Clovis seniors flock to fitness class

Published online on Thursday, Mar. 19, 2009

There are different ways of looking at this.

On the one hand, the gymnasium is dim. The men and women who pack the Senior Stretch and Tone Class -- people who flew planes in World War II, danced rumbas and climbed Half Dome -- shuffle through simple aerobics.

But this is the most faithfully attended exercise class in the Clovis city recreation system. By March, all the other classes see a drop-off as people backslide from New Year's resolutions. But members of this Monday-Wednesday-Friday class show up week after week, year after year.

They have bum knees, hip replacements, heart problems and cancer. Many are in their 80s and 90s. But they still do their lunges and shoulder rolls.

Maybe another way of looking at this senior exercise class is that as long as there is life there can be movement. As long as there is life there can be dancing. Even if it's a clumsy grapevine-step to an old ABBA song, it's still moving to music.

Note the message on the T-shirt worn by 77-year-old RaeLee Elder as she gets on her knees for mat work: "PAIN IS INEVITABLE MISERY IS OPTIONAL."

As in most workout classes, the men are outnumbered, making widower Art Cornwell in the front row something of a star.

Tall, with a silver beard, he banters with the women around him.

Cornwell, who will be 91 in May, played tennis and backpacked until he was 80. He was a teenager during the Great Depression and piloted an experimental cargo plane in the Pacific during World War II, something he describes as fun and dangerous. He still takes trips to La Jolla to use a flight simulator.

Now, he says, sitting in this folding chair, twisting with dumbbells takes as much effort as anything he's done in his life.

"I used to think old people were dumb characters because they couldn't do anything. Boy, was I a dumb kid," he says. "Some of the people in this class are fantastic. They're trying so hard."

The reason he's working hard is simple, he says. Not to stay alive longer, but to stay active as long as he is alive.

"I've had the greatest life I ever heard of. Did many things I shouldn't have done," he says with a laugh. "No regrets. But I want to keep moving until the day I die -- which might not be long. I don't know. I don't care about when. But I'm working to keep these old muscles working until the last minute."

By the standards of this class, Julie Kiser, 65, is a kid. She exercises in a Harley Davidson T-shirt, rides a Harley in her free time and signs e-mails with "angels sing, leather wings."

Gregarious and enamored of her classmates, she starts to give their bios:

Martha Tuttle, aerobicizing with her walker-cane in easy reach, is 75. She's been coming to class 10 years. Ralph Derrick, 90, and wife Merry, 88, recently started attending. Aren't they a cute couple? Alahnna Ashlie, 60, and Ruth Dias, 85, are mother and daughter. See? You can see it in their faces. Sometimes they all have potlucks after class. Kiser has more to say, but Cornwell quips at her to get back over there and get her heart rate up.

The class is so large -- 125 registered students, about half of whom show up at any given class -- that teacher Sherry Green, 54, teaches from a platform and uses a wireless microphone to shout: "Looking good! Work those quads!"

Green says teaching the class has taught her many things.

"They've made me not be afraid of aging -- not be afraid, period. Not sweat the small stuff. I look at Martha. She can barely balance. She's hurting. And she's doing aerobics with a cane. That's perseverance. They are people who realize the quality of life."

After stretching, weights, aerobics and a cool-down, Aileen Span, 89, becomes a flurry of activity, apparently seeing how many people she can hug in one day.

The petite woman in a bright red turtleneck sweater greets person after person by name, cracks a joke or two and gives each one a long tight hug.

She saves her warmest greeting for young Mario Hernandez. Recent budget cuts mean many classes may soon be two instead of three days a week -- including Senior Stretch and Tone. And some employees were laid off -- Hernandez, a recreation specialist with the city of Clovis, among them. It's his last day.

"I'll really miss you," he says, hugging Span.

"We love you," Span tells him, with tears in her eyes. "But you're going to be just fine. Listen to an old lady, everything will work out."

Then Span hurries away. She has to get to her Pilates class.