Old.

We had a substitute instructor in Iron Pump last night. She was a bright-eyed, energetic college girl pursuing a degree in health and wellness. She plugged in her tunes—a compilation of the latest hits transformed into techno—and off we went.

This slow, fairly calm class where the cubical rats go after running the maze all day was now suddenly “We’ve got spirit, yes we do! We’ve got spirit how ‘bout you?” land.

Some (and only some) of the enthusiasm left her face as she soon realized we weren’t your typical workout crew.

We don’t come here because it’s the cool thing to do. We don’t come here because we particularly care about endorphins. In fact, when you say this to us, we usually just picture dolphins. And that sort of sends positive signals to the brain.

We are here because sometimes—sometimes—we have enough gumption by the end of the day to make ourselves do it. We leave the office, don our ratty oversized t-shirts and half Capri/half shorts and just hope we drive into the gym parking lot instead of Burger King’s.

I kind of felt for the girl. I did. I used to be her. While I didn’t explain the scary progression of getting older to her, I did tell her we enjoyed the class but that most of us were just thinking about work while we arm curl and were deciding what’s for dinner while we scissor our chubby, short legs in the air.

What I didn’t tell her is that I was her 10 years ago. But then life happened. Work happened. Tired happened.

1. I used to scoff when people said, “If you need to modify this exercise.” Why in the world would anyone not be able to hold up their own body weight for 7 minutes straight? Now I find myself silently praying that there is one more option following, “Go down to your knees if you need to.” Surely there’s a 4th modification in which I can just lie on my stomach like a grumpy walrus. That’s got to burn some calories, right?

2. My biggest athletic nemesis used to be the thin, blonde girl on the elliptical. Now I am currently giving envious death glares to women who could be my mother. It’s no longer about what people can do—it’s about what they shouldn’t be able to do. One particular lady makes me look like I should be in a Boniva commercial with Sally Field.

3. I used to actually think you could “draw in your bellybutton” “relax your spine,” “contract your core,” and all that other yoga-schmoga stuff. Then my body decided that its concentration was better suited for, “Don’t let one fly while your leg is up and aimed at the person behind you,” “Let’s see if we can go one class without having to go pee,” and “Ignore the bellowing stomach growls that remind you that you could be eating right now.”

4. I used to never make excuses. I felt this deep void whenever I missed a workout. Presently, starting at 4:30 p.m., I begin to contract every disease known to man. Or I come up with all these imaginary errands that need to be accomplished. Her birthday is like 4 months away—I’d hate to forget her present.

5. I used to love jumping jacks and other cardio exercises. A late puberty and several pounds later, the last thing I want to do is leave the cold, hard ground. What is one step for mankind, is one giant leap for the sisters, the caboose and the cracking knees.