Goodbye Mr. Muscles

For years, Jack LaLanne was just the old man with muscles in the creepishly tight stretchy jumpsuit that I watched on my grandparents’ black and white console television.  Each weekday morning, the marching band music that opened “The Jack LaLanne Show” would beckon my grandmother from her housework, and for the next 30 minutes her focus was on the TV, as LaLanne would encourage young and old alike to join him in a series of exercises.

At my grandparents, there were some things that you could always count on: mornings watching “The Jack LaLanne Show” and a Fresca in the afternoon.

I’m sure he had a workout regime, but I only remember the jumping jacks. In fact, when I started school and was introduced to PE and calisthenics, I felt so proud because I already know how to do them thanks to that old man in the stretchy jumpsuit.

It was such a big deal back then, I guess, because I’m most certain that before Jack LaLanne, grandmothers didn’t exercise. They baked; they cleaned; they gardened; they canned; they did laundry. But they did not exercise. In fact, I don’t think my grandmother actually did any of the exercises LaLanne demonstrated; if she did, she worked hard at keeping in shape because, until her later years, she looked exactly like a grandmother should. She had soft curves that created just the right cushion when I snuggled up against her.

Nowadays, it’s not uncommon to discover that the woman working out next to you at the gym is a grandmother. Today, they run marathons and compete in Senior Games; they do Pilates, yoga and Zumba … all thanks to the great fitness movement started by that man in a stretchy jumpsuit (which now I realize was not so old after all).
 
I too want to have curves when I’m a grandmother, but I want them to look more like they did when I was in my 40s. I can always wedge a pillow between me and the young ‘uns.