My Garden Is My Gym

 

Who needs a gym membership when your garden already has you squatting, stretching, lifting, walking—and occasionally sprinting for your life?

Hi everyone...

Well, I had a little dilemma this week.

I sat down to write and couldn't decide what I wanted to talk about.

Was this going to be about the ageing gardener—the creaks, the groans, the knees that sometimes remind you that you are no longer twenty-five?

Or was it going to be about gardening as exercise—all that bending, stretching, lifting, walking and generally moving around that happens when you're working in the garden?

Then it hit me.

They're really the same story.

Because as we get older, the way we garden changes. And perhaps that's not such a bad thing.

I may not bend quite as quickly as I once did. I may think twice before attempting to wrestle a stubborn weed out of the ground. And these days, if something is too far away, I am quite happy to ask myself, "Do I really need that?"

But I'm still moving.

And that's what I love about gardening.

My garden is my gym.

Except my gym doesn't have a membership fee, no one is counting my repetitions, and the exercises are completely unpredictable.

Yesterday, for example, I was doing what I would call a perfectly respectable amount of gardening.

A little bending to harvest.

A little stretching to reach.

A little walking back and forth.

A little lifting. A little weeding.

Nothing dramatic.

Then the Security Team spotted something.

Mr. Iguana.

And suddenly my quiet gardening session turned into an obstacle course.

The dogs took off like they had been professionally trained for this very moment.

Unfortunately, my tomato seedlings and baby lettuces were apparently considered acceptable collateral damage.

There went the lettuce box.

So much for my newly planted lettuce seedlings😠

The garden gym has its moments. The Security Team doesn't believe in gentle exercise.

There went a tomato stake.

And there I was—squatting down to rescue the lettuce, lunging to restake a tomato and marching off to find compost.

Apparently, I had just completed my garden version of a full-body workout.

No treadmill required.

And that's the thing about gardening.

You don't always realise how much you're moving until you stop.

You bend down to pull one weed and notice you've pulled twenty.

You walk to the shed for something and realise you've made that trip six times.

You carry a bucket of compost.

You reach for a fruit.

You kneel. You stand.

You stretch. You walk.

And sometimes, if your Security Team sees something they shouldn't, you even sprint.

Part of the Security Team- Patches aka Miss Fiesty.  Unfortunately, “collateral damage” is part of their job description😂

My garden doesn't give me a workout plan. It gives me surprises.

And as I get older, I'm beginning to appreciate that more and more.

Because ageing doesn't mean we have to stop doing the things we love.

It simply means we may have to do them differently.

Maybe I work for a shorter time and rest more often.

Maybe I use a tool instead of pulling something by hand.

Maybe I bring a little stool into the garden.

Maybe I don't try to conquer the entire garden in one morning.

And maybe I listen when my knees say, "That's enough for today, hun."

There is no shame in that.

The important thing is that I'm still out there.

Still planting. Still harvesting.

Still pulling weeds. Still discovering insects.

Still learning. Still getting my hands dirty.

And still occasionally chasing an iguana because apparently that is now part of my fitness programme.

We don't have to stop growing just because we're getting older. As Ma used to say, "If you don't plant, you don't reap".... A lovely bunch of Tango oranges, almost ready for harvesting! 

A Little Garden Wisdom

“The garden doesn't ask how old you are. It simply invites you to keep growing.”

So, am I an ageing gardener?

Absolutely.

Am I exercising?

Apparently, yes.

And perhaps that's the beauty of gardening as we get older.

We don't have to stop growing just because we're getting older.

We simply learn how to grow at our own pace.

And if we finish the day with a few aching muscles?

Well...

That's what the ibuprofen is for. 😉

Your Turn

What does your garden gym look like?

Do you find yourself squatting to pull weeds, stretching to reach fruit, carrying bags of soil—or making emergency sprints when one of your garden visitors decides to make an appearance?

Tell me about it in the comments.

Let's see how many of us have been getting our exercise without ever stepping inside a gym!

Until next time, keep growing, keep moving and, most importantly, keep getting your hands dirty.

Grey hair, green thumb and proud of my roots. 

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