Grandpa Goes to the Gym - and other humorous Grampa stories Grandparents.com

Recently, when our 4-year-old granddaughter, Alexandra, called to chat, I happened to mention that I had just returned from the gym. Hearing that, she was absolutely astonished; it was if I’d said I’d just had lunch with the Tooth Fairy and Dora the Explorer. “Aren’t you too old to go to a gym?” she asked.

I wanted to tell her that yes, I am too old, and that I was forced into it by my wife, my cardiologist, and my belt-maker. The truth is, most of my grandfather friends feel the same way about the gym as we do about Jane Austen movies. We will go only if someone makes us, and we will thoroughly dislike every second of it. But unlike Sense and Sensibility, we know that exercise will make us healthier and happier people.

This got me to thinking about grandfathers working out. When I was Alex’s age, the only time I saw grandfather-age men in gyms were in old boxing movies. There was always a gruff old boxing coach sitting ringside with a towel around his neck, a cigar in his mouth, and a face that looked like he’d tried to French kiss a trash compactor. And while his young student was in the ring — getting pummeled by leather more often than Larry Craig’s wing tips — the old guy would have his nose buried in a newspaper.

If I were learning something dangerous — let’s say defusing a bomb — I would insist that my instructor carefully watch my every move; no catching up on current events allowed.

“Hey, have you seen Michael?” someone would ask him about me.

He’d look up from the sports page and notice a poof of vaporized liver spots hanging in the air. “Jeez, I dunno. He was here a minute ago.” Then he’d return to the paper, excited. “Look at this senior-citizen coupon from the drug-store. Buy two pairs of Dr. Scholl's and get a pill container free!”

But today, gyms are full grandpas of all shapes, sizes, and unfitness levels. But why have so many older men decided that public wheezing and cramping is a good thing? After much observation, I’ve determined that there are a number of reasons for this, and that every grunting grandpa falls into one of the following four groups:

The Grimacing Reapers
These men favor cardio equipment, and when they work out, they are easily identifiable by their beet-red faces, their bulging neck veins, and perspiration stains larger than Lake Huron. When they’re at the gym, they don’t socialize, read, or talk. They are like a dog on a tour of the neighborhood. They do their business and move on.

The Old-Schoolers
These are the grandpas who have been going to the gym since their teens. They normally congregate around the barbells and weight machines, even though the heaviest thing they lift nowadays is a 12-ounce bottle of oxygenated water. This does not, however, dissuade them from continuing to wear their old leather weight belts, which are now notched to the max and engraved with names such as, “Big Eddie,” “Ivan,” and “Fireplug.” And although these men may not be as strong as they once were, I know that they could still hurt me, and probably will if I keep staring at them with a dismissive smile.

The Barber Shoppers
These guys use the gym as a place to hang out and talk about sports, politics, and the best spots for free happy-hour meatballs. These grandfathers rarely perform exercise of any sort, although one will occasionally get on a treadmill and walk at the pace of a coffin-laden pallbearer.

Baby Loomers
And finally we have the men who sport the latest workout garb and who have wires running from every part of their bodies to accommodate their music players, cell phones, and heart-rate monitors. These over-55 men think they still look 35, and that young, gym-going females see them the same way. These men are often considered self-absorbed, deluded, and pathetic.

Oops, there goes my Blackberry. Better pump down my iPod. Whoa! Is that young lady in pink smiling at me?