If you walked down our street on any Tuesday, Thursday, or Saturday morning in 2020, you would pass a house where the double garage doors were wide open. You would hear the Alexa Amazon Band playing various tunes from artists such as Michael Jackson, Maranda Lambert, or Bon Jovi at 9:30 am. Such noise caused the dogs to bark and the humans to wear earplugs.
Folks heard the racket from far away and wondered why, in a neighborhood of mostly older people, such madness came from the brick house on the corner. Then it dawned on them who the house belonged to, and it began to make sense.
Yep, you guessed it, it was ours. After the gyms closed due to the pandemic, I was determined not to be emergency airlifted to a hospital due to a chocolate chip cookie overdose. I needed to keep myself motivated to move and avoid such a fate. I took my tape measure to my small garage to determine the number of friends I could exercise with while safely spatially distanced. No more than five could participate.
“Lynn’s Garage Gym” opened in March 2020, and it saved a few of us from becoming slugs, sitting on sofas surrounded by Tootsie Roll wrappers. Every week I created exercise routines because boredom would surely kill any motivation.
The girls knew if I were upset over some goofy government decision, they would need to do extra rapidly counted jumping jacks. When I was blue, they recognized that the ab workouts were shorter and the music was a bit softer. But, when they heard Alexa belting “Beat It” by Jackson or Guns N’ Roses’ “Paradise City,” they knew what they were in for.
My gym became official when Mr. COVID decided to stick around for a while. Even though some workout facilities opened, we older folks decided that it was not safe for most of us. One day, the girls surprised me with a custom-made black iron sign that read between the molded weights, “Lynn’s Garage Gym.” I adored that gift because even though it said, “Gym,” the garage had become much more.
We said prayers on days when the world outside the open doors seemed bleak and dark. As they strolled by, we waved at the neighbors, smiling at the crazy ladies who believed they were still only seventeen. We rarely fully agreed on politics or the breaking news, but we never let it make a difference in our friendships.
Many days we went over my column for the week, and I received constructive, honest feedback. We complained about the ugly rolls of a mysterious entity on our bodies that never seemed to go away, yet we were grateful we were still around to see them. We longed to hug our grandchildren and gather at friends’ tables, but in the end, we were thankful we had each other and the gym.
I could tell when one of the girls was down or tired, so I cracked my whip harder, and the blues seemed to float toward the sky. We laughed when a bird decided to fly into the gym for a visit or when a stranger almost ran over a mailbox when he heard moans and groans along with Alexa Amazon screaming, “Pink Cadillac.”
There is much to be said about finding motivation amid sorrow. It was so difficult not to succumb to the pandemic doom and gloom. We bemoaned the loss of ordinary days and longed for their return. Would not that be wonderful?! However, there were a few things I hoped we’d never do again.
I hoped that we would nevermore return to ingratitude. I hoped that we had learned that complaining was quite useless and that prayer was quite essential. I hoped we would forever remember that life can change at a moment’s notice, so we should enjoy every moment of even the most mundane days.
When I watched my workout sisters as the sweat poured off their brows, I witnessed abundant life and relished health in our little gym. I did not take breathing or friendship for granted, and I prayed none of us ever would again.
We found we were stronger when we worked out, not just from the weights we lifted but also from the mental strength to weather life’s hardships together. Our power came from having the endurance and courage to survive the worst of times.
The adage, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” was appropriate. We finally recognized that strength came from our hearts, not our muscles. Ultimate lasting power only comes from love, kindness, empathy, and gratitude for God’s abundant blessings.
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Lynn Walker Gendusa is a Georgia author and columnist whose work is regularly featured on Now Habersham and in publications around the U.S. Her latest book is “Southern Comfort: Stories of Family, Friendship, Fiery Trials, and Faith.” She can be reached at www.lynngendusa.com. For more of Lynn’s inspiring stories on family, faith, love, and friendship, click here.
