My trainer phoned this morning to see why I hadn't been showing up at the gym. I explained about the Fifth Disease, the arthritis like attack on my joints, my complete and utter lack of energy. I waited expectantly for the sympathy.

Foolish, foolish me.

My trainer is not about the sympathy. My trainer is about the fitness, the getting better.

And thus it was that I found myself in my gym this morning holding the Barbiest of the Barbie barbells, the brightly coloured, plastic coated eensy weensy one and two pound barbells.

Yep, the woman who was only a few weeks ago able to do 25 pound bicep curls is now only allowed two pound bicep curls.

The woman who used to set the elliptical machine to level 19 hills and peel off half an hour of cardio? Replaced by a mere husk, reduced to pedalling oh so very slowly on the recumbent bicycle.

This whole deal would be completely and utterly intolerable except for the fact that my workout buddy, Paul, who is half my age and about four times as strong as I am has been similarly sidelined.

Right after Christmas he did something to his back and hips. They're examining ultrasounds and x-rays now to figure out just what has happened. In the meantime, the guy who used to bench press 245 pounds is not allowed to do anything but a special set of back exercises, two kinds of push-ups, and very mild cardio. He is not allowed to pick up anything that weighs more than five pounds.

We spent our whole workout together using Barbie barbells (which looked even sillier in his massive hands than they do in mine). We both fantasized about the feats of strength we would perform when we got better. Well, he will perform feats of strength. With me it's more about the territorial gorilla sounds. It was odd, but being with someone who is also severely boxed in made my own corral feel more tolerable.

Okay, so maybe right now I can only do 10 per cent of what I did before. Well, so what? That has to be better than sitting here alone all day and brooding about my aches and pains. It has to.

And heck, come Wednesday, maybe my trainer will even let me try the three pound weights.

Oooooooh, three pound weights. Be still, my foolish heart.

--Marn