Letter from the Editor: There's no walking away from the benefits of exercise, no matter your age (or excuse)

My neighbours are putting me to shame.

It’s not because of their beautiful, colourful, healthy, weed-free gardens, or the veggie patches that would be the envy of any hatted chef. Admittedly, I do cringe when I compare my dying pot(s) of parsley to the bountiful produce they happily share.

I don’t know what it is about parsley that I can’t get right. Shove it in a pot and water it – that can’t be too difficult. But judging by the regularity a fresh punnet is added to my Bunnings trolley, I’m obviously getting it very wrong.

But back to my neighbours. They do exercise. I don’t. Can’t stand the stuff.

I know I should. Aside from being a relatively intelligent person who understands that exercise does a lot of good stuff for your body as well as your mind, every medico I’ve ever seen has delivered the same, repetitive – dare I say boring – message.

It doesn’t matter if it’s a GP, a physio, a psychologist – whatever letters they have after their name, they all sing from the same song sheet.

They not only sing, they do. Over the years I’ve been treated by medicos whose alter egos are cyclists, mountain climbers, skiers, runners and fitness instructors.

I don’t know how they fit it into their schedule when I’m far too busy to walk around the block – they obviously have more hours in the day than I do.

Years ago, in the grip of an (early) mid-life crisis, I somehow ended up with a personal trainer.

I reckon she saw my pathetic, feeble attempts at lunges, push-ups and planking (I always thought that was something to do with boats) and couldn’t resist the challenge.

To her credit and a bloody lot of hard work, my aching muscles started responding to the wake-up call. While I can’t say I enjoyed the workouts, I found myself walking to the shop for that forgotten thing for tea, rather than jumping in the car for the quick trip down the road (and up the hills in between).

We were both jubilant when I was able to plank for eight minutes – considering I couldn’t even do eight seconds to start with – but the pinnacle of my achievements was completing Greenacres’ annual 13 km Mt Keira to Mt Kembla fundraising walk.

Unfortunately my resolve gradually weakened; the planking tanked, the smoothies gradually gave way to sav blanc and the expensive joggers were shoved in the back of the wardrobe.

Life got in the way of exercise and as long as I remained relatively healthy, I didn’t feel it was a priority.

When I told the new physio I consulted a couple of weeks ago that I didn’t exercise, she couldn’t hide the look of horror on her face. She was probably thinking she didn’t have to investigate the reason for my back pain any further than that.

So she switched tack and suggested swimming would be a great help in exercising and stretching my back. I think she mistook the moans caused by her manipulation of my sore back with murmurs of agreement as she continued to extol the benefits of swimming.

All I could think of, apart from the pain of her massage, was the pain of having to find a suitable swimming spot (can’t be the beach, too much sand), drive to said swimming spot, get wet, get dry and drive home again.

By the time she’d finished the massage I decided it wasn’t kind to keep stringing her along.

“Hmmmm nope, not happening, there’s no swimming in my future. Too much effort involved, sorry.”

And see, that’s the thing I dislike most about exercise – it’s the prep work. You can’t just launch out the door and hit go.

You’ve got to find the joggers (which are getting a bit long in the tooth. Probably really need new ones, these ones are going on for 15 years old. Wonder how often you should change joggers to really have the maximum support for your feet, knees, back. I am getting older so I should probably get properly fitted for new shoes, where should I go Google?) and socks. That’s at least 15 minutes.

I cannot possibly, ever, do walking without suitable pump-me-up music, but where are the headphones? At least 10 different leads that don’t fit the phone later, that’s sorted. Now the perfect playlist is imperative – not too fast, not too slow. Where did I store Jen’s Walking List?

You’ve got to factor in the weather, which definitely influences the choice of exercise clothing. Check hat, sunnies, don’t forget the front door key and two hours later, I’m ready to leave the house.

You get the gist.

My neighbours don’t seem to have the same issues.

The couple next door wave and are actually smiling as they set off on their morning jaunt. They’re still smiling when they return 20 minutes later – and they’re not playing music. Show-offs.

Nana B looked all set to be heading off to lunch when I drove in one day this week. Sitting on her front porch, I asked if she was waiting for her lunch date.

“Nope, just been for a walk,” she said, glowing. “Setting off again in the other direction in a bit.” Show-off.

Even the elder statesman of the block shows off with his daily stroll up the street and back.

Have I mentioned I live in a “lifestyle village”? The reason these show-off neighbours put me to shame is that I am at least 20 years younger than them.

Nana B’s walking companion is her new walker. She’s starting off small with her daily walks (she scoffed at my three day a week exercise plan) but she’s bloody doing it.

The couple next door (closer to 80 than 70) are rarely home – if she’s not swimming she’s at pilates and he’s a mad-keen golfer.

Our elder statesman hasn’t been in the best of health this week, but even in his mid 90s, he still manages more exercise than I even think about. I’ll be much happier when I see him shuffle past, Cliff Young-style, on his way to check the mail or to meet up with friends for a cuppa.

So thank you neighbours, not only for sharing your garden produce, but for proving that there really is no excuse not to exercise, no matter your age. And that your age appreciates the exercise.

Now, where are those joggers …