Iannuccilli: The Old Guy is in Good Shape

Monday, February 11, 2019

Dr. Ed Iannuccilli, Columnist

For years, I told my patients to control what they were able to control. I listed the usual … no smoking, no alcohol to excess, maintain a fit weight, exercise regularly, drive judiciously, mitigate stress and treat your body like a shrine … no foreign substances and no piercing.

Though it wasn’t always easy, I tried to set an example; exercise being one of my imperatives. When the “belong to a gym” popularity started, I joined. There was little else in those early fitness centers save for machines; the kind that test strength, tempt you to push harder, add weights, get a hernia and feel good because it hurts.

I went often enough to hurt. I added more weights each time so that I could feel the pain. “Oooo, that feels … err … good.” After all, wasn’t that the point? To hurt? To never want to go back? To feel whole once you were finished with the punishment.

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I flexed my muscles, looked in the mirrors on every wall and was rather proud of myself until one auspicious day. I went to the gym early to get it over with and go on to work. After a warmup, I started my trek from apparatus to apparatus, reviewing the account card in hand and adjusting the weights accordingly.

I was sailing along (at least I thought so) and by the fourth machine, an overhead push, I felt good, limber, crescents of sweat staining my shirt under my neck and underarms, biceps bulging (sorta) and ready to strip the gears. There were enough mirrors to satisfy my ego. After all, is that not the point? To see what you think are your bulging muscles. Abuse the machine, stand, look in the mirror, flex one biceps, then the other, then both, all the while looking at yourself. Were those mirrors magnifiers?

I sat, pushed my back against the pad, bent my arms, grabbed the bars with my sweaty palms and pushed again, and again. Oh, and with a grunt of course,” Uooargghh, uh.” I was a monster. Just as I was in the middle of my reps, two young men walked through on their way to the locker room. They glanced at me.

Sensing an audience, my grunts now intensified with an additional “Oo-ahh-arghh” added to the first “Uooargghh.” It was a good thing I was strapped in.

One young man said to his friend, “That old guy on the machines ain’t bad.”

“Nope. In good shape for an old guy.”

I looked around for the old guy and saw no one. After all, it was early. Wait! There was an old guy! It was me! I saw me in the mirror.

My grunts faded to oblivion. My muscles contracted to mushy spindles, now hurting more than ever. I stopped, exhaled and paused.

Oh well. This old guy sure felt good. Couldn’t wait to get home to the marvelous menthol, camphor bouquet of Ben Gay.

Ed Iannuccilli is the author of "Growing up Italian" and "What Ever Happened to Sunday Dinner?" and both books can be found here.

Iannuccilli: The Old Guy is in Good Shape

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