitting beside their electric scooters, reading their Wall Street Journals, and picking out ear wax out with their pinkies, just as MC's dad once did. These are now her people.

It wasn't always so. When MC joined her first health club in Fort Worth, she danced rhythmically next to Miss Texas. She doesn't remember Ms. T's name because this particular beauty queen did not become the Phyllis George of the '80s. Nevertheless, she wore spandex and leg warmers and was adorably anorexic.

While in New Jersey, MC and a pal she'll call Drama Queen were regular customers at Jack LaLanne's health club. The take-away from JL's was that '80s styling products allowed Jersey-girl big hair to defy withering humidity. At this co-ed facility, a dreamy aerobics instructor named Mel packed a studio full of writhing men and women and led them to perform acts that in MC's home town were considered rather personal. After 90 minutes, the studio's glass walls were streaming with condensation, but the hair? Still upright. Only later was Jack LaLanne's revealed to be next to a Super-Fund site.

More recently, MC began to notice that time was taking its toll. A snappish Australian step aerobics instructor seemed to have settled into a mid-life metabolism that discouraged significant weight loss. When MC returned from maternity leave, anxious to step off a few chocolate milkshakes, she found the instructor had taken a short cut; liposuction was faster, certainly, than plodding up and down on a plastic Reebok step. After Cranky #2 was born, MC was happy enough to pedal a bicycle and lift weights at a club that offered children's gymnastics and rehab for adults. Then she discovered that re-habbers require physical therapy accompanied by Fox News. In vain MC changed the channel to CNN, only to watch men wearing black socks and sneakers change it back.

MC swims laps in hopes of convincing her lumbar spine to stay in place for more than 36 hours. Meanwhile, her pal Renaissance Mom finds excitement and celebrity at her neighborhood pools. A Texas Monthly writer! A nationally noted political guru! The mother of an Olympic medalist! MC is so nearsighted that she wouldn't notice Johnny Weismuller in the next lane. The thrill now is bringing organization to her L-5 vertebra.
--MCG