On the Rebound

File this one under “Thanks, I needed that.”

I was working out at my new gym last week when a young woman asked me if I was using the plyobox. (I had to look this one up.)

I assured her that I wasn’t—and I doubt that I ever will—and as she picked the thing up, she turned to me.

“I have to tell you that you’re doing fantastic,” she said.

“Thank you so much,” I blurted, shocked that someone even noticed my workout, let alone be impressed by it.

I still feel like an outsider at this new place, so a few kind words make me feel at home.

And since I recently turned 65, applied for Medicare and filled out a form for a senior discount Metrocard, I'll gladly accept any and all praise from anyone who wants to share.

She went her way and I continued working out.

Later I wondered if she actually meant “you’re doing fantastic—for a creaky old fossil.”

I hope not.

I’ve had a few brushes with senior moments recently.

I have trouble recalling actors' names, even though I can clearly see their faces and name their movies.

The other week I was visiting my auntie in Manhattan when I couldn’t come up with the name of a certain superstar.

I reached for my phone to google the guy, but she stopped me.

“Don’t do that,” my auntie said. “Just let it come to you.”

It felt strange relying on my brain rather than technology, but then I sat on the couch and blurted out the name the second my keester hit the couch.

Follow the Bouncing Ball

“Russell Crowe,” I declared.

Last week I was having trouble using my TV remote, which was spooky since I use the damn thing so much, I should probably have it welded to my hand.

But this time I couldn’t call up the list of stations to see what was currently on the idiot box, as my father used to called it.

I started to panic, convinced I was leaking brain cells and this, of course, only made things worse. Finally, I calmed down and hit the right button.

I think the panic was the big part of the “senior moment” problem. I convinced myself that I was going loopy and my mind responded by shutting down.

At work the other I day I was looking to cut and paste some material for a story. The only trouble was that every time I hit "Control V", absolutely nothing happened—despite several attempts.

Once again, I started to freak. I actually googled—sorry, Auntie—instructions on how to cut and paste, even though I’ve been doing this since Bill Gates was in diapers. (At least it feels like it's been that long.)

Finally, I pasted the material into a blank document, and it worked perfectly. I’m not sure what went wrong, but I know it wasn’t me…I think. After my gym buddy left, I grabbed a medicine ball for some neanderthal slams. I noticed a nearby rebounder—I had to look that one up, too—where you’re supposed to bounce the medicine ball off this mini-trampoline. Determined to try something new, I bounded over to the rebounder and hurled the big meatball with all my might.

As the ball left my grasp, I noticed the word “Warning” emblazoned across the rebounder with some directions in small print.

And then the medicine ball bounced back and hit my square in the snout.

Another young woman noticed my self-inflicted head wound and looked at me in shock. There was no way to pretend this hadn’t happened, so I decided to make the most of it.

“Ouch,” I whined, “that hurt!”

She smiled, I felt slightly less humiliated and silently vowed never to use that stupid rebounder again.

I’m doing fantastic without it.