Every fiftysomething woman should get herself a forty-year-old guy to drag to the gym.
Not because of the boy toy thing. No, it’s because I have always dogged it a little on straight-bar bench presses for fear of losing a day of work to a sore shoulder, but I am goddamned if I am going to let this guy get ahead of me, and I think that for the first time I am going to blow up two wheels on an Olympic bar.* I think it is beefing up my shoulders and triceps, which have not made a quantum leap since I adopted a daily set of handstand pushups a couple of years ago. He can spot me, it makes him work harder, and it doesn’t actually hurt too much the day after. If I don’t make dramatic gestures.
A girl’s gotta show off every now and then.
*The biggest plate in the gym (=”wheel”) is 45 pounds and so (roughly) is an Olympic bar, so this is kind of like stiffening up a freakishly tall, 135-pound fashion model and hoisting her aloft.