Relics

Four Old Survivors in a Tennessee Sunroom

The Setup

A few mornings each week, Jan and I exercise in the sunroom of our Tennessee condo.

Calling it a gym would be stretching the truth. There are no mirrors, no televisions, no motivational slogans on the wall reminding us that pain is weakness leaving the body. Just sunshine pouring through the windows, a couple of water bottles, and two pieces of exercise equipment that were already old when many of today’s fitness influencers were learning their ABCs.

Jan rides an old Schwinn Airdyne that she inherited from her dad, Bob. I use a NordicTrack that’s roughly the same age. Together they make enough squeaks, clicks, and mechanical noises to sound like a machine shop waking up for the day.

The funny thing is neither machine seems embarrassed about being old.

They just keep showing up.

The same can’t always be said for their owners.

As I was exercising one morning, listening to the familiar whoosh of the Airdyne fan and the steady swish of the NordicTrack, it occurred to me that the machines weren’t the only relics in the room.

When Paul Harvey Said So

I remember when Bob bought that Schwinn Airdyne.

It had to be close to forty years ago. The reason I remember is because he heard it advertised on Paul Harvey’s radio program.

Now if you’re younger than about fifty, that sentence may not mean much. But for those of us who grew up listening to him, Paul Harvey was a trusted voice in American life. He wasn’t just a radio host. He was the guy who delivered the news, a little wisdom, and eventually “the rest of the story.”

When Paul Harvey endorsed something, people listened.

When Paul Harvey recommended something, people bought it.

Bob heard him talking about the Airdyne and decided he needed one.

Then he heard the price.

I thought he was going to have a heart attack before he ever got the exercise bike.

Back then it seemed outrageously expensive. I remember thinking there was no way I’d spend that kind of money on a stationary bicycle. If I’m paying that much, I at least want it to take me somewhere.

But Bob bought it anyway.

At the time he wasn’t particularly overweight. He wasn’t training for a marathon or trying to become the next fitness guru. He was simply arriving at that stage of life where your body starts sending little reminders that youth is no longer handling daily operations.

Nothing dramatic.

Just enough creaks and groans to suggest a little exercise might be a good idea.

The Airdyne became part of his routine. We lived in Ohio while Bob and Virginia were in Wisconsin, so we didn’t see them often. But I remember one visit when I was genuinely surprised by how much weight he’d lost since the previous time we’d been together.

There was no miracle involved.

No secret program.

No revolutionary workout system.

He simply climbed on the machine and used it.

Over and over again.

A Computer That Barely Computes

My NordicTrack has its own history.

Actually, this is my second one.

The first NordicTrack was a Christmas gift from Jan during the first few years of our marriage. Like most exercise equipment, our relationship had its ups and downs. There were periods when I used it religiously and periods when it sat quietly in the corner gathering enough dust to qualify as furniture.

Still, I always came back to it.

That’s saying something because most exercise equipment eventually becomes an expensive clothes hanger. Human beings are remarkably creative when it comes to avoiding exercise. We can find reasons not to work out that would impress a team of highly paid attorneys.

Too tired.

Too busy.

Too cold.

Too hot.

Too much to do.

Not enough time.

Tomorrow sounds better.

Tomorrow always sounds better.

The original NordicTrack didn’t make the move to Florida. Some things earn a spot on the truck. Some don’t. The NordicTrack drew the short straw.

Five years passed.

Then we moved into our Tennessee condo and I found myself missing it.

In Florida, we have a community fitness center that’s a short bike ride away. Here in Tennessee, exercise requires either using what I have at home or driving to the community center. I’ve learned something over the years. Every mile between me and exercise reduces the chances that exercise is actually going to happen.

So I started watching Facebook Marketplace.

Eventually I found a NordicTrack in mint condition for thirty-five dollars.

Thirty-five dollars.

One of those rare finds that makes you wonder if the seller accidentally left off a zero. I think I was halfway to his house before he finished answering my message.

Both machines came equipped with what the manufacturers proudly called workout computers.

Computer is being generous.

Very generous.

Each has a little plastic box that displays basic information like time, distance, speed, and calories. That’s it.

Meanwhile, modern exercise equipment looks like the cockpit of a commercial airliner. There are touchscreens, subscriptions, virtual coaches, scenic rides through the Alps, and enough buttons to make me nervous. Honestly, most of it confuses me.

The old machines don’t do any of that.

They simply sit there waiting for someone willing to sweat.

The Relics in the Room

The longer I thought about it, the funnier it became.

Maybe Jan and I are becoming relics too.

Like the equipment, we’re not operating at original factory specifications anymore.

The machines make noises.

So do we.

The difference is the machines usually stop once they’ve warmed up.

Some mornings I discover muscles that apparently spent the night filing complaints. Standing up from a chair occasionally requires a little planning. Getting down on the floor isn’t the problem. It’s getting back up that’s become the interesting part.

The similarities keep piling up.

Both machines and their owners require more maintenance than they once did.

Replacement parts are harder to find.

Everything works better when it’s used regularly.

And if either one sits too long, things start getting stiff.

Yet here we all are.

Still moving.

Still useful.

Still showing up.

The world seems obsessed with whatever is newest. Every year brings smarter technology, bigger screens, more features, and increasingly complicated solutions to simple problems.

Somewhere along the way we’ve started confusing features with value.

The truth is that most important things in life remain surprisingly basic.

A good marriage still requires attention.

Friendships still require effort.

Managing finances still requires discipline.

Health still requires consistency.

Nobody has invented an app that can do those things for us.

The fundamentals haven’t changed much.

They probably never will.

What Lasts

The older I get, the more I appreciate things that simply work.

Bob’s Airdyne worked.

My NordicTrack worked.

My second NordicTrack works.

Neither one is flashy. Neither one would impress visitors. Neither one has ever once congratulated me for completing a workout or awarded me a digital badge for perspiring.

They simply do their jobs.

Get on.

Move.

Sweat.

Repeat tomorrow.

Maybe that’s why I like having Bob’s old Airdyne in the sunroom. Every morning Jan climbs onto the same machine her dad used all those years ago. I doubt either of us thinks about it much while we’re exercising, but every now and then it occurs to me that Bob would probably get a kick out of knowing that old bike is still earning its keep after all these years.

Standing there in the sunroom, I realized that durability doesn’t get enough credit anymore.

We celebrate what’s new.

Maybe we should spend a little more time appreciating what lasts.

Tomorrow morning the sun will come through those windows again.

Jan will climb onto Bob’s old Airdyne.

I’ll step onto a NordicTrack that somebody else probably gave up on years ago.

The little workout computers will blink their simple numbers like they’ve been doing since the Reagan administration.

We’ll huff and puff our way through another workout.

Nothing fancy.

Just four old relics in a Tennessee sunroom, still doing what we were built to do.